when he drinks. Anyway, looks like something big is coming down. He needs someone trustworthy, with perfect English, to take care of housing and security details.”
Nick’s mind raced. “Something big? Housing? For who?”
“How the fuck would I know, Nikolai? That’s for you to find out. So, in the interests of getting you definitively killed and removing this damn stone from my shoe once and for all, I asked Ludmilla to recommend you, my friend.”
“Me?” He frowned at her. “How…”
“Your alter ego, actually. Arkady Solokov,” she said.
“How do you know about Arkady?” he demanded, outraged. His arms-trafficking undercover persona was a deeply buried secret.
Tam rolled her eyes. “So? Shall I give her Arkady’s number?”
“Fuck, yeah.” Nick was dazed. “Tam, how is it that you have all these contacts with the sex workers who service the Russian mob?”
“None of your business. Don’t push your luck. I should probably go into hiding as soon as your taillights disappear, now that I’ve mixed myself up in your suicidal bullshit. What a fucking bore.”
“Aren’t you in hiding already?” he asked.
“It’s a matter of degree,” she grumbled. “I’ll have to stay on the move, leave my comfortable house, my studio, my business. I may even find it necessary to make myself unattractive.” She shuddered with distaste. “Be warned, Nikolai. Milla is doing this as a favor to me. If you fuck up, and she gets hurt, I will cut your throat.”
“I understand,” he said. “I just want to know if—”
“There is nothing else I can tell you,” she said crisply. “This conversation is over. Do not ask me for anything else. And keep in mind, brokering arms deals undercover is one thing. Getting up close and personal with Zhoglo, as Arkady, is going to be very different. If you don’t have the guts to do whatever Zhoglo might ask of you, you’re dead. And if you do have the guts, you’re damned. Think about it before I give Arkady’s cell number to Milla.”
“I’m thinking. I thought,” he said promptly. “I’ve decided. I owe you, Tam. If you ever need anything from me—”
“You still don’t get it, do you? I haven’t done you any favors. I’ve just cut your life short by about fifty years.” She glanced at the glass in his hand. “Depending on how hard you’d drink, of course.”
He shrugged. “Maybe. I wouldn’t know what the hell to do with those fifty years anyhow.”
She sighed out a long breath, pressing her slender hand against her midriff. The look in her eyes mirrored his own.
Cold, wind-whipped wastes. Secrets in the shadows. Rocks and hard places.
“You want to do me a favor?” Her voice was low. “Do the world a favor. Kill Zhoglo. Don’t just spy on him. Don’t just hand him over to the law. Put a bullet through his brain stem at close range.”
He thought about Sveti. “Tam, I—”
“Kill him if you can. If you can’t, then God help you.”
She turned, and disappeared into the gloomy shadows.
Nadvirna, The Ukraine
Vadim Zhoglo slowly sipped the fine brandy from the crystal snifter in his hand and gazed out at the snowy peaks of the Carpathian mountains. “Transport details for the first shipment are in place, Pavel?” he asked.
“Yes,” the man replied stolidly. “Everything’s arranged.”
Zhoglo turned to look at him. “And you can vouch for each one of your people this time? No more surprises, like six months ago?”
Pavel’s hand darted to the collar of his suit, tugging to make space for his large and lumpy Adam’s apple to bob and twitch.
That was his answer. Again. Zhoglo closed his eyes. “What has happened this time, Pavel?” he asked with deceptive gentleness.
“Nothing serious,” Pavel hastened to assure him. “But one of the men in place in Puget Sound had to be, ah, replaced.”
“Killed?” Vadim frowned. “How is this possible?”
“Suicide,” Pavel forced out, his voice gravelly and reluctant. “He hanged himself. Pyotr Cherchenko.”
“Your nephew, no? The one you had me arrange those expensive immigration documents for? I see. Yet another wasted investment,” Vadim said. “My condolences, Pavel. And his replacement?”
Sweat shone on Pavel’s pale forehead. “A man named Arkady Solokov. From Donetsk. He’s taking care of security on the island.”
“And you can vouch for this Solokov? Without hesitation?”
Pavel’s eyes slid away. “We’ve had dealings with him before. He was with Avia. He brokered those deals for the M93 grenade launchers and rockets to Liberia four years ago. He seems very competent. And his English skills are—”
“Seems competent,” Vadim repeated, with ironic emphasis. “I invest millions in this project, and you tell me this person ‘seems’ competent.”
“I had to get someone in place quickly, Vor, and I am sure that—”
“I am sure of nothing. Except that you’re an idiot who compels me to take risks. Very well. We will proceed as planned. You may go.”
But Pavel lingered, shuffling his overlarge feet.
“What is it?” Vadim barked. “You’re boring me, Pavel.”
“My—my sons?” Pavel faltered. “You promised that we could have Sasha and Misha back if I—”
“The agreement was that you could have your sons back if you corrected the error you made in that unfortunate business last year. But you have not, Pavel. You have compounded your mistake.”
“Vor, please. My boys are just two and eleven, and—”
“I am not heartless. You may have one son back. The other goes out with the first shipment. To defray the cost of your errors.”
Pavel’s face drained to the color of ash. “One? But I—but Marya—” The clock ticked loudly. “Which one?” he whispered.
Vadim shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. There is equal demand for vital organs from two-year-olds and eleven-year-olds.” He smiled indulgently. “Take an evening to think about it, Pavel, by all means. Discuss it with your wife. Let me know your decision in the morning.”
Pavel stood like a statue, eyes staring. Zhoglo pushed a button on his belt to summon two large thugs. They hustled the man away.
Chapter
2
Skinny-dipping.
