“Don’t worry, Kitty Kat,” Henn says. “I promise. It’s gonna go like clockwork. I’ve rigged it so the banks will think you’re Oksana, no questions asked, and I’ve also figured out a way to block the bad guys’ access to the Internet on their devices during the whole time we’re in the banks, just in case they try to check their accounts while we’re in the middle of things.”
Kat bites her lip. “Thanks, Henny.”
“We’ll both be right by your side,” I say, taking her hand in mine. She leans into my shoulder and I kiss the top of her head. “I’ll be right there with you, PG,” I whisper. “Every step of the way.”
“Okay, so are you three good?” Jonas asks.
“Yeah, we’re good,” I say. “Are you two good?”
Jonas and Sarah look at each other. “Do you have any questions, baby?” Jonas asks.
Sarah shakes her head. “No, no questions. But I do have a comment: holy crappola—I’m shitting a brick.”
Jonas laughs and kisses her forehead. “No need for brick-shitting. Your report is gonna do all our talking for us.”
Sarah takes a deep breath. “God help me if I wind up on some government watch-list after all this.”
“Don’t worry. They wouldn’t be meeting us in the first place if they didn’t take your report seriously.”
Sarah nods and exhales.
Jonas looks at me. “Josh, can I talk to you for just a second?”
“Sure, bro.”
“Do you mind, baby? I just gotta talk to Josh for a quick second, and then we’ll head out.”
“No worries. I’ll chat with Kitty Kat.”
Jonas and I get up and Sarah and Kat instantly launch into a rapid-fire conversation behind our backs.
“You two want me to join you or... ?” Henn asks us.
Jonas looks at me for my input.
I nod.
“Yeah,” Jonas says. “Thanks, Henn. We could definitely use your brain.”
The three of us move to a sitting area on the other side of the suite, far enough away that the girls won’t overhear us.
Jonas looks nervously across the room. “There’s not a lot of time, so lemme cut to the chase. I want Max and the Ukrainian Travolta dead.” He clenches his jaw.
Henn doesn’t seem the slightest bit surprised. “Shouldn’t be hard to persuade the feds to do it for you. The feds are gonna want them dead, too.”
“How do you figure?”
“Well, dude. Come on. The Secretary of Defense is one of The Club’s biggest clients? Not good. They’ll do whatever the fuck you ask them to do to keep that quiet and make sure this deal goes off without a hitch. Offing a couple Ukrainian separatists is a small price to bury that particular bit of information.”
“‘Ukrainian separatists’ isn’t really sexy enough,” I say. “I don’t think the average person watching the news understands all that.”
“True,” Henn says. “Good point.”
“I think we need something easily digestible for the masses—something the media will pick up on and run with—something the feds can feed to them that they won’t even question.”
We’re all silent for a beat.
“Terrorists?” I say.
