This annoyed him, as I knew it would, and he leaned toward me and said, 'I have no fear of this man. I taught him all he knows, and it would be a good thing if I was able to teach him one last lesson.'
'There you go.' I reminded him, 'You taught that young punk everything he knows, and you can still kick his ass.'
Boris had no response.
I said, 'Well, I'll pass on your statement that you don't want protection.' I informed him, officially, 'It is your right to decline police protection, and you certainly don't have to volunteer to act as bait. But you can't stop a surveillance of your premises, or your movements.' I added, 'However, it might be easier and better for everyone if you cooperated and coordinated with us.'
He informed me, 'I have… former colleagues who I trust to assist and protect me.'
'You mean like old KGB guys who know how to take down a punk like Khalil and know what to do with him in a back room here when they get him?'
Boris lit another cigarette and replied, 'No comment.'
I advised him, 'If you should somehow capture him alive, call me first.'
'If you wish.'
Well, Boris was getting less talkative and it was time for me to leave. The next thing I had to do was report this meeting to Walsh and Paresi. I could get away with what I'd done so far-cops and agents often take a shot at something without telling the boss everything they're doing. But if you don't make a quick and full report of something like this, you are in big trouble.
On the other hand… I wasn't even supposed to be here. I mean, I think Walsh was pretty clear about my limited duties and limited movements, and about carrying my GPS tracker. Another reason for not reporting this was that Boris and I seemed to be on the same page with this. Khalil did not need to be apprehended-he needed to be killed.
I stood and said, 'We may speak more tomorrow.'
But Boris seemed not to hear me, and he was deep in thought.
Boris, as I said, is not stupid, and in the old days he played games that were more dangerous and more deceitful and convoluted than this one. And I could tell that his KGB brain was awake and working. No doubt he was getting interested and excited about being back in the old business. He looked at me and asked, 'Does anyone know you are here?'
Well, Veronika does. Viktor. You. That was not the question I wanted to hear. And I had a good, strong reply. I said, 'What do you mean?'
'I think you know what I mean.' He asked me, 'Why are you alone?'
'I work alone. Like James Bond.'
He shook his head and said, 'You should have an FBI agent with you.' He added, 'I don't mean to be disrespectful, Mr. Corey, but you are a New York City detective-as I was told three years ago. Where is your FBI counterpart?'
'She's at the bar.'
'No. I believe you are pursuing this matter on your own and I understand why.'
'Believe what you want. Tomorrow I'll be back with my team.'
He thought about that, then looked at me and said, 'Give me a week. Give yourself a week. One of us, I think, will resolve this problem in a way that is best for us.'
I replied, of course, 'This is not just about us. It is about the law, and justice, and national security.'
Again, he shook his head and said, 'No. It is about us.'
I didn't want to continue on this subject, so I changed it. 'You have my card.' I also said, 'I need your phone numbers.'
He took his card and a pen from his inside pocket, wrote on the card, and handed it to me, saying, 'Please keep me informed.'
I took Khalil's photograph from my pocket, handed it to him, and said, 'To refresh your memory.'
He took the photograph but did not look at it, and replied, 'My memory needs no refreshing.'
'Well,' I suggested, 'copy it and give it to your people.'
'Yes, thank you.' He informed me, 'He is very good at changing his appearance.'
'Right. And that's three years old, though I have information that he looks the same. And the eyes never change.'
Boris glanced at the photograph and said, 'Yes… those eyes.'
I moved toward the door and said to him, 'I can let myself out.'
'I am afraid not.' He stood, went to his phone, hit the intercom and said something in Russian, then said to me, 'Let me ask you a question which may be important to you and to me.'
I like questions that are important to me, so I replied, 'Shoot.'
He asked me, 'Do you have any idea if Khalil is acting alone, or if he is working for Libyan Intelligence, or perhaps some other group?'
'Why do you ask?'
'Well, obviously it makes some difference in his… capabilities. His ability to discover what he needs to know about us.' He added, 'And perhaps in his mission, as well.'
'Right. Well, I can't answer that question directly, but I will say he seems to have help.'
Boris nodded and informed me, 'Then you can be sure he will do something here that is different from what he has been doing.'
'I'm losin' ya, Boris.'
Boris looked at me and said, 'He is going to detonate a bomb. Or perhaps it will be a biological attack. Anthrax. Or a chemical device. Perhaps nerve gas.'
'You think?'
'Yes. He must repay those who assisted him in his mission of personal revenge. Have you not thought of this?'
I admitted, 'It has crossed my mind.'
'But I believe it will not happen before he finishes his business with you and with me.'
'Right.' I don't make a habit of discussing things like this with people like Boris, but he did have some history with Khalil, and this was once his business, so I said to him, 'Think about that and let me know what you come up with.'
'I will.'
Tchaikovsky filled the room, and Boris walked to the door, looked through the peephole, then unbolted the door and opened it.
Viktor stood aside for me, and as I walked to the door I said to Boris, 'If you look through a peephole, you can get a serious eye and brain injury if there's a gun muzzle looking back at you. Or an ice pick.'
He seemed annoyed at my critique of his security procedures and said, 'Thank you, Detective.'
I asked, 'Where's your security monitor?'
'There is one in my office, and there is a television in that armoire that has a security camera channel.'
'You should use it.'
'Thank you, again.'
'And thank you for your time and your hospitality.' I started through the door, then I did one of my neat turnarounds and said, 'Oh, FYI-the pilot who Khalil killed. Chip. Khalil cut off his head.'
Boris kept his cool and said, 'I never taught him that.'
I suggested, 'Maybe he has a new teacher.'
I walked out of Boris's apartment, and as the door closed I heard the bolt slide home.
Poor Boris-holed up in his place of business without his wife, and with nothing to do except eat, drink, look out his two-way mirror, maybe watch some Russian TV, listen to music, and possibly enjoy the company of a lady or two. But even that gets old after a few days. Well… maybe a few weeks.
Viktor indicated the elevator, but I said to him, 'Let's take the stairs.'
'Please?'
'Come on, Viktor. You teach English at Brooklyn College.' I walked to the steel staircase door and Viktor opened it with a key.
