employed him anonymous. This would be of particular benefit if those employers were, say, members of the CIA.’ He paused for effect. ‘The Americans would then be able to recover the Oniks and add the technology to their own inferior missiles. At the same time they would be able to deny any part in Ozols’s death once we became aware of his identity and what he was up to. My sources in Paris inform me there has been much activity at the US embassy this last week. Without the flash drive they won’t know where to look for the missiles, but if they find the assassin first…’
‘I need to pass on this information to the GRU straight away.’ Prudnikov sat back in his chair. ‘I will make sure your name is mentioned when I do. You may leave now.’
Prudnikov reached for his phone. Aniskovach remained standing.
‘Did you not hear me, Gennady?’
Aniskovach, ever the showman, stayed silent for a few moments. ‘There is another possible course of action.’
‘Such as?’
‘We recover the missiles ourselves.’
Prudnikov’s brow furrowed and he picked up the phone. ‘I have no need of the credit.’
‘I do.’
The head of the SVR shook his head. ‘I gave you your moment to be a hero and you let the chance slip through your fingers. And got many good men killed in the process. What makes you think I would give you a second opportunity?’
‘Those men were killed on a mission you personally requested.’
‘Be careful of your tongue, Gennady.’ Prudnikov’s eyes were dangerous. ‘Do I need to remind you of the stain to my reputation I’m taking in defending you?’
‘I only remind you because I know you are risking a lot to help me survive the backlash.’ Aniskovach missed out the important fact that Prudnikov had done so only to help himself in the process.
Prudnikov nodded. ‘I’m only doing what is right.’
Aniskovach wanted to smile. Appealing to Prudnikov’s deluded sense of duty and honour was a good tactic. ‘And I thank you for all you have done, sir.’
Prudnikov accepted the thanks without his expression changing. ‘What are you asking?’
‘Let me recover the missiles myself.’
‘For what purpose?’
Translated to, ‘what’s in it for me?’ Aniskovach thought. ‘Exposing Ozols’s plans, recovering the missiles, and stopping the Americans from getting hold of them will help repair my reputation within our fine organization.’
Prudnikov, unconvinced, started punching numbers on the phone. ‘If I were you I should not be so concerned with what’s left of my reputation. I would be glad to have escaped incarceration and still have a career after such a disastrous mess.’
Aniskovach continued as if Prudnikov had never spoken. ‘And by recovering the missiles and keeping them from the hands of our enemies I will have done enough so that I no longer require your protection. You would be able to distance yourself from my failing without fearing I will betray your hand in what happened.’
Prudnikov stopped dialling. Aniskovach watched him reconsidering carefully. After a minute he put the phone down.
‘Fine,’ he said. ‘I will let you do this one thing, but this is where we part ways. Regardless of the outcome, I stop protecting you, and you keep your mouth permanently closed.’
Aniskovach had expected that at best he would receive such an offer. He just wished he could tell Prudnikov how he had managed to twist his own appeal completely around so that it was Prudnikov making the request to him. He stood in silence, pretending to weigh up the offer, and in doing so created a delicious measure of dramatic tension. Aniskovach nodded.
‘We have a deal,’ he said.
It was all timing and delivery.
CHAPTER 49
Paris, France
Monday
21:01 CET
Victor looked away from the photographs. The broker was standing again, and he’d adjusted the computer and positioned himself so he could see her, the screen, and the front door at the same time while they talked. She was still frightened of him and was still trying to hide it. He could tell she didn’t know what he was going to do at any moment. He liked it that way.
‘So whoever hired us wants to get their hands on that ship,’ Victor said.
The broker nodded. ‘Or what’s on it.’
‘Weapons?’
‘Who knows?’ she shrugged. ‘But whatever’s on that ship is worth killing for.’
Victor remained silent.
‘Are you thinking about checking it out? Because if you are, according to the coordinates, the ship is off the east coast of Africa. Tanzania, I think.’
‘No. What’s on the boat isn’t my concern. We stick to the plan. We eliminate our enemies. Self-preservation. Nothing else matters.’
‘Okay,’ the broker said. ‘But we’re getting somewhere. You could at least try looking happy about that.’
‘This is me looking happy.’
‘Then I really don’t want to see you when you’re mad.’
‘No,’ Victor said. ‘You really don’t.’
She smiled. She looked good smiling.
The lamp flickered and then went out, plunging the room into semi-darkness. Light from the city found its way through the drapes.
‘Damn wiring,’ the broker muttered. ‘Nothing works properly in this place.’
‘Shut up.’
It wasn’t just the lamp. The laptop screen had dimmed, switching to battery power. Victor saw nothing at the bottom of the front door. The lights were off in the hallway too. He grabbed the phone from the sideboard. No dialling tone.
In a second her hair was clutched in his left hand, the Benchmade knife in his right, the point of the black steel blade pricking the skin of her neck, carotid artery flexing beneath the pressure.
‘You brought them here.’
The whites of her eyes were large. ‘No, I swear.’
The fear was real. So was the surprise.
Victor believed her. ‘Then they’ve been watching.’
‘That’s impossible. I was careful.’
‘Then you weren’t careful enough.’
Victor released her and hurried over to the door. He pressed his ear against it, hearing nothing. He faced the broker.
‘Where’s your gun?’
She had a palm against her neck. Tears were in her eyes. She hesitated. ‘I told you last time I haven’t got one.’
‘You hid one in case you decided to kill me. Where is it?’
Silence, then, ‘Under the sofa cushions.’
‘Get it.’
She did.
‘Give it to me.’
