The Lion

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.

This was basically the fire escape staircase, and fire marshals don't like to see a lock or a bolt, but Boris must have told them, "Look, boys, there are a lot of people who want to kill me, so I gotta lock myself in." Or he removed the doors when the inspectors came around.

I let Viktor go first and I followed. The door at the bottom of the staircase was also locked, and Viktor used his key to open it.

We entered the small room with the security camera, then Viktor unlocked the door to the hallway, and I followed him through the red curtain and into the restaurant.

Well, I thought, the security was good, but too much depended on human involvement and two keys-one for the elevator and one for all the steel doors. Also, the door to Boris's apartment had to be bolted manually. Boris needed a code padlock for all the doors between the outside world and him, plus he needed easier access to his security monitors.

There may have been some security features that I didn't see, such as a panic button, or maybe a safe room, but the real bottom line with personal security was vigilance and a large-caliber gun.

Viktor escorted me through the restaurant, which was half empty now, and I said to him, "Someone wants to kill your boss. Keep your head out of your ass."

He didn't reply, but he nodded.

"You got a gun?"

Again, he didn't reply, but he tapped the left side of his jacket.

I suggested, "Work on your pronunciation."

Anyway, I skipped the bar and Veronika and walked out the rear door. It was almost midnight, and the boardwalk and the beach were nearly deserted.

If I'd been followed by my surveillance team, it was now that someone would approach me. And if I'd been followed by Khalil's team, this was as good a time and place as any for Khalil and Corey to meet.

I stood there for a minute, but no one seemed interested in me.

I walked to the front entrance of Svetlana where a few cabs were parked.

On the way back to Manhattan, crossing the Brooklyn Bridge, I again had the thought, reinforced by Boris, that Asad Khalil was indeed planning something big for his finale-something that would please his backers and get him another line of credit for his next mission-and all that stood between him and that big climax to this mission was Boris Korsakov and John Corey.

So, yes, Boris was right; it was about us-him, me, and Asad Khalil. And it was about the past following us, and catching up with us.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

The taxi from Brighton Beach had let me off in my underground parking garage, and also left me forty bucks poorer, which is cheap for life insurance.

I'd taken the freight elevator up to my apartment, and no one from the surveillance team seemed to have noticed my absence. I didn't want to get these guys in trouble, so I'd be certain to never get caught leaving home without them.

Anyway, it was now 7 A.M. Wednesday morning, a short seventy-two hours since Kate and I had woken up in the High Top Motel in Sullivan County, excited about jumping out of an airplane. Little did we know, as they say, how exciting it was going to be.

I didn't have anything specific planned for the day, reminding me that the problem with doing nothing is not knowing when you're done.

I did take the opportunity to go through my daily dozen exercises, being motivated not by vanity but by health concerns, meaning in this case, I needed to be in good shape if Khalil and I got into a wrestling match. Boris was right-Khalil's attacks were up close and personal, and if you could survive the initial surprise assault you had a chance to turn it around. This was why Kate was still alive.

As I was getting ready to visit Kate at Bellevue, my cell phone rang and it was Paresi. I answered, "Corey."