Chapter 17

Viktor

Tolya had an Irish coffee waiting for me by the time I took a seat at my table in the club. I nodded thanks to him as he settled in across from me. “Any news?”

“Sofia’s back in town.”

I frowned. Sofia was Igor’s right hand, handling his money and intelligence ventures. She was as good with a computer as anyone on my payroll, and far more loyal to Igor than he deserved. “He’s called her back from Moscow. That’s not a good sign.”

“I know.” Tolya rubbed a meaty hand over his face. “More indication that he is planning something.” Stocking up on guns and money, trying to expand his area of influence, and now bringing Sofia back into town when he had plenty of interests in Russia for her to manage.

I hesitated. The need to find my brother’s killer was like a bodily craving—intense, impossible to ignore, and constantly nagging at me. But Tolya’s unspoken hint was right, I could not afford to let my other duties slide in its favor. Especially not with Igor and his men posing a growing, if nebulous, threat.

“Send him a meet invitation,” I instructed. “It is time that we had a chance to ask him firsthand what his aims are.”

“Do you think he’ll actually admit anything?”

I shook my head and took a swallow of my drink. “No. But his reaction to my questions will tell me a great deal.” I almost wished I could have brought Emma along for this meeting. She could probably read a great deal more than I could from things like his body language.

“By the way,” I went on, “Have you spoken with Alexei today?”

He shook his head. “Last I saw he was buried in all that data you gave him yesterday. Probably won’t be done for a while. That thumb drive alone has twenty years of financials on it.”

“I understand. I’ll check in with him later this afternoon.” I looked distractedly across the floor at two slightly Asian-looking men I hadn’t seen before. They had just walked into the club, and were looking around, as if looking for someone specific. “Who are those newcomers?”

“Not familiar.” He turned to look at them as they scanned the room. “Should I go talk to them?”

“Yes.” I considered. “That style of raincoat is Russian and I don’t like the way they’re scoping out the premises. I wonder if they came in on the same plane as Sofia.”

He gave a little grunt of acknowledgment and got up, lumbering over to our guests. I watched, unconcerned. The strangers had gone through a metal detector, just like everyone else. If they were planning to start something, their choice of weapons were very limited.

He spoke to one of them, the other man stepped closer, his body language tense. I frowned.

A second later, they lunged.

I was out of my seat in a flash, drawing my pistol from under my arm as I saw one grab at Tolya’s arms while the other lunged for his midsection with something dark and sharp-looking in his hands. I let out a yell as he stabbed Tolya in the belly of his white shirt.

I yelled as my men raced toward the pair as Tolya staggered backward. The one who’d stabbed him saw me and turned to run—only for Tolya’s massive fist to crash into the side of his head and send him sprawling. The second man drew another of those dark knives—and the gun bucked in my hand.

A red spray erupted from the man’s temple. He dropped the blade and collapsed to his knees, then fell over sideways, head still bleeding.

“Bastards!” I snarled as I raced over. “Tolya!”

I reached him as he was unbuttoning his now torn shirt. I didn’t see any blood.

Please let him have been wearing his stab-proof vest.

He was, and he was working the tip of the dark blade free of the fibers just as I skidded to a stop in front of him. My men were already holding the struggling would-be assassin by both arms and hauling him off to the holding cells in the basement. His friend they dragged away by the legs, leaving a dark red smear on the club floor.

“Damn it! You all right?”

He nodded, looking a touch pale and sweaty. “The vest held up.” He picked one of the knives off the floor, all black polymer, the blade still bearing bits of white lint from his shirt. “Clever bastards, but not clever enough. Who the hell were those guys?”

“Hitters, clearly. The question is, from who?” They had known where to go, and how to get past security. I doubted that they had been actually sent after Tolya, more likely, the one who had stabbed him had panicked when confronted.

Did they come for me? Who sent them? And why?

Two possibilities ran through my mind as we followed the small crowd down to the basement. I hadn’t been expecting to interrogate anyone tonight, but I had to know what was going on.

My first thoughts were that Igor was behind this half assed assassination attempt. But it was a bit too brazen to be his style, he was a show-off, and arrogant as hell, but he wasn’t stupid. He would have sent hitters who were experienced enough not to panic.

I had other rivals, and some of them were green—full of bravado, but not much else.

And then there was Charles Graves.

But again, Graves had been smart about the hitter he had chosen to murder my brother. A sniper capable of making a nigh impossible shot and then slipping away undetected. So what was this bullshit?

I took the stairs, wanting to burn off some adrenaline. Tolya clunked doggedly along behind me. “Who the fuck could have sent those assholes?” he panted, holding his torn shirt closed with one hand.

“That is what I intend to find out,” I growled. I was clutching the other knife in my hand. I didn’t even remember picking it up or holstering my pistol either. I was so full of adrenaline that my hand shook a little.

“Damned plastic knives,” he muttered, and coughed. “No wonder you wanted us wearing these vests at work.”

