The Ghost Pattern

…58

Myatlev took small pieces of toast covered with pâté de foie gras and chewed them slowly. His mouth felt dry, like sand, and he couldn’t even feel the taste of the exquisite delicacy. His thoughts revolved around the same bothersome, life-or-death questions. Why? Who was that woman? Why was she after him? How much did she know? Why was he still alive?

He pushed away his plate, an expression of disgust contorting his lips. Ivan jumped to his feet.

“Was there something wrong with it, boss? I’ll have them—”

“Nah…” He dismissed Ivan’s concern with a wave of his hand, then stood with a groan, holding his stomach, and released one notch in his belt. Then he started pacing the office slowly. His brows, creased firmly, were ridging his forehead, and somehow made the dark circles underneath his eyes seem more prominent.

He stopped his slow pacing and turned to face Ivan, who waited patiently near the coffee table, ready to pour him another shot.

“What’s going on at the lab? Did you call him?”

“Bogdanov? Yes. I told him to pull in some reinforcements, and be ready for an attack.”

“Everything all right there?”

“I heard nothing more. But clouds are thick over there; we lost satellite feed.”

“Argh… fuck!” Myatlev snapped. Even motherfucking nature was against him on this one.

He took a mouthful of cold chamomile tea and winced at the stale, unpalatable taste, then wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

“Goddamn shit… Send in reinforcements. Send the troops we have stationed on Sakhalin.”

“But… I thought—”

“Yes, Ivan?” he snapped impatiently.

“You said the lab was above top secret, that no one can know about it. If we bring the troops from Sakhalin, how are we going to keep everyone quiet about the lab?”

Myatlev gave Ivan a long stare, making him lower his eyes and shift his weight from one foot to the other. Sometimes he just couldn’t believe how naïve Ivan could be. He knew better than to ask that stupid question. But Ivan was just hired muscle, after all. What did he expect?

“The usual way, Ivan, what the fuck? Let them do their job and keep the lab safe. Then, they’ll disappear.”

Ivan remained quiet, a hint of surprise showing on his face. He’d been loyal, docile, and dedicated all those years, taking out everyone who had the misfortune to stand in Myatlev’s path, and had never hesitated in getting his job done. This time though, Myatlev was asking a bit much; the Sakhalin contingent was one hundred and fifty strong, all Russians, all soldiers who deserved better. He understood Ivan’s hesitation. He was asking for a massacre… For the higher purpose, Myatlev reminded himself, it’s all for the higher purpose.

“Understood?” Myatlev reinforced his point with Ivan.

“Yes, sir,” he replied deferentially.

“And blow up that Phenom. They won’t be going anywhere, those fucks.”