Private Rogue

Chapter 53

“They have my name,” Victor Andreyev said. “They seem competent.”

He was standing on the rooftop of the gray stone building on the northwest corner of Madison and East 26th Street, diagonally across the broad intersection from Private New York’s headquarters, using an Optika Blu, a Russian handheld version of Camero’s XAVER LR 80 field imaging system, which enabled him to see what was happening inside the meeting room. Taras Gurin, the cunning psychopath headquarters had assigned to be his head of operations in America, held a directional microphone that had picked up almost all of the conversation that had taken place between Jack Morgan’s team.

Taras had a reputation as a man without conscience. He was rumored to have undertaken some of the most difficult interrogations during the Ukrainian uprising. He had a narrow face that almost seemed too small for his muscular body, and his eyes were set close, which Andreyev had always thought signaled a lack of intelligence, but this man was sharp and possessed of a rough street cunning that made him very insightful and dangerous. As an enemy, Taras would be formidable, but he was fiercely loyal to Russia and served Andreyev with devotion.

Taras had discovered the signal transmitter concealed in the billfold the Americans had left at Andreyev’s apartment building. It was an effective if unsophisticated ruse, although he was surprised they had been able to discover the location. It suggested they had advanced surveillance techniques he was not yet aware of. If his phones were compromised... he would ask Taras to conduct a full sweep to be sure.

Taras had traced the signal from the billfold to its receiver, turning Private’s tricks against them. There was now no doubt these people knew Andreyev wasn’t really Elizabeth Singer’s father, which meant subterfuge and deception with them would no longer be useful. Hostilities were inevitable.

“Do not overestimate their competence,” Taras replied with a smile. “The billfold tracker is available from any gadget store. A child could have used it.”

“American law enforcement has never troubled us,” Andreyev countered.

“True, but that is no measure of competence,” Taras sneered. “What should we do about them?”

Andreyev had been alarmed to hear the woman babbling that Morgan and Floyd were dead. That was a major setback. He would have to verify the report with Kolokov, who was leading the Afghan mission, but he very much doubted Private would be giving false information. There was little to no chance they knew they were being watched. The death of Morgan was of no concern; Floyd’s death, however, was more of a problem.

“We need to find the wife,” Andreyev replied. Elizabeth Singer would know the location of the Bull, and her children would be all the leverage needed to make her talk. “Put a team on these people,” he said, nodding at the figures on the infra-red display.

They were gathered around the grieving woman, and he felt sorry for her in the way one might pity a cat pining for a mate that had been hit by a car. Sad, but ultimately the fault of the animal for playing on the road. “One of them will lead us to the target,” Andreyev said.

Taras nodded, and Andreyev stepped away from the edge of the roof, heading for the stairwell. A hot bath then perhaps a cognac before lunch would warm him up after exposure to the elements, he thought. He hurried inside, eager to get to his chauffeur-driven Bentley Mulsanne, which waited on the street a couple blocks away.