“It’s a new world, my friend. Metal detectors and pat downs can only do so much.” My mind was racing. What was the point of such a clumsy attempt?

Testing our defenses? I grunted with irritation as we reached the basement level. “These are not men of the Bratva,” I guessed immediately. “Someone hired outsiders, so he wouldn’t lose sworn men in this little exercise.”

“That’d sure explain why we didn’t recognize them. And it will make it harder to trace their employer.” Tolya followed me through the door, coughing again.

I stopped and turned back to him. “Are you certain you’re all right, Tolya?”

“I probably cracked a rib,” he grumbled. “That vest stopped the knife, but it felt like a bad punch in the gut.”

“If it keeps bothering you, go to Doc and get an x-ray.” I continued on, down a corridor that was all polished concrete. The interrogation room was behind the gray metal door at the end. I didn’t have use for it much, but Tolya made sure it was kept stocked and ready. “I’m honestly surprised they didn’t run up and try to use those knives on me. Did they say anything to you?”

“He asked where my boss was and the other told me to go fuck myself.” He paused as he trailed me down the hall. “Kazakhs, I think, from the accents.”

“Kazakh mercenaries.” There were plenty back home and in Europe, but not here usually. We had dealt with them before, mostly for minor errands back in Russia. They had certain advantages, they were numerous, cheap, generally military-trained, spoke Russian well, and were often quite competent—which confused me more.“What did they do with the other one?”

Anatoly checked on his radio. “Doc’s looking him over. That bullet just took off his ear, but the impact to the side of his head probably bounced his brain around. He was still breathing when they dragged him off, but probably not much longer.”

This is a complete shitshow. What was the point of this?“I’ll see what I can get out of the other.” We reached the door and I knocked on it twice, two of my men opened it, and we stepped inside.

The interrogation room was menacingly austere, concrete walls and ceiling, a tile floor with a drain in the center, and bare lightbulbs glaring down at the steel furniture bolted to the floor. An array of medical implements and weapons was set up on a table to my right. At the center of the room was the surviving merc, strapped down and panting nervously.

“Search him,” I ordered. My men obliged, starting to cut away his clothes and look for clues, other weapons, identifying tattoos, his wallet, to see if we could figure out who he was and who sent him. Tolya sat down in a chair beside the tool table, grumbling under his breath about his shirt.

I walked over to our captive’s head and stared down at him.

The man glared up at me, sweating. I leaned down and stared into his muddy gray eyes. “Understand that what happens now is entirely up to you. If you cooperate, you have a chance to get out of here alive. If you give me any shit whatsoever, I start taking off pieces of you.”

He went pale. “Fuck you,” he mumbled.

I smirked. “Your bravado won’t last long, my friend. Your partner is already dead, and believe me, between the two of you, he is the lucky one.”

He grinned, wide and humorless. “You do what you want. I was headed for Black Dolphin anyway.”

I stared at him. Black Dolphin was the worst prison still operating in Russia—Putin’s private hellhole for those who offended him most, along with serial killers, child molesters… “So you’re a real piece of shit, is what you’re saying.”

He scoffed and tried to spit at me, I smacked him on the bruised side of the head and the gob flew in the wrong direction. He coughed and stared up at me, some of his nervousness showing.

“Got something, boss,” one of my guys said. I looked up and saw he had cut the man’s shirt open and was staring at something on his chest.

I went over to look. There was a small device strapped to his chest, a black square of plastic and metal with a single, small red LED pulsing rhythmically. “What the hell is this?”

Tolya levered himself out of his chair and came over to look. He frowned. “Looks like a heart monitor.”

I turned my head and spoke to one of my men. “Get Doc in here now, he can finish playing coroner after this.”

The man nodded and stepped out. I turned back to the device, which featured two wires snaking down into the captive’s pants. “Who the hell sent you here to cause trouble in my club?” I demanded.

He grinned with blood edging his teeth, my punch had made him bite his tongue. “Pashol nahui,” he spat. I slapped him across the face before the insult was done. He winced, blood at the corner of his mouth now. “You’ll talk soon enough,” I informed him.

Tolya frowned, eyes tracing the wires. He checked the man’s pants pockets, but there was nothing. He checked the cuffs of his pants and saw the wires snaked into his shoes. “This is odd.”

He started taking one of the shoes off. “Wait!” I snapped, and he froze.

I walked over and checked. The wire went straight into the shoe—which, I saw, had unusually thick soles.

My eyes narrowed, and then widened in understanding as horror flooded through me. “Doc—”

An explosion shook the room, sending scalpels and instruments clattering to the floor and making us stagger. The door rattled in its frame, one of the lightbulbs shattered and sent sparks raining down. The lights flickered, I heard another heavy boom and clatter outside, and my ears started ringing.

As the dust settled, Tolya and I looked at each other and rushed for the door.

The hallway was a disaster. The exam room Doc had been using was blown open, there were cracks in the concrete walls and the door bowed outward and had been blown off its hinges. The odor of blood and motor oil filled the air.

