Black Widow (24 page)

"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.

New York

"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."

"That's the sixth floor," Kate said. "They've got heavy security there." She remembered that from the overview she'd received at the time Sergei Prokhorov and his partner had arrived at the Red Onion offices. Room 59 tracked the Russian agent through his cell phone GPS.

"We're hacked into those security systems, ma'am. There are no breaches that we know of. It's possible that they breached the security perimeter without triggering an alarm."

Kate took in a breath and let it out. They'd hacked in without getting caught. Someone else could have done the same. Maybe getting into the building had been easy, but she planned to make getting out a lot harder.

"Trip the security alarms and notify the FSB," Kate ordered. It was the best she could do. If they'd had a support team in the field, they could have tried to eliminate the snipers.

"Alarms sounded and Russian police alerted."

On the screen, the sniper continued firing. Then he and his partner abandoned their gear and opened a box. The thermographic image resolution revealed that they pulled clothing from the box, but not what kind of clothing.

"Try to download the security database," Kate ordered. "Let's see if we can find out what identification those men used to enter that building."

"Yes, ma'am."

It was a long shot and the names were undoubtedly fake, but even knowing them might offer a lead. An operation in the field fed on crumbs once the action turned nasty.

"Do you see Prokhorov?" Kate asked.

"He's moving," Jake replied grimly. "So far, he's still alive."

Moscow

Sergei lay facedown on the thick carpet and blinked blood from his eyes. The carpet felt rough against his cheek. He realized it was covered with glass fragments. The gunshots continued to ring in his ears. Panic swirled through him, threatening to suck him down into a mindless void.

How many shots? he wondered. Is the shooter reloading? Or is he done?

"Sergei."

When he recognized MikhalkoVs voice, Sergei cautiously lifted his head and peered around. Pasternak's blood still blurred Sergei's vision and tinted everything scarlet.

"Were you hit?" Mikhalkov lay nearby. The old man's face was ashen and he lay with the side of his face pressed to the floor near the desk. He held his pistol in his white-knuckled fist.

"I do not know."

"Find out."

Reluctantly, irritated that Mikhalkov made no move himself, Sergei rolled onto his back and waited for the next bullet to crash into him. Surely a moving target would draw the sniper's attention. Sergei looked down his body. He appeared intact.

"No." He tried to keep the relief he felt from his voice. "I am not hit."

"Good. I think the sniper is gone."

"Why?"

"Because we are not dead and there is no more shooting."

Sergei scanned the room. The two young bodyguards were dead. A bullet had nearly taken the head from one man's shoulders, and the other had his stomach turned inside out. Sergei shuddered at the sight. The fist-size holes in the wall let in daylight and the street noise below.

"How is Pasternak?" Mikhalkov asked.

Sergei found the big Mafiya man on his back behind the blood-spattered desk. Pasternak's chest moved slightly.

"He is alive," Sergei said.

"Mikhalkov," Pasternak whispered hoarsely.

"Yes?" Mikhalkov crawled over to the Mafiya boss, keeping a wary eye on the door.

"You have killed me." Pasternak drew his pistol and pointed it at Mikhalkov's head.

Mikhalkov made no move to defend himself. Sergei shoved his pistol at Pasternak, but Mikhalkov shook his head.

"I did not kill you," Mikhalkov said. "You know who killed you."

Pasternak's hand shook. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. "They followed you here."

"Perhaps, but they would have found you, anyway." Mikhalkov ignored the pistol in his face and examined Pasternak. "Even if medical help were to arrive now, you would die. You will not survive your wounds."

Weak curses slipped from Pasternak's lips.

"Tell me who did this to you," Mikhalkov said. "Let me be your vengeance."

Bloody spittle blew from Pasternak's mouth as he attempted to laugh. "You will only get yourself killed."

"I am a hard man to kill. You know that from experience."

Pasternak's breathing grew more labored. Sergei hated the sound of it. Listening to someone die was hard.

"Tell me about Kirinov," Mikhalkov coaxed.

"This is not Kirinov's arrangement," Pasternak wheezed.

"Then who?"

Pasternak worked to get the name out. "Kumarin. Yuri Kumarin."

Sergei couldn't believe what he was hearing. "This man has the same name as the general?"

General Yuri Kumarin had been one of the staunchest foes of Chechen independence.

"You... you have such a lamb, Mikhalkov." Again Pasternak attempted to laugh. "It is a wonder that you have not lost him."

"I like Sergei," Mikhalkov replied. "I keep him around. I see promise in him." He shook a cigarette from his pack with a bloody hand. He lit a cigarette and passed it to Pasternak. "Tell me about Kumarin."

"From the beginning, this was Kumarin's project." Pasternak inhaled the cigarette weakly. "That's what he called it. A project. I am Mafiya. I do not do projects."

"What was the project?"

"I was to arrange... a shipment of weapons. Kirinov bought them from a weapons dealer."

"You were supposed to bring them into the country?"

"Yes. It seemed easy enough."

"Who were the weapons for?"

"I do not know. Ivanov met the man. He told me he had an eye patch." Pasternak tried to touch his own eye, but his motor control was almost gone.

"Did Ivanov get a name?"

"No."

"Does this man have the weapons?"

"I do not know."

"How can you not know?"

"Because I... no longer have... the weapons." Fresh blood spilled from the corner of Pasternak's mouth. "Only... a few days ago... they were stolen."

"Who took them?"

"I do not know." Pasternak shuddered and wheezed.

"What happened to Ivanov?"

"The man I was... to sell the weapons to... he killed Ivanov. Shot him... and dropped him... through the window."

"Why?" Mikhalkov asked.

"I was told to raise... the price... of the weapons. That man... he did not care... for that idea." Pasternak swallowed hard and sucked in a painful breath. "He must have been... very certain of himself. That he would... get his weapons."

"Because he knew you would still trade with him even after IvanoVs murder."

"Yes. You see... howit was."

"Do you think he found the weapons?"

"No. They were... well hidden."

Mikhalkov asked, "Who knew where they were?"

"Kirinov. General Kumarin. And me. No one... else." Pasternak smiled. "Of course... there is... the possibility... I was betrayed. After all... you found me." The Mafiya man's head lolled to one side and his eyes stared without seeing.

Mikhalkov touched Pasternak's throat, then shook his head. He took the cigarette from Pasternak's lips and put it between his own. Then he struggled to get to his feet.

That was when Sergei saw the blood pouring down the old man's side. Mikhalkov managed two steps toward the door before he fell. Sergei caught him in his arms and gently lowered him to the floor, holding him as he would a child. He placed his hand over the wound in the old man's side.

Movement at the door caught Sergei's eye. He felt a surge of panic.

A young man peeked around the frame, showing only one eye and part of a terrified expression.

"Help," Sergei said. "I need help. Get help
now!"

Outside Chechnya

When Ajza stepped from the building, a guard cursed at her and told her to get back. She started to retreat, knowing she couldn't point out to the man that Taburova had told her to report to him without getting beaten. Luckily the other guard knew she was supposed to see Taburova.