The Killer

THIRTY-EIGHT

17:27 MSK

They were in an office above the factory floor. It was fitted with filing cabinets and shelves like any legitimate place of business, not the nerve center of an organized criminal network. Norimov sat behind a simple polished desk, on which rested a silver-colored laptop and a stack of papers and envelopes. Victor sat opposite him. One bodyguard stood behind him, the other behind Norimov. There was another man stationed right outside the door. All were openly armed.

With so much protection Norimov seemed a virtual prisoner in his own office, and Victor wondered how long this had been the case. He also wondered if Norimov even realized he was an inmate of his own making.

“I apologize for the less-than-cordial welcoming, but you can forgive my suspicion, I’m sure,” Norimov began. “But when a hitman calls on you unannounced, it is better to err on the side of caution than on the side of death.”

“Don’t use that word.”

“What word?” Norimov asked, seemingly perplexed. “You mean hitman? I forgot you aren’t fond of it.”

“No, you didn’t.”

A wry smile formed on Norimov’s face. “It’s been what, three years?”

“Four.”

“A long time. You’ve aged well.”

“I take my vitamins.” Victor’s eyes scanned over Norimov. “You seem to be getting enough to eat.”

“Yes, quite. I’ve filled out at the waist and thinned on top,” Norimov laughed, slapping his generous stomach. “It’s just protection from the cold, I swear.”

“How’s your shoulder?”

Norimov blew air out through his nose. “Ha, it still gives me problems. I went to a specialist in Moscow only last year. He told me there was a fluid buildup behind the shoulder blade. I promise you, he put a needle this big into me to drain it.” Norimov gestured, his palms a good twelve inches apart. “It’s no better. Some weeks I go through a whole bottle of painkillers.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Between the pain of living and the painlessness of death, I choose the pain gladly.”

“Nicely put.”

“Thank you.” Norimov tilted his head. “And you, Vasily, still bulletproof?”

Victor thought about the huge bruise on his chest and the tiny scab in the center. “I wouldn’t like to say.”

“Don’t want to tempt fate?”

“Something like that.”

Norimov pointed. “You used to say you make your own fate.”

“I still do.”

“No matter how good you are, how fast you are-”

“You can’t outrun a bullet,” Victor finished.

Norimov gestured to one of his bodyguards. “Get us both a drink.”

The bodyguard opened a cupboard and took out a bottle of Scotch and two tumblers. He poured Norimov and Victor a generous measure each. Norimov clutched the glass tightly, hungrily. There was a red tinge to Norimov’s cheeks, damaged capillaries showing under the skin. He never used to drink so much.

Norimov raised his glass. “To old allies.”

“To old friends,” Victor corrected.

Norimov downed his drink and grunted in approval. Victor followed suit, but without the grunt.

“This is nice,” Norimov said. “To share a drink with a friend. It’s not often I get to talk to someone who isn’t afraid of me.”

“I’m surprised anyone is afraid of you.”

Norimov laughed. “Yes, well, maybe not of me but what I can have done. All these worms that work for me now, none of them know who I was ten years ago, or even five years ago. They think I’m old, slow. I doubt anyone remembers I was ever any different.”

“I remember.”

They held each other’s gaze for a long moment. Victor opened his packet of cigarettes and took one out with his teeth. Norimov’s eyes widened a small amount.

“I thought you quit.”

Victor struck a match and brought it toward his mouth. “I did.”

“Those things-”

“I know,” Victor said. “So don’t say it. I have been cutting down.”

“Even Bond doesn’t smoke anymore.”

Victor rubbed the match out between his thumb and forefinger and drew in smoke from the cigarette. He raised an eyebrow. “Who?”

Norimov grinned for a moment. His teeth were yellow. “What score are you up to now?”

“I don’t keep count.”

“You used to.”

Victor nodded. Once it had seemed important.

The Russian gave a caustic smile. “Still go to church to confess your sins?”

The leather of Victor’s chair creaked. He glanced at his glass. “How long are you going to make me wait for another?”

Norimov motioned for his bodyguard, who promptly refilled the glasses. They both took a sip. “So, how is the killing business?”

He thought for a moment. “I need some more reliable employers.”

“I would like to be able to hire you myself. But I can keep four good men at my side for the best part of a year for what it costs me to employ you for one night’s work. When you have numbers skill is not so necessary.”

Victor didn’t see the need to challenge the point. “I charge a lot more these days, anyway.”

Norimov laughed hard. “Why am I not surprised?”

“And you, Alek, how’s the aspiring empire?”

“I’m the only honest criminal left in this town. See what it gets me?”

Victor took a taste of whisky. “How’s the delightful Eleanor?”

Norimov’s face was hard. “Dead,” he said easily.

“What happened?”

“She was sick.”

“Sick?”

“The doctors didn’t think it was serious. By the time anyone realized, it was too late.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He was.

“Thank you.”

“She was a beautiful lady.”

Norimov looked away. “Not at the end she wasn’t.”

The silence hung heavily for a moment. Victor didn’t say anything. Though uncomfortable it would have been vulgar to speak banalities just to sit a little easier.

But it was Norimov who broke the silence. “Do you still take all that shit?”

“Not anymore.”

The Russian cracked a smile then sighed, as if saddened to turn the conversation to the inevitable. “I’m assuming that this isn’t a social call.”

“Someone’s trying to kill me.”

The Russian smiled. “Shouldn’t that be the other way around?”

“Quite,” Victor agreed. “I have acquired some enemies.”

“I imagine that’s an ever-present hazard in your line of work.”

“It’s somewhat more complicated than that. I need your help.”

There was something approaching amazement in Norimov’s expression. “You need my help?” Victor nodded. “This must be serious.”

“It is.”

“So what can I do?”

“I want you to make some inquiries for me.”

