Black Harvest

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Thessaloniki was a big city. There were ruins, fortifications, sites of ancient battles. Korov thought he'd look around and explore after his business with Gelashvili.

Gelashvili was under guard in the AHEPA University hospital. It was a modern complex with several wings and outlying structures. Korov parked near the main entrance. The day was gray with steady, soaking rain. He went over the steps of penetration in his mind.

Korov had studied plans of the building. He knew where the stairways were located, where the roof exits were, how many elevators there were and where they went, where the various departments were situated.

He'd chosen one of his favorite weapons for this assignment. The PSS Silent Pistol fired a 7.62X41mm armor piercing round. The unique design prevented escape of any explosive gases. Gases made noise. It had the additional advantage of short barrel length and small size. The pistol was ideal for his purpose. Conventionally silenced pistols were incredibly loud compared to the PSS. No one would hear more than a light cough when it was fired. It only held six rounds, but that wasn't a problem. He wouldn't need six.

Gelashvili would be restrained in his bed with handcuffs to the frame. There would be a guard outside his door. If there were two guards, things could get messy. Probably, only one.

Korov had another Spetsnaz favorite with him, an OC23 Drotik. The Drotik fired a small 5.45X18mm round from a magazine of 26. He could select single, three round or full auto fire. At 1800 rounds per minute, the pistol was uniquely lethal. It had light recoil, easily controlled.

He got out of the car and walked to the entrance. A semi-circle of flags set on tall poles hung like wet sheets in the rain. A long portico extended over the main doors. He walked inside. Leaping figures were painted on the walls against a yellow background. Korov supposed it was meant to convey a sense of health and energy. He straightened his tie and walked to the information desk. A middle-aged woman sat behind the counter, entering data on a computer. She glanced up as he approached.

"Excuse me," Korov said in English. Anyone behind that desk would have to speak English. He took out his wallet and showed her identification stating he was Inspector Allon Dubois of Interpol. He was wearing a dark suit of European cut, the kind of suit an international cop might wear.

"I am here to interview a prisoner, Gelashvili. Can you tell me where he is?"

Korov held the ID close so she could read it. It would have gotten him into Interpol HQ. The forgers at SVR were the best in the world. It was a source of comfort to agents in the field.

"One moment, Inspector." She entered a few keystrokes. "He's in 4003. Fourth floor." She pointed. "Take the elevator down the hall. On the fourth floor, turn left, go to the second corridor, turn right and you'll see it on the left."

"Thank you. You've been very helpful." He smiled at her and turned to the elevators.

"Your colleagues are already here."

"Oh?" Korov turned back. "Both of them?"

"Yes, about a half hour ago. Shall I call up and let them know you're coming?"

"No, thank you. I'll just go on up. They knew I'd be late."

He walked away toward the elevators. He glanced back at the helpful clerk. She'd gone back to her computer. Good. No phone call. He had to make a choice. Abort and try again later? What if the agents were here to move Gelashvili to a secure location? He couldn't take the chance.

He might need the Drotik after all.