Ah, the good old days, Zukov thought as he pulled his Audi A3 in front of the cell company building right behind Viktor’s new black BMW. He smiled in admiration at that car, which he knew was purchased with the false profits from cell phones. Did they actually broker phones to other companies? Of course. But most of their money still came from other ventures.
Zukov got out and hurried through the rain until he reached the overhang at the main entrance. Then he stopped and glanced back at the city, where dark shadows couldn’t only hide adversaries, but had hidden him and his friends over the years playing games that had become more deadly with each year and month and day.
Glancing back at the camera, Zukov smiled and raised his chin and heard the door zap. He shoved his way inside.
The foyer was like any waiting area for any business in Germany — a few uncomfortable chairs against two walls, an industrial counter to keep unwanted customers from passing into places they shouldn’t, and a few desks behind the counter where disinterested employees would eventually wait on the unwanted customers. To the left was a large back room with shelves of cell phones in boxes.
Zukov swished through a low swinging door with the sign that said ‘Employees Only’ in German and Russian, and walked briskly to the back offices. Down the main hallway he had an office with almost nothing in it, but Viktor played the game better than most. He was the face of the fake company, so he had to make his office the largest, with actual furniture and faux certificates and plaques he didn’t earn.
As Zukov entered Viktor’s office, two other men left and went out into the main entrance area.
“Have a seat,” Viktor said. He sat behind his large metal desk with two LCD screens. One had a constant feed of the cameras around the building. The other was hitched up to high speed internet access.
Zukov sat in a hard wood and leather chair, his eyes on his boss.
“Vladimir Volkov is dead.”
“Where was he found?” Zukov asked, not restraining his surprise. He had the hit notice out on this man for the past two weeks and nobody was able to find him.
“Baden-Baden.”
“Is it confirmed?”
Viktor turned his monitor for Zukov to see. There were photos of the crime scene from German Polizei, along with a report on the incident, which he quickly read.
“Two others dead?” Zukov asked, leaning back into his chair. “Do you guess that was collateral damage?”
“Collateral to someone. But we got a claim of responsibility.”
Zukov was confused. “Who are the others killed?”
“We don’t know for sure,” Viktor said. “This was an open assignment to the highest bidder. We might have had two teams get there at the same time. It’s more likely that Vladimir Volkov got off a few shots.”
Shaking his head, Zukov said, “The Polizei report says there was another shooter there.”
Viktor smiled. “Good catch. Watch this.” He clicked on a video link on the computer, which showed a man with a gun at the side of his leg walking out of a building. The video was crude and dark.
When the video was done Zukov said, “So that’s our shooter. He claimed responsibility?”
“Yes. Calls himself Remus?”
Zukov laughed. “Of Roman lore?”
“Apparently.”
“Something bothering you?”
“Yeah. You get a feeling about these things. I’m going to send Nikolai on this meeting.”
“Are you sure? Will his old BMW even make it there? He’s had engine problems. He needs to steal a newer one next time.”
“He’ll be fine. You go as backup. But only observe from a distance. Do not shoot him.”
This was out of character for Viktor. He’d always let him handle these claim meetings.
“You have a problem with this, Zuk?”
“It’s my job, Viktor.”
“Nikolai needs the experience.”
“He’s right out of the Army.”
“He’s twenty-five. He spent time in Chechnya. It’s my decision.”
“Is something wrong with my work?”
Viktor leaned back in his chair, his hands clasped behind his head. “I thought we agreed to dump the bodies without identification,” he said directly. It wasn’t a question.
“Are you talking about the Turk? I made a mistake.”
“And the recent Polish man. Two mistakes? I could believe one but not two.”
They had gone over this earlier in the evening. Zukov was burning inside now. He didn’t like explaining his actions to anyone. Which is why this assignment in Berlin had been so good for him. He could maintain a certain level of autonomy.
“All right,” Zukov finally said. “As you know, I’ve been having a little fun with the local Polizei.”
Shaking his head side to side, Viktor said, “I thought that might be the case. This isn’t chess, Zuk. What if the Polizei actually catch you?”
“I’ll be expelled.”
“And what will Moscow do with you then?”
Perhaps Viktor had a good point. They could send him to far worse assignments. But it would have to be a place without diplomatic relations with Western nations, unless they gave him a complete change of identity.
“I understand,” Zukov said reticently.
“What do the Polizei know of these dead men?”
“Not much, I’m sure. None of the dead men have any ties to us. Have you found the American yet?”
Viktor grasped the arms on his chair. “Not yet. But it’s only a matter of time. He has the Austrian and German Polizei after him, an Interpol Red Notice on him, along with every hit man in Europe on his trail. His days are few.” A smile forced its way out the side of his mouth.
Zukov smiled with him, not knowing the real reason for the obsession his boss had with this man. Maybe some things were better that way. Secrets always made life more interesting.
“I’ll find this American,” Zukov said. “Anything else?”
Viktor’s eyes shifted to his computer and then back to Zukov. “Moscow wants us to accelerate.”
How much faster could they go? Any quicker and Russia and America would be in a real war together. “You mean General Tatyana Petrova.”
“Keep your mouth shut, Zuk,” Viktor spit out. “Only you and I know of her involvement.”
And they had no official orders for their current work. If they were caught, the good general would hang them all out to dry, like smoked fish on a Siberian line.
“I understand,” Zukov said. “But I would feel better with a fail-safe of some kind.”
Shaking his head, Viktor explained, “There are few guarantees in this business. Success is your only insurance.”
He knew that too. “Then I better find the American,” Zukov said.
Without another word, Anton Zukov left his boss alone and exited the office building. Sitting in his car for a moment, the rain coming down a little harder now, he considered the next meeting with this man who had killed Vladimir Volkov. The man had been a legend in the spy game. Part of him wished he could have found the man first and picked his brain. Found out all his secrets. That man had to have thousands of them. Maybe that’s why General Petrova had personally placed his name on the list. They were killing the past and building a future. He could live with that.
25
Waking the next morning in Bonn, Toni went to get Franz from his room to go down for breakfast. She was forced to knock a few times before a groggy Austrian Polizei man shuffled to the door. He looked like crap. There was no other way to say it. She went ahead of him to start on coffee, while Franz took a long shower to clear his lungs of infected sputum and blood. He was moving into a pneumonia, she could tell, and wasn’t sure what would kill the man first — that disease or cancer, which had sucked all vitality out of a man that had been brusque and burly just a few months ago.