“I stopped doing work for them before you did. I-”

“But you are still connected to the organization, are you not?”

Norimov nodded absently, the action seemed almost subconsciously.

“Good,” Victor said.

“What do you need?”

Victor reached into his coat. He did so slowly, so the two bodyguards couldn’t mistake the action for something else. Victor pulled the hand out from under his coat. In his fingers was the flash drive.

“On this is a file. I need its encryption broken.”

Victor placed it onto the table, and Norimov picked it up and examined it closely.

“Where did you get this?” he asked.

“From a former business acquaintance.”

Norimov raised a knowing eyebrow. “Tell me what happened.”

“I did a contract in Paris on Monday, a part of which was the recovery and delivery of that memory stick. When I returned to my hotel there was a kill team waiting. I’d like to know who sent them.”

Victor thought it prudent to leave out the fact that the someone appeared to be the same person who had hired him, who also happened to work for the CIA.

“Paris? I read about that, but I never would have guessed it was you. You’re not one for making headlines.”

“This time it was unavoidable.”

Norimov leaned forward. “They said eight people were shot dead at that hotel. All you?”

“I only killed seven,” Victor corrected. “Another beforehand. Another since.”

“I thought you weren’t counting.”

Victor looked at him for a moment. “Some habits are harder to break than others.”

Norimov shook his head. “Well, you haven’t lost your touch anyway.”

Victor ignored the remark. “Whoever tried to kill me wanted that drive. As of this moment it’s all I have to go on. If the information on that thing is worth killing for, then I need to know what it is.”

“And what will that achieve?”

“Maybe it will help track down my enemies. Maybe not.”

“But why do you want to? You’ve never cared about revenge before.”

“I don’t care about revenge now,” Victor said. “And I never will.”

“Then why?”

“Because they found me.”

Norimov held his gaze and nodded. “I still know people in the organization, computer people, who may be able to help.”

“Thank you.”

“But what you ask is highly irregular. People will be suspicious, questions will be asked.”

“Then bribe them. I will cover any expenditure.”

Norimov looked at him closely. “They still want your head, remember?”

“I’m not likely to forget.”

“And you’re willing to take that risk?”

“I’m here aren’t I?”

The Russian weighed the response for a moment. “I always used to think that for a man who is so careful to stay alive you sometimes act as if you have a death wish.”

Victor made sure to show nothing in his expression.

Norimov ran a hand over his beard. “They’ve asked me about you before, you know? An ex-SVR general, Banarov I think his name was, had died. Suicide. Shot himself in the head with his own pistol. They thought it was you, said they could place you in the country that week.”

“What did you tell them?”

“That I hadn’t seen you for years.”

“They believed you?”

“Who knows? The investigating officer didn’t like me, I can tell you that for nothing. Aniskovach his name was. I made a point of remembering that one. A rising star I think. He had that look about him, arrogant but clever. He reminded me of you actually.” Norimov smiled briefly. “He brought with him a list of corpses as long as my dick, wanted to know who out of them you could’ve killed.”

“And you said?”

“That you could’ve killed them all for all I knew, but I told him I’d heard you were dead, so even for you it would be a tall order. That’s when he showed me a photo of you, said it was recent.”

“Taken where?”

“I couldn’t tell. Don’t worry, it was your good side.” He flashed a grin. “Aniskovach wanted you for Banarov though; the others didn’t matter. He was just trying to track you down through one of your other jobs.”

“He told you that?”

“He didn’t have to.”

Victor nodded.

“So,” Norimov began, “was it you who killed Banarov?”

Victor’s expression remained blank. “I don’t remember.”

Norimov’s face was serious. “But they do, Vasily.”

“Then I’ll be careful to do nothing to jog their memories.”

“And have you thought about me in all this? They don’t like me as it is. What do you think they’ll do if they find out I helped you?”

“When have I ever asked you for a favor?”

“Never.” Norimov paused. He looked at Victor for a long time before speaking. “You’ve changed.”

“I’m thinner.”

“No, not that.”

“I’m older.” He didn’t like saying it.

The Russian shook his head. “It’s something else.”

Victor stopped himself shifting in his seat.

“One thing I know,” Norimov said, “is that people like us don’t change. We adapt.”

“Necessity.”

“Remember when I told you about what makes you special?” He didn’t wait for Victor to respond. “People like you, like me, we either take that thing inside ourselves that others don’t have and make it work for us, or we stand by and let it destroy us.”

“I still believe that.”

“If I do this for you, then we are even for Chechnya.”

“Naturally,” Victor agreed without hesitation.

Norimov nodded slowly. “I’ll do what I can.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“You’ll need a copy of the drive.”

Norimov smiled. “Why, don’t you trust me?”

“No.”

Norimov’s smile disappeared, and he stared hard at Victor.

Victor stared back.

Norimov looked away first and plugged the flash drive into his computer. “Will it allow me to copy the contents?”

“The information on the drive is encrypted, not the flash drive itself.”

It took seconds for Norimov to copy the data onto his computer. When the transfer had finished, he pulled the original out of the laptop and handed it back to Victor.

“All done. I’ll copy it onto a disk and give it to my contacts. I’ll delete it from my laptop afterward, don’t worry.”

“I don’t worry,” Victor said. “And it’ll be safer if we don’t meet here. Somewhere busy instead, somewhere public.”

“There was a glow in Norimov’s face. “Like the old days?”

“Exactly like the old days.”

“How do you want to do it?”

“I’ll call your bar, give them a time and place for you to meet me. How long will it take?”

Norimov stroked his beard for a long moment. He looked away. “If the people I know can do it, it won’t take them long.” He looked back. There was something in his eyes Victor couldn’t read. “Forty-eight hours at the most.”

Victor downed his drink and stood.

“Then I’ll see you on Monday.”