embrace capitalism and wished to stay in Moscow. So he created this company.'
'He appears to have done well for himself,' Sergei said as he studied the screen that scrolled footage of the previous day.
Golovko sat in front of Sergei and studied the screen, too.
'We have grown,' the guard said. 'We manage security on several sites. Many of them are government buildings.'
'If we find what we are looking for,' Sergei promised, 'I will put in a good word for you.'
'If it is here to be found,' the man replied, 'we will find it.'
Sergei watched the footage as people came into the hospital. The cameras that uploaded video primarily covered the entrances and not much of the interior.
'There she is.' Golovko pointed to a blond woman with heavy makeup. She dropped her cigarette at the hospital's entrance and crushed it underfoot. Sergei guessed she was in her late twenties or early thirties. She didn't look at all heartbroken. At the front desk, she talked quickly on a cell phone.
'I need a full-face photograph of the woman,' Sergei told the security officer. 'And a copy of this footage.'
'Of course.' The man started working on his computer.
* * *
'You know this woman?' Sergei asked Mikhalkov as the older man examined the photograph from the hospital security office. They sat in the car outside the coffee shop where Sergei had picked up Mikhalkov.
The man nodded. 'She is a prostitute. An expensive one. But she is not Emile IvanoVs wife. IvanoVs wife is not this attractive.'
Sergei remained aware of the foot traffic beside the car. Tourists, mostly.
'Do you think IvanoVs wife knows what happened to him?' Sergei asked.
Mikhalkov shrugged. 'I do not know. She knew this would happen to him one day. He was always taking chances. The higher the risk, the higher the pay, he claimed.' He glanced at the picture one more time and handed it back to Sergei. 'Apparently the risk this time was very high.'
Sergei put the photograph back into the file folder he'd carried from the medical examiner's office. 'According to the records I've seen on Ivanov, he worked with many people.'
'Yes. He acted fearless, but he was not. He was just foolish. He often acted as a face, a go-between for people to make dangerous liaisons. It is a wonder he lived as long as he did.'
'But he was not part of Kirinov's organization?' Sergei asked.
'No. A man like Emile Ivanov was an insect compared to Kirinov.'
'Has Irina told you why Kirinov was interested in Ivanov?'
'Only that Kirinov was supposed to ensure Ivanov made good on a deal that he had helped put together,' Mikhalkov said.
'Kirinov had an interest in this deal?'
'No.'
Sergei thought about that and quietly gripped the steering wheel. 'Then why would Kirinov be interested in such a deal?'
'That is one of the questions we must find an answer to, Sergei.' Mikhalkov shifted uneasily in the passenger seat. His fingers drummed briefly on the car door while he surveyed the crowd around them. 'Kirinov was not a man that could be pulled into an action by just anyone. And the rewards — whatever they were — had to be high to pull him back to Moscow.'
'Do you have any thoughts about what those rewards might have been?'
Mikhalkov hesitated for a time, then appeared to come to an abrupt decision. 'Money would not have pulled Kirinov back to Moscow. Greedy as he was, Kirinov had more than enough money. He would not risk his life for more. Whatever he was after, it was personal.'
'Revenge, perhaps?'
'He could have hired his revenge. He could have purchased the death of someone here in Moscow. For a bonus, he could have had his enemies delivered to wherever he was staying and killed them himself. No, this was something more important.'
Sergei slid the file into his briefcase and locked it. 'Then we find the woman.'
Mikhalkov nodded. 'We start there. She is but a stop along the trail. However, we must expect resistance along the way. Whoever worked through Kirinov and Ivanov, this person has a lot of power.'
Sergei felt a tingle of fear in his stomach. It wasn't often that Mikhalkov was cautious, and he'd learned to take note when the old man was.
34
Ajza sat with her back against a tree only a few feet from a well-traveled footpath. Moonlight reflected from a small pond a hundred yards away. Nocturnal creatures, furred and feathered, made their way to the water to drink and to hunt.
Having her hands cuffed behind her was uncomfortable. She hadn't once asked to be uncuffed because she knew it would do no good. Achmed and his men saw her only as merchandise. Not only that, after being told that Russian soldiers had taken her, they saw her as soiled merchandise.
She'd only been allowed the use of her hands for feeding herself and for personal needs. The rest of the time she'd endured the handcuffs. The metal had scratched her wrists and threatened infection. Her face bore scratches and bruises from the times she'd fallen over the rough terrain.
The men sat and talked among themselves. Achmed eyed Ajza in cold fury. She knew that he ached to break her in spite of the warning Ivan had given him. Although it had been hard and not in her nature, she had managed to avoid looking him in the eye.
Five other women had joined their expedition through the mountains, bringing their total to thirteen. The number was ominous even among the slavers, and there had been some concerns about that.
Ajza sat in the darkness and tried to sink into the rough tree bark. Whenever the fear inside her rose, she thought of the other times she'd been undercover and alone. She'd narrowly avoided death on several occasions while working for MI-6. But there had always been a contingency plan.
Like the plan in Istanbul? she taunted herself. That had worked out really brilliantly, hadn't it? Memory of that only brought on a fresh wave of fear. Concentrate, she commanded herself. Stay focused. In order to get out of this, you have to believe you
At last fatigue settled on her like a warm blanket. Before she knew it, she slept.
* * *
Pain screamed through Ajza as someone roughly dragged her to her feet. Her mind came awake instantly, but her body lagged. She stumbled twice before she could get her feet planted.
Achmed's fist knotted in her hair. His hard scowl hovered only inches from her face. His fetid breath collided with her eyes and made her blink, and his stench clouded her nose.
'What makes you think you are so precious, woman?' the slaver snarled. 'What makes you think you will not be treated as the filth that you are?'
The other men circled Achmed and Ajza, eager anticipation in their eyes. The women gazed on in fear and numbed acceptance because they knew they had no control over their lives at this point. Men assigned them worth, and at the moment they were worth nothing. Most were glad that it was someone other than themselves in Achmed's hands.
'Did you hear me?' Achmed shook the hand holding Ajza's hair.
Pain ripped through Ajza's scalp again. This time she cried out before she could stop herself.
'Does this hurt?' Achmed asked. He jerked again. 'Didn't the Russians treat you more harshly while you were their
Ajza stumbled after the man as he yanked her around.
'I looked at you and I examined you,' Achmed declared. 'Yet I saw no marks left by the Russians. Did you not
