Read Online War Hawk: A Tucker Wayne Novel by James Rollins, Grant Blackwood - Free Book Online Page B

leaned back, cradling the snifter of brandy between his palms. “How so?”
    “You stand to gain substantially from this agreement.”
    “Of course.” Pruitt shrugged. “I’m a businessman.”
    “I understand, but—”
    Pruitt cut him off. “You feel that your end can be improved.”
    Davidovic stared hard at him, dropping any pretense of graciousness. “I know it can be. You are asking me to provide facilities and transportation for your operational teams, along with all of the necessary immigration and customs interventions.”
    “As we agreed nine months ago,” Pruitt said. “And in return for your cooperation, I will be handing you the first step to fulfilling a Serbian national aspiration—one close to your own heart.”
    Davidovic shifted again in his seat; his cheeks had darkened, and not from the flush of the brandy he downed now in one gulp. Pruitt’s private intelligence network had supplied him with the hidden engine behind the Serbian president’s ambition—a goal fueled by vindication and revenge.
    During the border skirmishes between Serbian and Montenegrin forces back in the midnineties, Davidovic’s home village of Crvsko had been attacked. A Montenegrin paramilitary group had razed the village, slaughtering his father and mother and his three sisters. Only his grandfather had survived and tried to defend Crvsko. Due to some brutal acts during the town’s defense, the grandfather was later branded a war criminal by the Serbian president of the time, Slobodan Miloševic´. The grandfather had eventually died in prison.
    This watershed event drove Davidovic into politics. He had positioned himself as a crusader for lasting peace in the Balkans—or so his platform declared. But Pruitt knew the truth and used that lever to sway the Serbian president to his side.
    Pruitt continued, applying more force to that lever. “With my help, you’ll realize your ambition—to finally set right what was wrong—while in turn earning the full support and praise of the world.”
    Judging by Davidovic’s downcast eyes, he knew his words had struck home.
    “And in return,” Pruitt pressed on, “I’ll receive the mining rights to a strip of land that no one wants.” He shrugged and stood up. “If anyone should be reconsidering this deal, it should be me.”
    Pruitt turned and headed for the door.
    Davidovic stopped him before he could take three steps. “Please, sit, Mr. Kellerman. I spoke out of turn. Let us forget this matter, attribute it to what you Americans call . . . cold feet.”
    Pruitt faced the president.
    Davidovic waved to the abandoned chair. “Let us discuss the timeline.”
    Unmoving for a long ten seconds, Pruitt finally returned to his chair and sat down. He picked up his snifter, took a sip.
    “My people will arrive in thirteen days.”
    9:03 A . M .
    After finalizing plans, Pruitt was back in the limo with his head of security, Rafael Lyon, and headed to his private jet. He needed to return to Athens for a luncheon with Greece’s main telecom company.
    Pruitt sighed and loosened his tie, picturing Davidovic as the big man gave him a bear hug good-bye, the two of them the best of friends once again. “Are we certain that idiot isn’t a war criminal himself? I’ve read about some incidents along the Serbian border.”
    “Rumors.” Lyon shrugged. “Davidovic will behave himself until it is time. But we should—”
    Lyon’s cell phone trilled in his pocket, cutting him off.
    Pruitt waved for him to answer it.
    Lyon freed his phone and listened for several seconds. He asked a few curt questions, then disconnected. From the twin furrows between his brows, it was not good news.
    “What is it?” Pruitt asked.
    “That was Webster. There was someone at the Conlon woman’s house in Huntsville.”
    It took Pruitt a full breath to disengage from his toe-to-toe confrontation with the Serbian president and remember who this woman was. Not that the two matters were