Then, in Russian, he says, “Woman wants my money but can’t be bothered to learn my language.”
I chuckle, catching myself too late.
His eyes widen. “You understood?”
Well, so much for catching Damien saying something he didn’t intend us to hear. But who is he going to speak to in Russian now? I can use this to my advantage.
“Yes,” I say.
Damien smiles. He glances toward his wife and then back to me. “It’s a good thing my wife doesn’t understand Russian. I don’t want to get her involved any more than she has to. The less she knows, the better.”
After his last comment, I thought perhaps he didn’t care for her, but I may have been wrong.
“Do you know why those men were threatening me?” he continues in Russian.
I notice Moose staring straight ahead but listening to us. At least I can compare notes with him later about whatever Damien tells me.
“No, I do not,” I say.
“I have information that they want.”
“What kind of information?”
Damien takes a deep breath and lets it out. “Have you heard about the US convoy that went missing near Slobozia?”
“No.”
“It was attacked one week ago while transporting weapons to its base in Romania.”
“I didn’t hear anything about that.” Not that I’m paying a lot of attention to the news, but if something like that made the news, Reed or one of the guys would have mentioned it.
“It was kept out of the press because of what was stolen.”
He glances at Moose and his wife. His wife is sleeping. Moose appears to be daydreaming, but I’m certain he’s listening to us.
“Nuclear missiles,” Damien says. “And I know where they are.”
All right, that just upped the stakes. “Why do you know where they are?”
“Because I was there. After we acquired the missiles, we transported them to a secret location. Only four of us knew the location. The other three men have been killed. Then I was captured.”
“You’re saying you are the last person to know the location of the missiles?”
He nods. “And I want to give them to you.”
“Why?” He went to all this trouble to get missiles, likely killing Americans if he overtook a convoy, and now he wants to just give it up?
“Because I’m afraid it’s going to fall into the wrong hands. Those men who captured me won’t stop until they have them. I’ll give you the coordinates. Can you memorize them?”
I grab my phone out of my pocket. “No, but I can record them here.” I pull up a note-taking app. “Ready.”
“47°21’48.9”N, 27°28’57.2”E””
After I input the location, I turn to him. “They’re still in Romania?”
“Yes. It will appear to be a farm field, but across a road, you will find a small house. In the basement, there is a door that leads to a path. It will take you under the field, and that is where you will find the missiles.”
“Those are very specific instructions.”
