Gambit, David Hagberg [most life changing books .TXT] 📗

“May we narrow the search?” Lou asked.

“Starting with Thomas Hammond, I would like connections with the recent death of the Russian adviser Viktor Kuprik and someone within the GRU,” Otto said.

“Hammond’s Strategic Liaison Services’ chief operating officer, Arturo Ramos Rodriguez, made several contacts with Kuprik.”

“Do we know the nature of those meetings?”

“No specific data, except there is a high likelihood that Hammond was involved in some financial arrangement with an unknown Russian person or persons.”

“Search for a connection to someone inside the GRU,” Mary said.

“Yes.”

“I would like you to do several other simultaneous parallel searches,” Otto said. “Can you do that?”

“Of course,” Lou said, and the near AI program almost sounded insulted. It was a bit of Louise Horn’s personality that Otto had injected into the system.

“First, give me a name of someone connected with the GRU as well as the Putin office.”

“Can you tell me the possible nature of this relationship?”

“Yes, the common denominator for all of your searches will be of a financial nature, ultimately leading back to a connection between Thomas Hammond and Kirk McGarvey.”

“The most transparent connections are McGarvey’s bitcoin offering to Hammond two years ago, and before that, McGarvey’s connection with President Putin himself.”

“Expand the search to someone outside of the GRU or the Kremlin who carries influence.”

“General Oleg Kanayev, who is the main directorate general staff officer in charge of Special Forces.”

“Spetsnaz,” Otto said.

“Yes.”

“Why did his name come up?”

“Within the last twelve hours, he announced his retirement, which is coincidental with a visit he had from Mikhail Tarasov, who is a Russian billionaire with close connections not only to President Putin but to Gazprom, a name from your earlier search request.”

“Is there a connection between this man and Hammond?” Mary asked.

“A curious coincidence, perhaps. But in another simultaneous search, I have found Thomas Hammond and Susan Patterson currently seated at a high-stakes baccarat table at the Casino de Monte-Carlo. Surveillance cameras also show a Russian multibillionaire, Ivan Metropov, seated at the same table.”

“Is there another connection?” Mary pressed.

“Metropov was a GRU lieutenant colonel before he resigned his commission to work at Gazprom as an assistant for special affairs for Mikhail Tarasov.”

“Are there other coincidences?”

“Yes, it is rumored that Gazprom intends to build another series of oil and gas pipelines to Europe, specifically the Netherlands and Belgium, plus France, where Russia is not looked upon favorably, but where Thomas Hammond has many successful business ventures.”

“We know that. Is there anything else?”

“General Kanayev’s son-in-law is Lieutenant Colonel Viktor Nyunin, who is the commander of the 329th Spetsnaz Special Purpose Detachment in Pskov Oblast.”

“More?” Mary asked.

“Less than twenty-four hours ago, six of Colonel Nyunin’s veteran Spetsnaz offices were given dishonorable discharges.”

“Jesus Christ,” Otto said softly.

“Have they been arrested and jailed?” Mary asked.

“No,” Lou said.

“Where are they at this moment?”

“Their locations are unknown.”

Otto dropped his feet to the floor and turned to his wife. “Too many coincidences?” he asked, his heart hammering.

“We have to leave that up to Mac and Pete to decide, but we have to warn them what might be coming their way,” Mary said.

“But if it is Hammond gunning for Mac because of that bitcoin deal, and a Spetsnaz team is on it now, why the hell did he screw around hiring the Canadian, South African, and the two Chinese Special Forces operators? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Did you ever read the story ‘The Most Dangerous Game’ or see the movie?” Mary asked.

Otto shook his head. “No.”

She explained it.

“He’s playing a game?” Otto asked.

“Could be he’s upping the stakes each time to see how Mac handles it. It’s called a gambit play—or in this case, plays.”

Otto almost laughed. “I don’t think Mr. Hammond, if he’s the one behind it, will like how the story turns out.”

At the baccarat table, Hammond was already up three and a half million euros, most of it Metropov’s at the other end of the table, and he was getting tired of the game, which was for relatively small stakes to this point.

A small crowd of well-dressed spectators had gathered, which was usual whenever big money was being wagered. They were behind velvet ropes, security officers in tuxedos keeping a close eye.

Of the original six players other than Metropov, only two other men remained at the table, whom Metropov had graciously allowed to take small pieces of each bank as it came up. Hammond had lost a couple of hands, but after each one, he’d upped the bank and had won.

“Let’s make this interesting, shall we?” he said.

The Russian nodded, his expression completely neutral. The other two showed no reaction.

Hammond raised a hand for the chef de salle, who came over and leaned in close. “Monsieur?”

“I’m going to make a considerable raise.”

“Your credit is unlimited here, Monsieur Hammond. The casino will accommodate you.”

“Twenty million,” he announced as the pit boss moved off.

No one made a sound, all eyes on the Russian.

The other two players indicated that they were out. They pushed back their chairs, picked up their plaques, and got up. But they did not leave the room.

“Monsieur?” the dealer asked politely.

“Banco,” Metropov said without bothering to call the chef de salle over.

“Is the gentleman’s credit good enough?” Hammond said, and this time, the crowd stirred.

Metropov nodded, his expression neutral.

The dealer dealt two cards each, Hammond drawing a five and three.

“Carte?” the dealer asked Hammond, who shook his head.

“Carte?” the dealer asked Metropov, who shook his head, the faintest of smiles at the corners of his lips.

Hammond turned over his eight. Only an eight to tie and it would be up to him to raise the bet and continue, or a nine for the loss.

Without turning over his cards, Metropov pushed back, got to his feet, and left the salle, the crowd parting for him.

“Jesus, I’d love to see the bastard’s cards,” Susan said as the dealer retrieved them without turning them over.

“He had a nine,” Hammond said. “I was sure of it by the look on his face when he threw down his cards.”

“Then why did he withdraw?”

“He sent