Doc lay on the hallway floor on his back, with the man I’d sent for him underneath, knocked out, arms still loosely around him. It looked like he’d gotten injured dragging him out of the room.

For a moment, I thought the turtlish older man was dead. But then he blinked his eyes open, and gingerly adjusted his cracked glasses on his nose. He looked up at me and I saw that his ears were bleeding.

A quick glance into the shattered room told an ugly story, every surface was painted with blood and body parts. The man had been reduced to scraps of meat and cloth. His wristwatch had been driven into the wall a few inches.

“A bomb in his shoe, tied to his heartbeat I think, or perhaps a pressure sensor.” I turned back to Doc, Tolya was checking him over while the poor man sat up gingerly. The man who had saved him was just starting to stir.

“What happened?” I demanded of Doc, who just stared at me in a daze.

“His eardrums are busted.” Tolya leaned down to check the other guy, who groaned and fluttered his eyes open. “You still with us, brother?”

“Ugh,” the poor man grunted. He brushed his hand over the back of his head, and it came back bloody. “Here. Is this my blood?”

“No way of telling right now. But you got a whack on the head. You’ll need to be checked over. Good job saving Doc. What’s your name?”

“Mischa.”

I nodded, offering my hand as Tolya helped Doc up. Mischa took it gingerly, and I pulled him to his feet. “Good job,” I told him. “I’ll call in Doc’s assistant to have a look at you. Meanwhile, go upstairs, get cleaned up.” I summoned the second man out, he was pale, and went paler when he saw the contents of the exam room. “Help Mischa get upstairs and watch him. If he looks like he’s going to faint I want you on the radio at once. Keep him awake at all costs.”

Once they had headed for the stairs, I turned to Tolya and Doc. Doc was bleeding in a few places, but it didn’t look serious. “Call Bela in, let him know his superior is in a bad way. And then help Doc clean up and keep an eye on him. I’ll deal with the asshole who is still alive.”

I stalked back into the interrogation room, the Kazakh grinned up at me and started snickering. “Bet you weren’t expecting that, were you, mudak? Kill me or make my heart beat too fast and boom! I’ll take you out with me.”

“Is that so?” A literal dead man’s switch. Send two doomed idiots in on a suicide mission wired up like this, with a kilo of C-4 in their shoes. Make them start shit out in public in my club—and the moment they die, they go off. How the fuck was I supposed to interrogate this bastard when he was strapped up like this?

He was tittering to himself as he stared at me mockingly. “So do your fucking worst,” he spat. “Tamper with it or do anything to me, and boom!”

“Is that so?” We would have to see what my explosives expert said. Meanwhile, I had another tool that would do well enough to start loosening the bastard’s tongue. “Well, thanks for telling me.”

I turned to walk back out of the room. He shifted in his bonds. “What are you doing?” he demanded.

“Leaving you here. I’ll have some men come by and seal the door. It’ll be a few days before you die of dehydration, and by then any explosion will be completely contained. It’s clear there’s not enough explosive to do serious structural damage to my club.”

“Wait—” he called in a panic as I walked out. “Wait!”

I glanced back at him. “Got some last words for me?”

His lips trembled. I could tell he was debating. I waited.

“F-fuck you!” he snapped defiantly.

I shrugged and stepped out, closing and locking the door behind me. I had considered taking him out to the desert, but unless we knew exactly what we were dealing with I couldn’t risk the lives of any of my men if something were to happen during transport. Better leave the bastard here. As the latch clunked, I heard him scream.

“No! Wait! You can’t just leave me like this!”

“The hell I can’t,” I growled as I walked away. I would let him stew for a while until our bomb guy could figure out how to disarm him safely. While allowing the man to suffer the same fate as his compatriot would be easier, I wanted him alive—I still hadn’t finished with my questioning.

I stepped around blood spatters as I made my way to the stairs, my mind racing with anger. If we had killed these two men on the dance floor, those bombs would have gone off in an open space with patrons around. Tolya would be dead. Several others would be dead or injured—possibly even me.

Not a test. A genuine assassination attempt wrapped in an insult. If that explosion hadn’t been contained in concrete and metal…

Fuck.

As I took the stairs up—wary of the elevator until we could get it inspected—I found myself thinking of Emma. Kind, brilliant Emma, so unaccustomed to a man’s touch that she trembled when her hand was held. The longing to be back at Graves’s penthouse, curled up on the couch with her, smelling her perfume, was almost overwhelming.

Soon,I promised myself. Meanwhile, I had work to do. Someone had just declared war on us, and if it was who I suspected, I had a lot of preparations to do. Igor had once been a close friend and ally. He knew far too much about my organization and habits. And besides Graves, he was the only one I knew with a grudge against me.

I pondered my options, perhaps I would lie low for a while. Leave it in question as to whether I was hurt or killed. And meanwhile, I would gather all the intelligence I could.

Igor or not, someone was going to pay for this insult.