“Viktor,” he said simply.
Farrington accepted the gesture and they shook hands firmly. “Yuri Rastov. Thank you for the hospitality,” Farrington said.
“My pleasure, Mr. Rastov. As you are probably already aware, everybody is waiting for you at one of our secure locations.”
Once Scarface closed his door, the car sped away from the curb, drifting through the tangle of taxis and vans converging on passengers from nearly a dozen different trains. As the gateway to Siberia, Novosibirsk’s station was the largest and busiest rail depot east of Yekaterinburg.
“It sounds like Ms. Reynolds is prepared,” Farrington said.
“She is,” Viktor grumbled.
“She wasn’t happy being held at the warehouse,” Farrington said.
“I don’t suspect anyone is watching her, but it would look rather odd if she suddenly emerged from her hotel dressed like a high-priced escort and made a beeline straight for one of the city’s nightclubs. Agreed?”
Farrington nodded, his attention distracted when Scarface flipped open a silver butane lighter and lit a cigarette. He offered one to Farrington, who didn’t hesitate to accept it. His first drag was rough, but he managed to keep from breaking into the telltale cough of an amateur smoker. The nicotine hit his bloodstream immediately, easing his tension. He leaned back in the seat.
“You need to trust me with these things. You all may look the part, talk like locals and smoke our cigarettes without hacking up a lung, but this is a different part of the world. A different part of Russia. Even I stick out like a fucking sore thumb around here,” Viktor said and turned to face the windshield.
“I’ll have a talk with everyone on the team,” Farrington said.
“Especially the woman,” Viktor griped. “She’s been giving my men shit ever since we picked her up.”
“She’s hardcore. That’s why we brought her along.”
“She’s coming close to getting her ass beaten,” Viktor said, eliciting a grunt from Scarface.
“I didn’t realize the bratva beat up women,” Farrington said.
“We don’t hit little old ladies, but mouthy bitches like that?” Viktor shook his head.
“If you hit her, you better hit her good,” Farrington warned him.
Viktor turned in his seat with a perplexed look and shrugged his shoulders. “Why is that?”
“Because you won’t get another chance. I’ve seen her in action, and it’s not a pretty sight…for the other guy,” Farrington said. “I’ll talk to her.”
Viktor smiled and took a long drag on his cigarette, exhaling the noxious smoke onto the dashboard. Without turning, he asked, “How do you like our cigarettes?”
“Fucking horrible,” Farrington grimaced. “I thought your people controlled the distribution of Western cigarettes in Russia?”
“We do, but none of our people smoke them. They taste like candy with all of the chemicals your companies add. These are real cigarettes.”
“Well, they taste like shit. I’m surprised anyone starts smoking here.”
“We make sure they start out with your cigarettes,” Viktor said, laughing.
“Sounds like you’ve thought of everything.”
Viktor poked his own head with one of his index fingers. “We’re running a sophisticated, multi-platform business organization, complete with marketing and strategic planning. You’d be surprised by the level of thought that goes into these decisions.”
Farrington decided not to bite on this discussion. He had little interest in listening to this thug try to compare their criminal organization to a legitimate high-end corporation. Drugs, human trafficking, extortion, protection rackets, bribery, violence and murder topped the list of “deliverables” provided by the Solntsevskaya Bratva. Controlling stakes in legitimate products were “acquired” through business transactions heavily influenced by one of the “deliverables” mentioned above. Like every version of organized crime worldwide, the bratva provided nothing in return for everything. Their collaboration with the bratva was an unholy alliance sanctioned by Berg and approved by Sanderson, a one-time deal sealed by a little over five million dollars. He didn’t like it on any level. He especially didn’t like trusting the safety of his team to a payoff.
“Viktor?”
The Russian turned his head and regarded him without speaking.
“I need you to understand something. If you decide to sell us out or sabotage our mission, you’re a dead man, along with everyone involved…all the way to Mr. Penkin,” Farrington said.
Viktor’s eyes opened wide for a fraction of a second before his face tightened into a practiced neutral expression. His response to hearing his boss’s name had achieved the desired effect.
“We’re not playing games,” Farrington added.
“We didn’t think you were. This mission of yours carries significant risk to us, which is why I insist that you follow our rules right up until your men hit Vektor. After that, you’re completely on your own.”
“That’s how we normally operate. This is a one-time collaboration,” Farrington said.
“Which never happened,” Viktor said.
“Exactly. I get the sense that we’re both on the same wavelength.”
Viktor didn’t respond to this statement, which was meant to soften the blow of threatening his life. He could tell that Viktor was spinning Penkin’s name around in his head, trying to make sense of the implications. He imagined that Viktor would place a frantic call to Matvey Penkin as soon as he could break free from Farrington. Penkin would double up the communications security procedures surrounding any of his sensitive operations and start examining anyone close to him. He wouldn’t find anything of course, but the message would be received loud and clear.
The CIA knew the names of the players and wouldn’t hesitate to send another team to clean up the loose ends if the mission went sideways. All the more reason for Viktor and his crew to ensure everything went smoothly right up until the moment his men breached Vektor. It also gave Farrington some assurance that none of vehicles involved in their exfiltration plan would suffer from a suspicious engine seizure or brake malfunction. Penkin’s branch of the Solntsevskaya Bratva had good reason to check and double-check every piece of equipment and vehicle presented to Farrington’s team. Their own lives now depended on it.
He could sense that Viktor wanted to say something, but was hesitating. Scarface betrayed no reaction to his threat, demonstrating the considerable discipline demanded by the bratva. Finally, Viktor turned and spoke.
“We’re good, but a word of advice. Don’t mention that name again, under any circumstances. Very dangerous for everyone involved.”
“I understand. What time does Ms. Reynolds head out?”
“Late. Around eleven. This is like New York City, the city that never sleeps. Yes?”
“I find that hard to believe. This looks like an old-school Soviet city,” Farrington remarked.
“Well, it’s not exactly Moscow, but some of the clubs stay open all night,” Viktor said. “Not as expensive as Moscow either. This is a sleepy corner of Russia, slowly awakening to the realities of the Federation. There are many opportunities for us here.”
“Still sleeping off the hangover of communist prosperity?”
They all laughed at his joke, including the previously unreadable Scarface.
“Very good, Yuri. You have a sense of humor after all. I was beginning to worry about you. I don’t trust anyone that can’t laugh. This is going to work out for both of us. Trust me on that. We’ll drink to this later.”
“I hope your vodka is better than these cigarettes,” Farrington said, flipping his out of the window.