A snowflake drifts down and sticks to the window. “What did Pavlov want with a hacker?”
“That’s what I asked myself. So I did a little probing. I offered the money you provided. The fish took the bait. Apparently, Pavlov paid him to encrypt and deliver a file.”
“What file?”
“He won’t say.”
“Then what information did my money buy?” I ask with impatience.
“He gave me the name of the person he delivered the encryption to. A certain Ivan Besov.”
Turning back to my desk, I type a message to Nelsky, ordering him to run a background check on Ivan Besov.
“Guess what my hacker discovered when he followed Mukha’s cyber trail?” Adrian continues. “Besov sent the file to Vladimir Stefanov.”
I go still. “He did, did he?”
“Most certainly.”
“In other words, Pavlov paid a hacker to deliver an encrypted file to Besov, and Besov delivered it to Stefanov.”
“Correct.”
I mull over the meaning of this. “What about Besov?”
“He’s ex-military. He got kicked out on charges of torturing a political hostage. It looks like he took the fall for his team. The charges were dropped, but after that, he went on his own.”
“What division?”
“Spetsnaz. Sniper.”
The snow starts falling harder. “That would make a good assassin.”
“My thoughts as well. He goes by the nickname of Bes.”
Bes. Demon or evil spirit in Russian. How subtle. I hook a finger between my collar and my tie and pull on the knot to loosen it. “Any teammates we can question?”
“No.” Paper rustles in the background. “He works alone.”
A ping sounds in my ear.
“I’ve just sent you an attachment with the information I could gather on Besov,” Adrian says. “He has an address in Moscow. If he’s been traveling lately, he’s been doing it with a false passport. According to his records, he’s retired, living on disability payments, and he hasn’t left Russia since his military missions.”
A message from Nelsky pops up on my computer screen. I click on the attachment. It’s a photo of Besov. He has green eyes and blond hair. The listed information says he’s forty-two years old.
I fire off another message to Igor, instructing him to put a man on Besov and check out his address.
“You did well,” I say, saving the file in a secret folder. “I want to know what’s in that file Pavlov had Mukha send to Besov.”
“Mukha won’t give up the file. He’s afraid of Pavlov and Stefanov. Understandably.”
“Where are you now?” I ask.
“Still in Moscow.”
“Can you trace the hacker?”
“It’ll be tricky, but I can try.”
“Do it. In the meantime, offer him double the money for the file. Promise him however much he wants, but get me that file. I need it decrypted.”
“Are you sure this is the route you want to go? Pavlov and Stefanov are dangerous men.”
A slow smile curves my lips. “So am I.”
16
Kate
Every time I move, I’m aware of the toy inside my body. At first, the sensation is odd, but by late morning, I’m used to it. I almost forget about it until I sit down for lunch. The foreign pressure isn’t uncomfortable. In fact, it’s strangely arousing, serving as a reminder of Alex’s intention.
The idea of anal sex both turns me on and scares me a little, yet I’m curious. I’d never been adventurous with my ex-boyfriends, and the fact that Alex is pushing my boundaries and is so at ease with kink thrills me. In my past relationships, I’ve often been the one to instigate sex. I love that Alex is taking the initiative and suggesting we try something new.
Since I’ve whiled away the morning by sleeping late and reading, I decide to spend the afternoon more productively in the gym. I don’t mind walking or lounging with a butt plug, but I doubt running will be comfortable. After reading the instructions that came with the box, which are thankfully in English, I remove the plug and clean it with soapy water before putting it away. Then I pull on my exercise gear and grab a swimsuit on my way down.
Igor sits in a chair in the foyer, reading something on his phone.
“Hi,” I say, not certain where we stand with each other after yesterday.
For a change, he smiles. “Good afternoon.”
I stop in front of him. “Are you babysitting?”
He shrugs. “Duty calls.”
“Lucky you.”
“Alex said he’ll be home for dinner.”
I raise a brow. “I suppose the fact that I don’t have a phone makes you the messenger too.”
Lowering the phone to his lap, he says, “I’m not complaining.”
“I do feel better knowing I’m so well protected,” I say from over my shoulder as I continue on my way.
His chuckle follows me down the hallway.
Like the previous time, I select a lively playlist on the central sound system before hitting the treadmill. The running releases some of my tension and clears my mind. It’s good to focus on the rhythm of my feet and forget about everything else. When my life returns to normal—when I go back to work—I’ll make exercising a part of my daily routine again. I forgot how purging a strenuous workout can be.
After a half hour of running, I rinse off in the shower and do a few laps in the pool. When my skin starts to wrinkle, I stretch out on a lounge chaise under the skylight. It’s snowing hard outside. It feels odd to lie in my swimsuit in an indoor garden while a snowstorm is raging on the other side of the windows.
Lena comes to ask if I’d like to use the banya, a Russian sauna. If so, she’ll tell Tima to make a fire in the stove and heat the rocks. Not being a big fan of excessive heat, I decline the offer. Instead, I take a shower in Alex’s bathroom. Stepping out of the shower, I wrap a towel around my body and take the sex toy from the drawer. I contemplate the box for a couple of seconds before making up my mind. As soon as I’ve made my decision, a pleasant wave of heat creeps over my skin. What I’m about to do feels forbidden and naughty. I use the lube from Alex’s nightstand drawer to insert the plug like Alex had done this morning. Once it’s fitting comfortably, I dress in a warm sweater and skirt and install myself in the library to watch a couple of episodes of Downton Abbey.
By teatime, I’m starting to feel restless again. I pass the time exploring the house in more detail, admiring the artwork and trinkets as I walk from room to room. The history of the palace fascinates me. I make a mental note to ask Lena about it. Maybe Alex can get me a book if an English translation is available.
I end my tour in the upstairs rooms. Standing in one of the luxurious lounges, I turn in a slow circle to take in the mural that runs around all four walls. The scene depicts a family out on a picnic. The clothes suggest an eighteenth-century period. From the quality of their attire, I’m guessing they’re a wealthy, maybe even royal, family. The lady of the house is reclining on a chair while a woman in a housemaid uniform is serving her a cup of tea. The gentleman sits on the back of a stately black horse, his pose regal. Five kids of different ages are running after a puppy while three servants are chasing after them. A blanket is spread out on the grass, covered with grapes, bread, and wine. A richly embroidered tablecloth spills from an open wicker basket.