Private Moscow

Chapter 26

I was sitting at the bar, drinking a highball. Mo-bot had gone to Private New York to make use of the tech systems that would help her open Karl’s computer. I knew she preferred to work without someone at her shoulder, so I’d returned to the Nomad, the hotel Jessie’s assistant had booked us into.

A middle-aged couple at a nearby table were having a conversation in hushed but strained tones. The woman looked as though she might cry. At the other end of the long counter, a couple of guys sat side by side, drinking beer wordlessly as they watched an NBA game on an iPad. The Library at the Nomad wasn’t a sports bar, but the Knicks were playing the Wizards, and the New Yorkers were running away with the game, so the barman cut the pair some slack and let them watch with the volume down. There weren’t many customers to complain about them lowering the tone of the grand drinking hole. The tables on the gallery level that ringed the bar were all empty, and only a couple of the booths that nestled among the high bookcases were occupied. If the bar was anything to go by, the hotel was experiencing a post-Christmas lull, but the quiet suited me. Free from distraction, I was thinking about what we’d discovered in Karl Parker’s secret basement. What had my friend been doing?

Karl had gone to great lengths to set up a trail designed specifically for me, which meant he didn’t want anyone else, not even Victoria, knowing his secret. I hoped my old friend hadn’t got caught up in anything illegal. I was already struggling with his loss and didn’t want to have to face anything that might tarnish my memories of him. I wanted to remember Karl as an honorable man who’d served his country with distinction, but the cache of false passports, weapons and money led me to suspect I was clinging to false hope.

“I know that face,” Justine said, sliding onto the stool beside me. “Something bothering you?”

She was a welcome sight. Truly the only person I wanted to be with at this moment.

“We found weapons, fake passports and foreign currency that might have belonged to Karl Parker,” I replied. “Not the sort of stuff the average CEO has lying around.”

Justine pursed her lips.

“Can I get you anything?” the barman asked.

“I’ll have what he’s having,” she replied.

“One highball,” the barman said, before stepping away to prepare her drink.

“You think he might have been Agency?” Justine asked.

I’d clutched at that hope too. The CIA recruited from the armed services, and had a track record of supporting businesses of strategic importance. Karl’s firm, Silverlink International, certainly fit that category.

“Maybe,” I replied. “But he’s dead. Why go to all this trouble? If he was Agency, why not just leave a note?”

“To protect a source or a mission maybe?” Justine suggested.

I smiled. I knew she was trying to make me feel better by suggesting a scenario that didn’t involve my friend being a bad guy. She looked at me and the light caught her eyes, making them shine. I thought of the times we’d spent together and wanted to feel her in my arms.

“I know that look,” she said, laughing and turning to the barman as he brought her drink. “Thanks.”

“We weren’t so bad together, were we?” I asked as she took her first sip.

“Not bad,” she replied. “Just complicated. Grief can do strange things, Jack. It makes you yearn for things that are gone.”

She looked at me pointedly, and I held her gaze. She was right. Death had a way of distorting emotions, but my feelings for Justine had nothing to do with Karl’s murder. I’d often thought about how good the two of us were together.

“I don’t want to complicate what we have.” Justine reached out and put her hand on mine.

Her touch was exactly what I needed. Reassuringly familiar and gentle.

“Justine...” I began.

“I don’t think we can afford the confusion, Jack,” she said, cutting me off. She looked as though she was about to say something else, but she never got the chance.

“You would not believe the day I’ve had,” Sci said, appearing suddenly at our shoulders. “It’s brutal out there.”

Justine withdrew her hand, and Sci shot me a questioning look.

“You find anything?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Nothing useful yet. Footage shows the shooter wore gloves throughout, and traffic cameras picked him up coming out of the Broad Street subway station. We tracked him back to Classon Avenue in Brooklyn, but after that the trail runs cold.”

“Same with the chopper,” Justine said. “It crashed with three on board. It was chartered by a service company acting for Antares Futures and Investments, a corporation based in Belize. NYPD has asked for FBI support, and the Bureau is trying to find out who owns the Belize firm.”

“So we’ve got nothing?” I asked.

Justine glanced away, and I wondered whether she thought I was talking about the case, or our relationship. She’d been right. It had the potential to get complicated, and right now my mind wasn’t completely on the investigation.

“Sorry, Jack,” Sci replied. “I’ll get back on it first thing.”

“Thanks. I’m calling it a day,” I said, getting to my feet.

“Aren’t you going to finish your drink?” Justine asked.

“Another time, maybe,” I replied.

“Night,” Sci said.

“Night, Jack,” Justine added, and I could have sworn I felt her eyes on me as I left the bar.