Politika

THIRTY-NINE

Gregor Sadov was at the firing range, working with Nikita, when the phone call came in. He had a cell phone clipped to his belt, its ringer set to Silent, but he felt the vibration in the small of his back.

Slamming home a fresh magazine in the AKMS, he pulled back the cocking lever, handed it to Nikita, spun away without a word, unclipped the phone from his belt, and took the call. “Yes?” he said into the cell phone.

“It’s time.” The voice on the other end of the line was masculine, but that didn’t mean anything. It had obviously been altered electronically, and could have belonged to his own grandmother for all Gregor could tell. He did know, however, even with all the electronic modifications, that it was the same voice that had originally hired Gregor for this series of missions, and that relayed Gregor’s orders to him. He had no idea whom he was speaking to, but that wasn’t unusual. In Gregor’s line of work, he was used to several layers of insulation between himself and his employer. What wasn’t usual was the fact that this time Gregor didn’t actually know whom he was working for. He knew it was someone high up in the government, and he could make a good guess who was selecting his targets, but with this job he knew he was better off not knowing.

“Do you have the target selected?” Gregor asked.

“Yes. A satellite ground station in the Kaliningrad region.”

Gregor nodded to himself. He didn’t ask why this particular site had been targeted. He didn’t need to know. “Any special requests?” Gregor didn’t need to explain what he meant. He needed to know if there were any individuals in particular who needed to be killed — or who needed to survive.

“None. Just make sure you’re thorough.”

Sadov nodded again. “Understood,” he said.

“There’s one more thing,” the electronically altered voice said.

Gregor’s hand tightened around the tiny phone. That little “one more thing” would invariably turn out to be something he didn’t like.

“The mission needs to be carried out as quickly as possible.”

Gregor smiled, but there was no amusement in the quick, tight quirking of his lips. “How quickly?” he asked. “We’ll need time to plan, to reconnoiter, to—”

“Tonight,” the voice said, its tone harsh and unyielding. “Tomorrow night at the latest.”

“Impossible—”

“We’ll double your fee.”

That stopped Sadov in mid-protest. “Triple,” he said.

The man — if man he was — with the altered voice didn’t hesitate. “Agreed,” he said immediately, making Gregor wonder how much higher he could have gone. “As long as it’s done by tomorrow night.”

“It will be,” Gregor said. Hanging up, he turned around again, grabbed the weapon from Nikita, and started peppering the target. “Come on,” he said when the clip was empty. “We’ve got work to do.”