Sniper's Honor

CHAPTER 55

It hit harder than he’d thought it would. You can’t predict. But this one hit so hard. All the way back he was stony, silent. He just stared ahead, paying no attention when she fished out her laptop and started writing — this story, another story, who knew? The cabin of the helicopter was dark, and the screen lit her face. He didn’t look at her, he just looked ahead or out the window.

They landed close to midnight, and Will was in the private terminal, waiting for Stronski’s jet. He hugged his wife, and they exchanged jabber and pleasure at each other’s presence in the way old-marrieds the world over do. Swagger made a big show of meeting Will for the first time, and obvious jokes were exchanged, all of it a kind of social theater that Swagger wasn’t really into. But the conventions demanded, and he delivered; he owed it to both of them. Finally Will drove them into Moscow, unaware that a car full of Stronski shooters rode hard a few lengths behind, just in case. Stronski’s idea, approved by Bob.

They got to the apartment complex and pulled in to a lot in the interior of a space between six-story apartment buildings, which rose on either side like walls of a canyon, sparsely lit because of the lateness of the hour. They headed toward the one that housed The Washington Post’s bureau on its top floor, and provided a living for Kathy and Will, with an abundance of spare bedrooms. Bob had seen it before; it was a cool place.

“You go on up,” he said.

“What?”

“I’m going in there.”

“What?”

He had pointed to a neon sign blazing at ground level in another building. It said in bright neon orange COCKTAILS, and next to the word was the universal symbol of the beast itself, a tilted martini glass with a smiling olive inside.

“You’re kidding,” said Reilly.

“Nope. Never been more serious.”

“Swagger, I’m down, too. But we knew. We suspected. It was a war. It was the best ending possible. It’s no reason to go off the wagon.”

“No, that ain’t it. It’s a debt I have to pay.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It occurred to me on the flight. I put it together. It took him ten years, but he got it done.”

He took a breath.

“I don’t know who he was, professional or amateur. But the NKVD records prove that one guy figured out what happened to Mili, and he tracked down Krulov and made him pay. Krulov, top of the world, and someone knows it ain’t right, takes him down and cuts his tongue out, and sends him for a swim without it. Maximum insult. The way you kill a traitor. So I have decided, goddammit, I will drink a toast to that man. It’s the one little shred of right that happened in the whole story of Mili and all the powers who got together to destroy her. He’s the one guy who stood up for her. He deserves a drink, whoever he is, and it ain’t worth staying on the wagon to deny him that gesture. He’d get it, even if no one else would.”

“I think we’ll join you,” said Will.