Blacklist Aftermath

14

Straight ahead lay an open meat locker door, and beyond came more of those long shadows, one shaped like a figure crucified against the corrugated aluminum wall. Cobwebs spanned the ceiling above the flickering silhouettes, and the walls rattled a moment as a strong gust came through.

Fisher took advantage of that noise to step forward as a stale, dry odor wafted into his face. He turned into the locker.

And froze.

His gaze panned up to the naked man suspended from four meat hooks.

Wow. He mouthed a curse.

The sharp ends of those hooks had been driven through the soft flesh on the man’s shoulders and slammed right through his palms, Old Testament style. Small incisions like slash marks from a whip covered his legs and rump, and blood pooled down across his ankles and dripped off his toes. He was a big man, six feet at least, probably two hundred pounds with biceps chiseled in the gym. From this angle, Fisher couldn’t see his face and was glad for that. The panting and gasping that escaped his lips was hard to bear.

Since Vasily Yenin had been a double agent, the NSA and CIA had good records on him. Grim had shown Fisher the man’s dossier and accompanying photographs. Once Fisher caught the man’s profile, he nodded in confirmation, then tensed at the sound of creaking floorboards.

Kestrel came out from behind a row of metal shelving that ran along the far wall. He trained a Makarov on Fisher’s chest.

“Fisher?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Just picking up some roast beef.”

Kestrel almost smiled. “Me, too.”

Fisher took a step toward him. “We called. You didn’t answer.”

“You put tracker on me.”

“We had a deal.”

“You have no trust. Without trust, we have no deal.”

“Sam, Briggs here. I got you covered. I’ll take him out right through the wall if I have to…”

Fisher drew in a long breath, then gestured to Yenin. “Old friend of yours?”

“You know who he is.”

“Get him down. I need him alive.”

“Oh, you do? Maybe old friend of yours? Friend who kept me in coma? Maybe I have to kill you, too.” Kestrel leaned toward Fisher, his heavily tattooed right arm flexing as he clutched his pistol with both hands in an aggressive thumbs-forward grip. He took another step, exposing an area behind him where the floorboards had been pried up with a screwdriver. On the table to his right sat a Nike gym bag covered in dirt.

“What’s in the bag?”

“Pajamas.”

“How much you got in there? Stashed it here for a rainy day?”

“Shut up, Fisher. What do you want?”

“Get him down. I want information on Igor Kasperov — and this guy can get us into the Voron database.”

Kestrel shook his head. “He’s no good now. He’s like me. Ex-Voron. Passwords locked out. He can’t get you shit.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Fool. Think about it. He went missing. As soon as that happens, they lock you out. They think maybe you have been taken prisoner. Simple.”

“So you’re leaving him here to bleed to death?”

“No, I leave him for the wolves. After Chernobyl, the wolves and wild dogs fed on roe deer, and when the deer were gone, the wolves fed on dogs. Now dogs and deer are gone. So wolves are very hungry. They can eat twenty-two pounds of meat in one feeding.”

“Wolves don’t eat humans.”

“Tell that to the wolves.”

Fisher kept his pistol pointed at Kestrel’s heart but flicked his glance up to Yenin. He spoke quickly in Russian, “I can offer you help in exchange for information. I’m looking for Igor Kasperov and his daughter, Nadia. I know the SVR and Voron are looking for them, too. Do you know anything about their investigation? Maybe something they found? Anything? If you tell me, we’ll let you go.”

Yenin opened his mouth, but before he spoke, Kestrel raised his voice. “Don’t tell him anything.”

“He’ll talk to me, Kestrel, otherwise I’ll shoot you both in the legs and leave you here. Like you said, the wolves are hungry.”

“You’ll shoot me?” Kestrel asked. “You don’t see me or my gun right here?”

Fisher sighed. “Briggs? Hit the bag.”

The words had barely escaped Fisher’s lips when the Nike bag was blasted off the table by a perfectly placed 7.62mm round. The bag fell to the ground with a nice hole in its side.

