“I did. It wasn’t easy, but my hacker finally discovered a loophole in Mukha’s cyber tracks. We planted a bug in the electronic currency I sent him as payment for the information he gave me. The bug piggybacked on the currency all the way to the Cayman Islands and back to Russia. It turns out he pays for his mother’s care at a nursing home in Moscow. I paid her a visit.”
“Spare me the details,” I say with impatience. “Where is the son of a bitch?”
“He’s renting a house on the outskirts of Moscow. I’m on my way there now.”
I sit up straighter, anticipation tightening my gut. “Pay him any price he wants for that file, and if he’s still not willing to sell, get the information any way you have to.” I put emphasis on the next words. “At any cost.”
“Understood. I’ll get back to you tonight.”
The line goes dead.
Finally. It’s about time. If all goes well, by nightfall, I’ll know the reason Stefanov wants me dead.
22
Residence of Vladimir Stefanov, St. Petersburg
Vladimir bounces his leg under his desk. He feels especially on edge tonight. Alex Volkov knows he’s behind the assassination attempt. That’s the message Volkov was sending by letting Vadim’s head soak in a toilet bowl full of shit. That’s why Volkov is having his house surveilled. The only reason Volkov hasn’t struck yet is because he doesn’t know why Vladimir tried to put a bullet in his brain. The only people in the world who do know that are Oleg and Vladimir himself.
Oleg is the weak link. Why else did he run like a dog with his tail between his legs to hide with his family in California? The only thought soothing Vladimir is that this mess will soon be over. Before the clock strikes twelve, one more nagging worry will be something of the past. At last, he’ll be able to seal that closet full of skeletons and let it sink to the bottom of the Neva River with the bodies he plans on dumping there.
As it turns out, Oleg Pavlov arrived a short hour ago at the airport and should be ringing his doorbell just about—
Ding dong.
Now.
Inwardly, Vladimir smiles.
For security reasons, his study is soundproof, but he’s left the door open so that he can follow the sound of the footsteps as they advance.
Oleg’s voice bounces off the arched ceiling of Vladimir’s stately home. “How’s the family?”
“Good, thank you,” Vladimir’s wife, Galina, says. “How about Annika and the children?”
“All good,” Oleg replies in a strained tone.
Galina enters the study, followed by Oleg. “I’ll leave you to your business.”
“Galina,” Vladimir says. “Go buy us some of that Napoleon cake that Oleg likes so much. The one from the bakery in Nevsky Prospekt.”
Her smile is uncertain. “That’s so far away. It’ll take me an hour or more in the traffic. I’ll just go to Lastochka.”
“No.” Vladimir’s double chin quivers as he shakes his head. “That one is no good. Go to the one I told you. Tell the owner I sent you.”
“All right,” she says with a nod, giving Oleg a tight smile as she leaves the room.
Oleg’s shoulders sag in obvious relief. Vladimir knows how Oleg’s mind works. Oleg thinks that if Vladimir is sending his wife to buy him some cake, he has nothing to be worried about. He’s less nervous about why Vladimir ordered him to fly all the way here from California. He feels exactly the way Vladimir wants him to—safe.
“Sit,” Vladimir says jovially, motioning at the chair facing his desk.
Oleg pulls on the knot of his tie as he takes a seat. “What’s so urgent that it couldn’t wait until after my vacation?”
Vacation, his zhopa. After selling Vladimir out to Bes, Oleg was hiding in a hole like the rat he is.
Vladimir studies him with a sly gaze. “We have a problem.”
Oleg sits up like a stick man. “What problem?”
“Volkov is on to us.”
Oleg pulls on his tie again. “He is? How do you know that?”
Vladimir flicks the picture of Vadim’s body across the table. For the purpose of setting today’s plan in motion, Vladimir kept the news of Vadim’s murder to himself. Better to catch Oleg off guard.
Oleg blanches as he studies the photo. It’s not a pretty sight. “How do you know it was Volkov?” he asks, turning the photo upside down.
Vladimir points at the photo. “Because that’s the man I sent to grab Katherine Morrell.”
“I knew it.” Oleg shifts to the edge of his seat, his voice growing in volume. “It was a mistake to interfere.”
Vladimir adopts the appropriate hard look. “Are you criticizing me?”
“No, but…”
“But what?” Vladimir asks harshly.
Oleg clears his throat. “When did this happen?”
“Not that long ago,” Vladimir says. “I asked you to come the minute I found out. But that’s not all. Volkov is having your house watched as we speak. He probably had a man on your tail in California too.”
“What?” Oleg’s voice turns shrill. “How did he find out?”
“Who knows?” Vladimir shrugs. “What matters is why he came back to St. Petersburg.”
Oleg’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Why’s that?”
“To start a war. We have to prepare. We need to get our men ready.”
“Mudak.” Oleg drags a hand over his balding, liver-spotted head. “When do you think he’ll attack?”
Vladimir doesn’t miss the slight shaking of Oleg’s hand. “Today. My informants tell me his men are arming up. You have to call your most trusted men here for a meeting. There’s no time to waste.”
“What about Bes? I need to tell him about Volkov’s plans.”
“Bes is wasting time going after the woman. He didn’t get the job right the first time. And not the second time either, for that matter. It’s up to us now.”
Vladimir can almost see the gears turning in Oleg’s head. He thinks Vladimir doesn’t know that he’s a traitor. He thinks Bes wants to fuck them both over, but he can’t tell Vladimir that without admitting his betrayal. He thinks like Vladimir expects him to, and when he opens his mouth, he utters the words Vladimir predicted.
“We have to deal with Bes. He insults us. It’s not good for our reputation.”
Inwardly, Vladimir grins. “In good time. Our priority is Volkov. If we don’t act fast, we’ll both be dead tonight.”
Sweat beads on Oleg’s forehead. He takes a handkerchief from his pocket and dabs at his brow. “How much do you think Volkov knows?”
Vladimir puts on a grave expression. “It’s hard to say.”
“How did he find out?” Oleg asks again, blinking a couple of times. “Only you and I know the truth. That means the traitor is Bes.” He mans up, saying with bravado, “That’s double the reason to kill that no-good assassin now.” As he says this, Oleg almost looks relieved. In his mind, killing the assassin will take care of all his problems. Little does he know.