The Last Refuge: A Dewey Andreas Novel by Ben Coes

Author:Ben Coes [Coes, Ben]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Action & Adventure, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Mystery, Thriller & Suspense, War & Military, United States, Thrillers & Suspense, Military, Spies & Politics, Political, Terrorism, Thriller, Thrillers
ISBN: 9781250028228
Amazon: B006ZLA512
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2012-07-03T05:00:00+00:00

30

KARBU

TIME WARNER BUILDING

NEW YORK CITY

There were only six tables at Karbu, despite the fact that the restaurant could have routinely filled five times that number any night of the week; this lack of seating only served to heighten the allure of the exclusive, incredibly expensive establishment. Considered the best sushi restaurant in the city, it was practically impossible to get a reservation at Karbu. Entrees at the tiny restaurant on the forty-fifth floor of the Time Warner Building started at $375 per plate, individual chef tastings, single pieces of sushi made by Karbuyoshi Takayta himself, ranged from a simple piece of fresh tuna, flown in that morning from Iceland, for $175, to a more complicated and rare strip of Blue Marrow Osso Bucco, a soufflé of raw bone marrow and roe taken from the vertebrae of a female blue whale off the coast of Japan. Its price was a cool $4,000 per piece.

On a typical evening, Karbu played host to people for whom dropping thirty or forty grand on a meal was no big deal. Russians, usually oligarchs, their wives, girlfriends, or mistresses. Middle Eastern oilmen, Saudis mainly, some Saudi royalty, the occasional banker or real estate developer from Dubai. Some Europeans, fourth-generation royalty or telecom billionaires. Increasingly, Chinese entrepreneurs, some of whom were already billionaires despite living in a country that billed itself as a communist people’s republic. From the United States, it was hedge fund managers who came, private equity guys, some investment bankers, the occasional celebrity. Though not often. While the food was outstanding, Karbu had started to earn a reputation as a place for foreigners, impossible to get into, crowded with Arabs, usually with some sort of thuggish guard contingency just outside the restaurant’s doors. Takayta had to install a small waiting area for just this purpose, to keep some of these security types from loitering outside the restaurant’s entrance, a tight square of comfortable orange Barcelona chaises to the side of the entrance. On some nights, the chairs were filled with odd combinations; ex–KGB agents, now private security, guarding Russian mobsters, seated across the glass table from ex–British MI6 guarding Chinese Internet billionaires.

Katie Foxx was dressed in a simple red and black dress. She looked down at her plate. She did not like sushi. Where she grew up, in Canton, Connecticut, the thought of eating raw fish would have made her and her three older brothers laugh in disgust. But here she was. She smiled at Tacoma. She watched as the tall, brown-haired Nebraska farmboy wolfed down his fourth piece of raw flounder.

“Hey, slow down, Robbie,” said Foxx. “That’s two hundred bucks a pop.”

“Yeah, but it’s so fucking good, Katie,” said Tacoma, smiling. He reached up to wipe his mouth. As he did, Foxx caught a glimpse of Tacoma’s weapon, tucked in his shoulder holster, .357 magnum SIG P226, suppressed. It was standard-issue SEAL armament, where Tacoma had come from before joining Foxx’s paramilitary team within CIA National Clandestine Service.

Over Tacoma’s shoulder, she watched Iran’s ambassador to the United Nations, Amit Bhutta.

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