Ultimate Weapon by Shannon McKenna

changed.”
    The snickering and muttering abruptly stopped. All eyes went to the ampoule in Val’s hand.
    “And what is that?” Novak asked.
    “Poison gas,” Val said. “If I break this, everyone in this room dies before they can reach the door.”
    Novak chewed the inside of his sunken cheek. He shot a look at András. “Whose responsibility was it to search this man before he was brought into my presence?”
    One of the younger men’s eyes went wide. He began to back away.
    András lifted his gun and shot the man in the face. He hit the wall and slid to the floor, the swath of gore vivid against white cement blocks. Imre made a choked sound. He sagged between his two captors.
    “Everyone dies, including yourself?” Novak’s tone was light. “And your friend?”
    “Of course,” Val said. “It’s worth it to me. I dislike being bullied. You and I can continue this conversation in hell.”
    Novak chuckled softly. “Do you always carry poison gas on your person? What an odd accessory.”
    Valery’s eyes locked on Novak’s. “Life is so uncertain,” he said. “Death is much more reliable.”
    The chuckles turned to wheezy gasps of laughter. “Ah, Vajda, I have missed you since I sold you on the auction block to those PSS dogs all those years ago,” Novak said, wiping his mouth. “So. Tell me. What do you hope to accomplish with your poison gas?”
    “We talk terms,” Val said. “My terms.”
    “And they are?” Novak’s voice had a humoring tone.
    “The kill fee, to start. Five hundred thousand euro, expenses excluded.”
    There were assorted snorts and snickers from the men assembled. Novak looked amused. “You think well of yourself, Valery. But why a kill fee? It is not necessary to kill her. I will take care of that personally.”
    “Bringing her to you alive is more difficult than a straight kill,” Val said. “I require no interference, no backup team. Live webcam conversations with him upon request.” He gestured toward Imre. “As well as your solemn word before witnesses that he will not be harmed.”
    Novak’s pale, poisonous gaze narrowed. Val kept his face impassive. His heart thundered.
    This was a wild gamble. Novak had a pathological hatred of being lied to. There were whispers about what he had done to his wife years ago to punish her for lying to him. It was said he’d cut off his own son’s finger when he was a child as punishment for lying about some trivial childhood sin. The underlying message was brutally clear. If the boss did that to his own son, what might he do to a piece of shit nobody like me? It had been a very powerful deterrent to lying.
    But the corollary was that in his own twisted way, he considered himself a man of honor. If Novak gave his word not to harm Imre in front of his men, he would consider himself bound by it. Val hoped.
    On the other hand, the man was utterly mad, after all.
    “Vajda.” Imre cleared his throat, coughing. “You cannot—”
    “Shut up, old man,” Val said harshly. “I did not ask you.”
    Tense moments crawled by. Novak pondered, rubbing his chin. “The demand for money is absurd,” he said. “But I do appreciate a man who gives good sport. For this, I will spare the finger—for tonight. And in return…” His voice trailed off, eyes sparkling with amusement.
    Val waited, not allowing himself to swallow or breathe.
    “You will provide me with video footage of your affair with Steele,” Novak said. “Something juicy and explicitly sexual, something to entertain the men on dull nights. You will have a few minutes of communication with your friend. If at any point the video rendezvous is missed, I will start to remove pieces of him. I require my first installment—let me see—Monday. I am giving you a few extra days of grace, to allow for travel time,” he concluded, his tone magnanimous. “After that, I will expect something every three days.”
    Val’s jaw ached with tension. “I cannot guarantee—”
    “Then