Greg Rucka - Patriot acts

"And you're certain it's him?" I asked again.

Dan sat forward, bringing his chair down with a slam, getting angry. "I told you, I checked for myself, I made visual confirmation. This is personal for me."

"And the people, your friend's friend's friend, you trust this guy?"

"I told you, I trust him."

"How do you know him?"

"It doesn't matter! I know him, he won't fuck with me, he understands the personal, okay?"

"It matters to me," I insisted. "It matters if he tips 'Maks' that we're on to him."

Dan shot me a look, then spoke to Alena in Russian, asking why the hell he should put up with my bullshit. She'd been sitting with her chair turned away from us, chin on the railing, gazing down at the skaters. Without looking back, she told him that he had to put up with my bullshit because my bullshit was her bullshit, and if he didn't like hearing it from me, he could hear it from her instead, and that the questions would be the same, but her patience for the answers would be much shorter.

She sounded only vaguely annoyed when she said it, and she never raised her voice, and Dan looked from her back to me, sighing.

"His name's Semyon, okay? Semyon Pagaev. We were outside the White House together when the hard-liners tried to take Yeltsin in 1993. This man, I trust him with my life."

It took me a moment before I remembered that the White House he was referring to was the White House of Russia, where the Supreme Soviet had been housed. Now it held the Russian cabinet, if my memory was serving me right.

"This satisfy you? Are you happy now?" Dan demanded.

"Almost. How'd Semyon make Maks for Illya?" I asked.

Beside me, still looking down at the skaters, Alena snorted softly, grinning, and muttered, "Say that ten times fast."

The joke caught Dan off guard, and he'd started to answer me, then did a double take, looking at Alena strangely. Then he said, "One of Semyon's boys-"

I interrupted. "He's got kids, too?"

"No, no, one of his crew, this one has a sister-Kiska, I think, is her name. Supposed to be a real beauty. Maks, a couple of the others, they're trying to get on Kiska's good side, trying to impress her. Talking about what they've done. And Maks, he tells her that he was with a crew out of Brighton Beach when he first came over. This gets back to Semyon, Semyon remembers me putting the word out, he contacts me, sends me a picture on the Internet, taken with camera phone. Looks like Illya. Vadim and I come out here, positive visual ID, like I say."

Dan put his big hands on the table between us, leaned forward.

"Are you happy now, Mr. Atticus? Please tell me you're happy now."

"I wouldn't go that far," I told him. "But for the moment I'm satisfied."

"So are we going to take care of this?"

"We're going to get some sleep," I said. Alena and I checked into the Heathman Hotel in downtown, six blocks south of where Vadim and Dan were staying, at the Hotel Lucia. I used a credit card that said my name was Christopher Morse, and then showed the young woman who checked us in a California driver's license to prove the fact. We got a two-room suite on the sixth floor with a view overlooking the street.

It was just after noon when we got into the room, and the jet lag was beginning to make itself known by then. I pulled the blinds and closed the curtains, hung the Do Not Disturb sign, then did five minutes of yoga to fight off the stiffness from the flight while Alena used the shower. When she was out, I took my turn, and then we both fell into bed, and fell asleep almost as quickly.

When I woke, the curtains and the blinds were once again open, and the gray sky of the day had turned into black night. I could hear Alena speaking to someone at the door, out of sight. Then I heard the door close, and a moment later she came into view, wearing one of the complimentary bathrobes and carrying a room service tray. She set the tray on the coffee table, saw that I was awake, and grinned.

"There's a fitness suite on the third floor," she told me. "Open twenty-four hours."

"Are you wearing anything under that robe?" I asked.

"No."

"I can think of a better workout."

"Cardio, maybe," she said.

"Muscle control, body awareness," I said. "With a little imagination, maybe even stretching and balance."

Alena looked down at the room service tray, and I watched the corners of her mouth curl up in a mischievous smile. She unfastened the belt holding her robe closed and let it fall away from her as she came back to the bed, sliding beneath the covers and beside me once more. We kissed, and despite the banter it was long and slow and tender, and when it was over I ran my fingers through her hair, looking at her, and deciding she was very beautiful.

"Dinner's going to get cold," I said, after a moment.

"It's yogurt and granola." She ran her fingers along my cheek, lightly traced the scar that had been left from a pistol-whipping I'd taken ages ago. "It'll keep."

"I think Dan's figured it out."

"You don't think Vadim told him?"

"I think Vadim told him, but Dan didn't believe it until today, not until you made that joke when we were at the mall."

"Joke?"

"Ten times fast."

She grinned, pleased with herself, then slid closer, pressing her body against mine. She kissed me again, still slowly, but this time with rising passion, and I responded in kind, moving my hands lightly over her body, delighting in the feel of her, the way I always did, the way it felt I always had. The first time or every time, it didn't matter; making love together was the only way she would tell me all the things she could never say, the only way I could answer her, saying that yes, I understood, and yes, I was here, and yes, I would stay, and I would forgive her for the sins she had committed and the sins she had yet to commit, just as she would do the same for me.

That yes, I loved her, too.

"One time slow," she said.

At seven minutes past four in the morning I went up and over the black iron security fence at the back of the condominium complex. It was still raining, or maybe it was raining again, and the bars were cold, but my hands were strong, and once I had a good grip at the top it was easy to use my hips and swing my lower body over, to follow my legs down. I missed a puddle, landed without a splash, and moved immediately to the carport, to shelter there from both the rain and the security lights that illuminated the lot.

There were two sets of stairs running up to the second-story condos, a main set of artificial-looking stone between the two buildings, and then a second, narrower flight on the south side of the building. I used that one, took it quickly up to the second floor. The stairwell was positioned to dump out facing the row of apartments on the floor, and I could stay low in it, hidden, and make a survey before proceeding. Not a single light burned in any of the residences.

I considered my options. A block and a half away, parked in an overlook, Alena and Dan were waiting in the Pathfinder for my call. The plan was for me to enter Illya's home, take a thorough look around, remove the potential of any surprises he might wish to spring on us. Once I was satisfied the condo was secure, I'd ring Dan on the rented cell phone he'd provided me. Then I'd wait for him and Alena to call up from the front gate, just like they were any other visitors. I'd buzz them in, they'd join me in Illya's home, and we'd get comfortable and wait until he came home from work. Vadim, currently staking out the Rose City Cab Co., would give us a call to alert us the target was on its way.

Then I'd take the answers I wanted from Illya, and when I was done, Dan could do whatever he damn well wanted. That what he wanted was most likely going to cause Illya a lot of suffering and misery before his final reward was of only minor discomfort to me; the way I saw it, if Illya hadn't sold us out, Natalie Trent would be alive and well and still a joy in the world.