She breathed, trying to discern whether the worst of it was over. Even though she was completely stunned, her thoughts turned to where Ivan and Jake could be right now. She hoped they’d be safe…
****
Langdon was sitting behind his desk flanked by the two biggest Mexicans Ivan had ever seen – they looked as if they could easily snap Langdon’s wiry body apart. One of the Mexicans was holding an ivory-handled knife over Langdon’s hand – which the other guy was pressing against the expensive desk. Ivan realized with dread that he and Jake had just interrupted at the point where Langdon’s fingers were about to come off, one by one.
“Welcome to the party, gentleman,” a voice opposite Langdon said. “I didn’t know we were expecting anyone else.”
Ivan turned and saw a middle-aged well-bred man dressed in a stylish suit, with cowboy boots, and a smart ponytail. His face was pockmarked from too many fights in his youth, and he spoke with a heavy accent that Ivan couldn’t quite place – but he had a bad feeling it was possibly Columbian. Or Sicilian.
He’d obviously come to find out where his cocaine was. But actually, this could work out perfectly – Ivan decided they could simply hand it over in exchange for Samira’s passport and get the hell out of here.
Ivan drew on his inner-alpha. “Lost something, Langdon?” he asked.
“Where is it?” Langdon hissed, trying not to show his fear.
“Right here.” Ivan held up the suitcase.
“Then you’d better give it to Mr. Andreas. He’s not to be messed with.”
“I will. But I want Samira’s passport.”
Langdon chuckled sinisterly. “Is that all?”
“That’s all.”
Langdon moved toward his desk drawer, but Mr. Andreas held up his hand. “I told you not to move a fucking muscle, Langdon.”
One of the burly Mexicans squeezed Langdon’s fingers. “Ow! He’s got your fucking coke… I told you – these idiots got involved by mistake.”
“And what’s this passport you want?” Mr. Andreas asked Ivan coolly.
“It’s my wife’s,” Ivan said, relishing calling her that. “And I’m not giving you this suitcase without it.”
Mr. Andreas chuckled. “Big talk. You know we’re all heavily armed and could just shoot you, I assume?”
Ivan shrugged, refusing to be intimidated. He was sure he could get away with this. One passport for one suitcase…
Mr. Andreas nodded, then he turned back to Langdon. “Give him the passport.”
Langdon started to move toward the drawer.
“Not you,” Andreas said. “You could have anything in there. Juan, you get it.”
Juan grunted and opened the drawer. He pulled out a few pieces of paper and some documents, then he grabbed the passport and leaned over the desk to hand it to Mr. Andreas, who opened it.
“Iranian, hm? Oh, she’s pretty. Samira… very nice.”
“Give it to me,” Ivan said, keeping his nerve.
“Not so fast,” Andreas said. “How do I know I can trust you? Open that suitcase, then you get the passport.”
“Sure.” Ivan set the suitcase down on the wooden floor and unzipped it. He flung open the lid… and the world shifted nastily around him as he was confronted with yellowing family photos, postcards, and some old lingerie. He reached down in a trance and picked a well-worn garter belt. “Oh shit…”
“Not quite the idiots you were expecting, Langdon,” Andreas said impassively. “More like double-crossing motherfuckers if you ask me.”
Still crouching in front of the suitcase, Ivan frantically tried to think of how to get out of this alive. He glanced up at Jake who was staring at Andreas, seething.
As Langdon started trying to back-peddle to Andreas, Ivan signaled to Jake, then toward the door – hoping they could both make a run for it. But Jake continued glaring at Andreas as if he hated him to hell and back.