through him as he waited to see what would happen.
Mikhalkov took out his identification and held it up to the security cameras. He identified himself in a strong, clear voice. 'I want to see Pasternak now or I will arrest everyone in this office.'
For a few seconds nothing happened. Then the door to one side of the receptionist's desk opened. Sergei lifted his pistol, turned in profile and took aim at the man standing there.
'Mikhalkov?' Tall and heavy-set with a bald head and a short, sculptured beard, the man looked like a thug. The obviously expensive tailored suit he wore only added to the effect.
'Pasternak.' Mikhalkov kept his pistol in his fist.
The big man smiled and gold gleamed in his teeth. He'd had a lot of work done. 'It has been a long time.'
'You have learned to be more evasive,' Mikhalkov responded. 'And there are many other criminals in Moscow these days.'
'I am no criminal here.' Pasternak waved at the office. 'Here I am just a businessman. But come in. We can talk in private.'
Instead of being in private as Pasternak had promised, he led Mikhalkov and Sergei to an office where two quiet and deadly-looking young men joined them. They wore jackets that covered what Sergei believed was an arsenal of guns. They dressed like Americans, but the black tattoos they'd won in prison and in the Mafiya showed at their wrists and necks. Sergei had no doubt that their bodies were covered with tattoos that mapped what they'd done and where they'd been.
Fortunately the office was large enough to accommodate all of them. A large window overlooked the city. The colorful onion domes atop buildings stood out against the clear blue sky.
Pasternak waved Mikhalkov and Sergei to chairs in front of his steel-and-glass desk. Mikhalkov dropped the hand holding his pistol into his lap. He made no move to put the weapon away. Sergei did the same.
The two young men sat on either side of the room, positions that gave them deadly cross fire potential. Their pale eyes looked cold and hard.
Pasternak sat and folded his hands over his ample stomach. 'Why do you find your way to my door?'
'Emile IvanoVs body led me here,' Mikhalkov said. 'You tried to hide him. I want to know why.'
For a moment Pasternak said nothing. Then he asked, 'Who sent you?' His voice was low.
Sergei thought the question was odd.
'No one sent me,' Mikhalkov replied. 'I am the police. I am in possession of a murdered man's body. There are people who have questions. You are known to be IvanoVs partner in his latest venture. If you didn't kill him…' Mikhalkov paused '…then I think you know who did.'
Pasternak didn't look happy. 'Does it really matter who killed poor Ivanov? No one cares about him. Even his widow will not miss him.'
'His death matters to me.'
'Why?'
'I choose for it to matter.'
'So you can get to me? You killed Kirinov a few days ago.'
'I also know that Kirinov was involved with your business. And with IvanoVs.'
Pasternak cursed. 'Even a smart man can know too much at times.'
'Indulge me.'
'I would like to. If only to see you place your neck in the same noose mine is in. But it would only complicate things much more.'
Sergei took note of that. If Pasternak hadn't extricated himself from whatever trouble he'd gotten into, then that trouble still existed. An unknown threat still existed. The realization didn't make Sergei feel any better.
'Kirinov's death has already increased the pressure on me,' Pasternak went on. 'Only a few people knew he had returned to Moscow. Unfortunately I was one of them.' He raised an eyebrow at Mikhalkov. 'How did you know he was back?'
Mikhalkov shrugged. 'I am in the business of knowing things.'
'This wasn't easy to know.' Suddenly Pasternak leaned forward and leered. 'It was Irina, was it not? That fool got himself killed over a woman.'
'I suppose double-crossing your partners is much better.'
Pasternak laughed, but the effort had a ragged edge to it. 'That is an easy thing to do when your partners do not talk to each other.' He lifted a shoulder and let it drop. 'I am an opportunist. Always have been. In the end, it is often your nature that gets you killed.'
'There are other people involved in this. If Kirinov came to Moscow, then I know I am after bigger fish than you.'
'You insult me.'
Mikhalkov smiled a little. 'Nonsense. I sit here before you with a pistol in my hand. A clear acknowledgment of how dangerous a man you are.'
The laughter exploded from Pasternak this time. He wiped tears from his eyes when he regained control of himself. 'And I sit here with two young bodyguards because I know the same of you.'
'I knew we could deal with each other.'
'It depends on what you have to offer.'
Mikhalkov reflected briefly. 'If you had nothing to do with Emile IvanoVs death…'
'I did not. Nor did I have a hand in LovyreVs assassination.'
Sergei felt an immediate adrenaline surge. He remembered watching Lovyrev die on television when the Black Widows visited the club where the Chechen-sympathizing politician had taken his mistress.
'Ah,' Pasternak said to Sergei, 'you did not know that Lovyrev was connected to this.'
Sergei's face flushed when he realized his surprise had shown in his features. Mikhalkov's face remained impassive.
'I knew,' Mikhalkov said. 'I do not tell everything I know to my trainee. Just as you do not tell everything to the two young men who sit with you in this room.'
'Of course you are right.' Pasternak leaned back in his chair.
Face still burning, Sergei held his gaze fixed. In his pocket, his cell phone vibrated silently. He slid it from his pocket and glanced at the face.
A message flashed across the viewscreen.
ASSASSIN ON ROOFTOP! GET DOWN!
Immediately panicked, Sergei looked up at the window behind Pasternak. 'Sniper! Sniper! Get…'
The window shattered just as the big man reacted. He was too late. His head jerked to one side and his blood sprayed into Sergei's eyes, blinding him. The sound of the rifle shot from across the street echoed within the room.
40
'Pasternak is down,' Jacob Marrs stated calmly. He stood at Kate Cochran's side as they watched events unfolding in Moscow.
Kate hated the helpless feeling that shimmied through her as she stared at the two satellite views on the large wall monitor. Half the screen showed regular imaging of the rooftops, but the other half was rendered in thermographic imaging. The yellows, oranges and reds of body heat and the superheated weapon showed on the screen against the cool blue of the office.
Inside Pasternak's Red Onion office, chaos reigned as heavy-caliber bullets cored through the brick walls. Across the street, a two-man sniper team worked diligently to kill everyone in the room. The shooter knelt at a window while the spotter called out the shots.
'Where did those men come from?' Kate demanded.
'Inside that building.' The female tech support operator's voice was quiet and controlled. 'We're backtracking them now through surveillance-video records.'
