43.
KGB operative/fake book publisher Igor Kuntevich did not like this development one bit: Tom Richardson running off into the night to another city, presumably to fall right into a CIA disruption operation for circumventing Russian intelligence access to Richardson’s manuscript full of secrets.
Drastic measures were needed.
For a start, Kunty sought and received headquarters’ permission to pay the rogue American one million dollars, in advance, for Russian publishing rights only. That was, after all, the precise amount Richardson had demanded.
Excited by such approval, which finally arrived past midnight Moscow time, Kuntevich phoned the rogue American spy.
Richardson was preparing for bed in his sumptuous Grand Dolder room in Zurich, on Josh Penner’s tab, when the call came in. “We will pay your price,” Kunty whispered.
“Really?” said Richardson, surprised.
“Really.”
“Unfortunately, I’m not in Geneva.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
“You’re in Zurich,” said Kuntevich. “Me too.”
“You followed me here?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’m going to guess that my book must be worth two million dollars.”
Kuntevich perspired on the other line. “No. One million dollars. Is what you said. We do deal tomorrow.”
But I’m here with Josh Penner and…”
“We do deal tomorrow or offer cancelled.”
Richardson sighed. “Do you have cash?”
“No. We make bank account. One million dollars arrives. You give me book.”
“Hmm. Russian publishing rights only?”
“Yes.”
“And you won’t publish until other publishers are ready?”
“Cross my heart, hope to die.” Kuntevich had read this line in a Russian illegals training manual on English vernacular and liked the sound of it.
“Okay,” said Richardson.
Kuntevich breathed a sigh of relief. “I meet you nine a.m., Bank Leumi, Cladridenstrasse 34.”
44.
Next morning, Tom Richardson helped himself to a buffet of thinly-sliced ham and cheese and sweet rolls from the buffet when Josh Penner appeared. The pair had agreed to negotiate for movie rights with fresh eyes after a good night’s sleep.
“Oh, I didn’t expect to see you till later in the morning,” said Richardson. “I’m off to another meeting.”
Penner narrowed his eyes and studied him quizzically. “With who?”
“Whom.” He paused. “A book publisher. But don’t worry, I’m not including movie rights.”
Penner shook his head. “I don’t like this.”
“What’s there not to like?”
“I wanted to make our deal first.”
“Does it matter?”
“Yeah, it does to me.”
“Why?”
“It’s important from a PR standpoint.” Penner found his ground. “I can get some big news out of this, but only if I’m first to secure rights. It’s important in Hollywood, makes the studios pay attention, and I’m going to need their support big-time to get this into production.” Penner looked over Richardson’s shoulder. “What the…?!”
Richardson turned to follow Penner’s gaze, then back at the movie star. “Something wrong?”
“Sure as hell is!” The movie star seethed. “A couple of turds from TZM are following me all over Switzerland!”
Fifty feet away, Natalie Ruvo and Bradley Bish stirred, bracing for an onslaught.
Two tables away, PI Jeremy Katz sat behind a Neue Zurcher Zeitung, though he couldn’t read a word of German.
Anger swelled within Penner. He tried to utilize the tools provided by his court-ordered anger management shrink, take a few deep breaths, but it didn’t work; he could actually feel steam blowing out of his ears. Just then, his cell phone jingled, distracting him, another trick his shrink had recommended. So he answered. Charles Mulberry, his CIA case officer. Of all people.
“Just answer me yes or no,” said Mulberry. “Are you with our friend?”
Penner had to think for a moment. Then he glanced at Richardson. “Yes.”
“Excuse yourself. Go to your room. I’m coming up.”
“You’re here?”
But Mulberry had already detached himself from the conversation.
“Who was that?” asked Richardson suspiciously.
“Sophie,” replied Penner without missing a beat.
“Love to see her again. Gotta go.”
“Uhh, I really think you should hold off on your other offer..”
Richardson shrugged, grinning. “Offer me a million dollars, payable today, and the deal is yours.”
“Maybe, maybe…” he mumbled.
“When it’s certain, not a maybe, call me. Meantime, since you love sticking it to Uncle Sam, you’ll be happy to know I’m signing with a Russian publisher. It’s going to drive my former employer nuts.”
Penner fumed inside. Does that fool Mulberry know what he’s interrupting, and what’s about to happen? “I hope that Russian publisher plans on covering the cost of your room here.”
Richardson shrugged. With a million dollars in the bank, I’ll cover it myself.
Penner threw an evil eye at the duo from TZM and turned on his heel.
Charles Mulberry watched from Bahnhofstrasse as Tom Richardson exited the Dolder Grand. Five minutes later he knocked the door of Penner’s room.
“Your timing sucks!” Penner exploded, ushering Mulberry inside and closing the door behind him.
Mulberry recoiled. “Meaning?”
“Richardson’s about to cut a deal with a Russian publisher!”
“Shhh, calm down,” admonished Mulberry. “I know.”
“You know?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re going to let it happen?”
Mulberry studied Penner’s alarmed features. He’d seen this performance before, in one of Penner’s movies. “Yes.”
Penner flushed, uncomprehending. “But… why?”
Mulberry shrugged. “Those are my instructions,” he said matter-of-fact. “Our part in this operation is over.”
“But…?”
Mulberry put his palm up. “I just flew in from Washington, D.C. and my instructions come from the highest level at CIA. We’re standing down.”
Emotionally wrought up, Penner almost burst. He paced silently to calm down, flailing his arms. “I need a cigarette.”
Thought Mulberry, too bad the Academy Award people aren’t watching.
“Where did Sophie go?” Penner asked in anguish.
“It doesn’t matter.”
Penner threw himself into an easy chair. “So what now?”
“We’re leaving. We’re booked on a noon flight to LA.”
Penner started to say something, caught himself, and changed gears. “I’ve got two scumbag reporters waiting to ambush me downstairs!”
Mulberry shook his head. “Don’t do anything stupid, we don’t want attention.”
“Ya think I want them here? What do you suggest?”
Mulberry dipped into his carry-on bag, all he’d brought, and pulled out a wig of gray hair and oversized spectacles. “Put these on.”
Penner gazed at Mulberry, incredulous. “Are you nuts?” Reluctantly, Penner slipped them onto his head
“Next.” Mulberry offered the movie star a small pebble. “Put this in your shoe.”
“What?”
“Just do it.”
Penner did.
“Walk,” Mulberry commanded.
“Owww!” Penner limped.
“Baby it. It’ll change your posture.”
Penner smirked. “You think this will fool them?”
“Works like a charm.”
Thirty minutes later, as Penner limped from elevator to cashier to settle his tab while Natalie Ruvo and Bradley Bish looked right through him.
Five minutes after that, Penner and Mulberry were in the backseat of a taxi en route to the airport.