Net Force - Tom Clancy [31]
Sampson used a toothpick as he strolled toward his chauffeured automobile, parked illegally in front of the restaurant. He flicked bits of his meal into the air, to fall upon the sidewalk.
In the plain one-color, four-door sedan across the street, Ruzhyo looked at Winters, the driver, then at Grigory the Snake, seated in back. Are we ready?
I am ready, the Snake said.
Go to it, hoss.
The three of them wore identical charcoal suits, not too expensive ones, with shined black-leather shoes, dark sunglasses and new, short haircuts. In addition, each of them carried cards and badges that identified them as Special Agents of the United States Federal Bureau of Investigation. These IDs were, of course, forgeries, but the best that money could buy, and as such, would pass any examination up to destructive tests.
The license plate of the car had been switched, and the one it now wore had come from a vehicle currently parked in the FBI lot, not that far from where they now were.
The Snake still looked like a big, dumb Russian to Ruzhyo, even with his disguise, but there was no help for that. Besides, big dumb Russians and big dumb Americans looked much alike.
Winters was the best driver among them. It was his country, and he needed to stay at the wheel.
Ruzhyo adjusted the pistol in the holster behind his right hip. It was a SIG.40, a no-nonsense flat-black German combat weapon, very expensive and dependable, and was carried by many FBI agents. They looked the part, even the Snake.
All right. Let us go.
Ruzhyo and Grigory the Snake alighted from the car and started across the street.
The bodyguards noticed them immediately. One of the guards said something to Sampson, who paused in picking his teeth, looked at the approaching men and grinned. He laughed and said something to his men. Ruzhyo could not hear, but he had an idea of what it might be. These men would have no love for their own federal authorities.
As Ruzhyo and the Snake drew near to the trio, Sampson said, Good afternoon, boys. You guysre with the Bureau, right? He smiled at the two guards, to show how adept he was at recognizing federal agents.
This was exactly as Plekhanov and Ruzhyo had planned.
Give people something close to what they expected and they would fool themselves, you did not need to say a word.
Ruzhyo affected the flat Midwestern American accent he had practiced. Luigi Sampson? Im Special Agent Arnold, this is Special Agent Johnson. He held his badge case up in his left hand to show the ID card and badge just as real agents did, always keeping their weapon hand clear. He nodded at the Snake, who glared at the bodyguards.
While their IDs were fake, the names were not-Agents Arnold and Johnson were assigned to the New York office. Wed like you to come with us and answer a few questions.
Sure thing, boys. To the nearer guard, Sampson said, Verification?
The bodyguard had a small computer flatscreen he tapped commands into. After a beat, he said, Theyre on the list.
Call the lawyers and the boss. Tell em. Sampson flicked the toothpick into the air with his thumb and middle finger. Third floor of the Federal Plaza, right?
Thats the twenty-third floor, Mr. Sampson. Youve been there before, Ruzhyo said.
Sampsons grin increased. He thought his crude test was enough. He was a fool, more so for believing he was clever. Wise men always left room for new things; fools thought they knew it all already. Always glad to help out my government. Lets go.
In the back section of the car with the Snake, Sampson said, So, whats it all about, boys?
As Winters pulled away, Ruzhyo noted one of the bodyguards step into the street to make a note of their vehicles license number. Good. He looked at Sampson. You work for the Genaloni crime family. You have personally killed six men, and ordered the deaths of more than a dozen others. You and your ilk are responsible for drugs on the streets, prostitution, smuggling, gambling, other illegal activities too many to list.
Whoa! Thats slander, Agent,