Talas narrowed his eyes.
"Are you trying to provoke me?"
Volkov shook his head.
"I'm telling the truth."
He took a step closer.
"General, I know who's behind you. You also know who's behind me. That man is waiting in Moscow. Waiting for you and the Squid Man to start fighting, waiting for the Mexicans and the Americans to start arguing, waiting for the whole world to turn into a pot of boiling porridge—"
He paused.
"That man will come out."
11:00 a.m., suburbs of Moscow, that villa
The Boss sat in that wide armchair, holding a glass of vodka.
The fire in the fireplace was blazing, but cold sweat kept seeping down his back.
The phone rang.
He picked it up.
Volkov's voice came from the other end.
"Boss, the Syrians are still hesitating."
The Boss nodded.
"Let them hesitate."
Volkov froze for a moment.
"Let them hesitate? Isn't that—"
"Isn't that just right?" the Boss cut him off. "Only people who hesitate get anxious. Only anxious people make mistakes."
