All in good time.
At the study, I punch in a code on the electronic pad mounted on the wall to unlock the door. Until I’m certain Katerina won’t run or call the police or the embassy, I’m keeping my laptop and cell phone locked away when I’m home.
Making myself comfortable in the swivel chair behind my desk, I pour another shot of vodka from the bottle Lena left for me and wake up my laptop.
A message from Adrian awaits me.
That was quick.
I upload it to the decryption app and read the text. Adrian did some digging into Stefanov’s dealings as I requested. There’s no mention of Vadim or the gang. Nothing out of the ordinary jumps out. I check the list of Stefanov’s recent movements that Adrian attached. Stefanov had met with Oleg Pavlov, a bratva boss who’s big in Moscow, in St. Petersburg a month before the assassin took a shot at me and a day after the event. On both occasions, they met at a club that Stefanov owns near Detskiy Severny Beach. There’s no information about the business they discussed, but in between those dates, Stefanov also showed up at Oleg’s house in Moscow. I look more closely at that date. It was a couple of days after Katerina was attacked near Romanoff’s.
Dread slithers down my spine at the memory. If Katerina hadn’t walked into the restaurant that night… If I hadn’t been there, having dinner with Mikhail… I can’t even think it. I can’t put into thoughts what could’ve happened, never mind into words.
Leaning back in my chair, I take a swig of the vodka as I consider the information.
Vladimir Stefanov and Oleg Pavlov.
The names are familiar, even though I’ve never had the unpleasant experience of crossing either’s path. Like every businessman with a certain net worth in Russia, I know who they are. That’s not the familiarity I’m referring to, though. There’s something else, a faint memory at the back of my mind. It’s a niggling awareness, like a word you can’t remember that’s hovering on the tip of your tongue.
And then it comes to me.
My mind flashes back to the apartment on Vasilevsky Island where I grew up. I remember myself at fourteen, lying on my bed and reading a comic book I’d smuggled into the house. My father didn’t want me to read those books. He’d said the pictures would make me too lazy to read.
The hushed voices of my mother and father came to me through the thin walls of my room. They were having an argument. It was rare for them to fight, so rare that I pricked up my ears. That’s when I heard them—those names.
Stefanov and Pavlov.
My mother whispered them frightfully. My father replied in a soothing tone, and when he repeated the names, his voice was harsh. A moment later, the sound of pots came from the kitchen where my mother was making solyanka for dinner, and the smell of my father’s cigarette reached me from the balcony.
Eager to know Batman’s fate, I went back to my reading.
The ping of my phone brings me back to the present. I pick it up and check the screen. It’s the head of the cleaning team, letting me know the job is done. Vadim’s body should be discovered not long after daybreak when his cronies come to collect the goods for their daily deliveries. Stefanov will get my message soon.
Good. I can’t wait.
Drumming my fingers on the desktop, I knock back the rest of the vodka. The alcohol slips smoothly down my throat, warming my stomach and loosening my tense muscles. Why did my parents fight about two bratva bosses? My father was a high-ranking police officer. He never discussed work at home, at least not when I was around. Was he a bought man? Did Stefanov or Pavlov own him? Is that why my mother was upset? Because he’d sold information to them? I can see how that would’ve upset my mother. She was a good woman, a humble person who believed in right and wrong. Corrupt cop is not the image I have of my father, but I was just a kid. I was more interested in forbidden pop culture and in saving enough money for a skateboard than I was in my father’s job.
Unable to think about my parents without experiencing the pain that tears my heart out of my chest, I push the nostalgia aside.
How do the dots connect? Is there a link between my parents’ conversation and the events of the last couple of months? What’s the likelihood of the same names popping up then and now? Stefanov paid Vadim to kidnap Katerina. Did he also pay the man who stole her key card? It’s a logical deduction. That means Stefanov most likely paid the assassin who tried to kill me. But why? What does it have to do with my parents, if anything? How does Oleg Pavlov fit into the picture? His meetings with Stefanov around the time of the attacks on Katerina and me could be a coincidence—it’s very likely that the two bratva bosses do business together—but the fact that my father mentioned them both raises a big red flag.
I don’t have the answers, but I will find them. And when I do, I’ll make Stefanov and every man involved in his scheme pay.
Firing up the encryption app, I send another message to Adrian, instructing him to keep sniffing for information on Stefanov and to do the same with Pavlov. I put a handsome sum of money for bribing informants at his disposal and log into my bank account to pay him for the job he’s done. Nothing motivates like prompt payment. He’ll drop whatever else he’s working on to get me the information I need.
The earlier adrenaline has yet to work itself out of my system. I’m too hyped up to be able to sleep. To use the time productively, I take care of the red tape surrounding Katerina’s leave of absence. Once all the paperwork is out of the way, I schedule an email to be sent to Joanne at a reasonable time in the morning, asking her what time is convenient for Katerina to videocall her. I might be ruthless, but I’m a man of my word. I said my kiska could have a reward if she behaves, and now that she knows there’s no way out, she’ll behave if it means that she can speak to her friend. Call it manipulation, but I’m not forcing Katerina’s compliance to make my life easier. I’m doing it for her. The sooner she adapts to her new situation, the sooner she’ll be happy again.
I’m not optimistic about uncovering anything via the hospital security camera tapes. Nevertheless, I log into the real-time workflow to check on the team’s progress. As I expected, they haven’t found anything. Hopefully, I’ll learn more soon, either from Adrian or the man I’ve put on Stefanov’s tail.
I type a command, telling my security chief, Nelsky, to shut down the search and instead focus on obtaining information on Stefanov and Pavlov’s personal and professional operations. I want the blueprints of their homes and their offices. I want to know how many men they have on site and with what weapons they’re armed. I want to know how many kids they have, where they go to school, where they keep apartments for their mistresses, what cars they drive, and what their wives eat for breakfast. I want to know everything right down to the brand of their underwear. I want to know their strengths but mostly their weaknesses. I want to know where their protection is breachable. They may seem untouchable, but if you look hard enough, you’ll always find a vulnerability.
Standing up, I stretch. Killing Vadim hasn’t appeased my fury, not by a long shot. I need a strenuous workout in the gym. Until I can lay my hands on Stefanov, the punching bag will have to do.
My phone rings just as I reach the door.
It’s Igor.
I take the call with, “Yes?”