“Thank you, Briggs.”

Kestrel, who’d ducked and whirled around with his pistol, searched all over the ceiling and found the entry hole in the wall.

“He never misses,” Fisher added. Indeed, Briggs had vowed to step up his game, and step it up he had.

Fisher crossed toward Kestrel. “You run, I shoot you. You run, he shoots you. Simple.”

Kestrel lifted his pistol. “How ’bout I put a bullet in your head?”

Fisher shrugged. “Then we’re just two miserable men, dying in a radioactive shithole like this.”

“Maybe that is for best.”

“I have no more time for you, Kestrel.” Fisher gestured to Yenin. “Maybe he wants to tell me something. Let him talk, then you get to walk, no questions asked.”

“Bullshit, Fisher. I said no trust. No deal.”

Fisher glanced up at Yenin. “Do you know anything about Kasperov? Do you know anything about the nuclear material stolen from Mayak?”

Yenin groaned and gasped, his eyes narrowed in agony, tears staining his stubbly cheeks. His breathing grew more labored, reaching a crescendo, then, finally, a word exploded from his lips: “Snegurochka.”

“Shut up!” cried Kestrel.

“Briggs, on the count of three, you’re going to shoot Kestrel in the head.”

“Roger that. I’m on target.”

“Okay, Briggs, one, two—”

“Wait!” cried Kestrel, eyes widening back on the wall where that first round had penetrated. “All right. Let the fool talk.”

“Hold fire, Briggs.”

“Roger that.”

“Snegurochka,” Yenin repeated.

“What the hell is he saying?” Fisher asked.

Kestrel made a face. “That word means Snow Maiden.”

“Does that mean something to you?”

Kestrel’s eyes grew wider. “Oh, yes, it does. Snow Maiden is the code name for Major Viktoria Kolosov of the GRU.”

“Grim, you get that?”

“Got it. Running it now.”

“Yenin, what about this woman? You tell me, and I’ll get you down. It’ll be over.”

Yenin’s face was beginning to twist in improbable angles as the pain really set in. His eyes barely focused on Fisher now, but then, after a few gasps, he said in broken English, “Big shoot-out in old metro tunnel. Nadia’s bodyguards and two GRU agents killed. Girl captured. Snow Maiden ordered to hold her.”

“Hold her where?” Fisher asked.

“Take me down, and I tell you,” said Yenin.

Fisher glanced ironically at Kestrel. “I guess he learned his negotiation techniques from you.” Fisher holstered his weapon, much to Kestrel’s shock. “Okay, he doesn’t want to talk, so he’s all yours. Leave him here for the wolves, I don’t care. We’ll find the girl.”

Fisher started for the door.

“Wait!” Yenin croaked. “They’re holding girl in Sochi. She’s in Sochi. They’ve got safe house there. Now take me down! Please!”

“Sam, Charlie here. Got the four-one-one on Sochi. Black Sea resort city. Lots of tourists…”

Fisher widened his gaze on Yenin. “Where in Sochi?” Fisher lifted his voice to a roar. “WHERE?”

Yenin closed his eyes, as though he had to think about it. “Hotel Olesska on Lenina Street. We use as safe house sometimes.”

“I got it, Sam,” said Charlie. “I’ll start hacking into every cam within a ten-K radius.”

“If you’re lying…” Fisher warned the agent.

“I’m not,” Yenin said.

“Do you know anything about Mayak?”

“No, nothing. Only rumors. No way could terrorists steal material. Must be inside job.”

“No shit,” Fisher said. He turned to Kestrel. “You’d better start answering my calls. Have a good night. Briggs? We don’t need any more loose ends here.”

“Roger that.”

“Sam, what’re you doing?” Grim asked.

“Mopping up.”

As Fisher stepped out of the meat locker, a gunshot thumped into the room, and he didn’t bother looking back. He knew Yenin had been taken out with a perfect headshot.

“Fisher!” Kestrel screamed.

“Don’t come after me,” Fisher cried. “I told you. He never misses.”