Page 75 of Assassin Anonymous

She smiles. “That’s the one. Among the most brutal in all of Russia, and we are not known for our hospitality. He had made some enemies, but when those enemies were deposed and his friends came into power, he was recognized for the asset he was.”

“Kozlov,” I tell her. “I know most of the major players. Never heard of him.”

“He has been in prison for a long time.” She takes a long drag of her cigarette. “Given enough time he could be our you. Frankly I am surprised you have come to see me. Many assumed you were dead. An occupational hazard in this life. But your Agency has found itself on the losing end of a few operations. The loss of their golden child”—she nods toward me—“left a vacuum.”

“What do you mean, losing end?” I ask.

“A bungled coup. A failed assassination. One of your assets was detained in Afghanistan and…broke under pressure. I am not sure by whom, but apparently many of your Agency’s secrets were spilled, like blood across a table. Russia is watching this with a close eye, and is waiting to strike.”

This, I did not know.

If the Agency is on the ropes, of all times to get me back in the game, this was it. Maybe Ravi knows more about this mess than he let on.

“Moscow always talks big,” I tell her. “But you know how it works in an oligarchy. The second one of these knuckleheads thinks they’re going to lose a couple of kopecks, they get cold feet and remind the Kremlin where the money comes from.”

“Once, I might agree,” she says. “Once.”

“How do I find Kozlov?”

She shrugs again. “Wait for him to find you. I have met him, only once. He frightened me a little. I do not scare easy. You”—she waves a hand at me—“you have a kinder soul than I would have thought. Under different circumstances I would invite you to stay for dinner. I suspect we would have many stories to tell each other.” She takes a final, hard drag on her cigarette and stamps it out. “Maybe if you live through this, you come back and see me. Well, you have to, I suppose…”

“I don’t put out on the first date, just so expectations are clear.”

That, at least, earns a genuine smile.

I stand from the table and nod to her. “Thank you for your time.”

“I will be in touch,” she says.

“For what it’s worth, I wasn’t kidding about the foot rubs.”

But at this point, she’s done with me. She waves her hand, and the men who were previously sitting with her come back. They launch into a hushed conversation in Russian. Someone else takes away the wineglass and the knife but leaves the bottle, which she pours into a clean glass.

I return to the bar, where Booker and Valencia are both working on seltzers. Valencia is staring into the mirror behind the bar, but Booker is slowly shaking his head, and I am struck by a sudden, searing sense of shame.

—

We’re barely out of earshot of the restaurant when Booker pushes me hard on the shoulder, nearly knocking me to the ground. “Why’d you take the drink, Mark?”

“I had no choice.”

“You could have gotten up and walked away. That’s a choice, too.”

“You’re the one who brought me here. I needed to know who was after me.”

“And now that you know,” he asks, “what does it change? What have you gained?”

“I know his name, which means I can find out more about him. I know things spiraled at the Agency after I left, so this puts them back on my list of suspects.”

“And now you owe a favor to Zmeya. You know what that means, right?”

I step to Booker and get my nose an inch from his. That dark thing inside me, bubbling up. The scream of it reaching up my throat. “What does it mean? She’ll ask for something and I’ll say yes or I’ll say no. And if I say no, who’s going to do something about it?”

Booker sees where I’m at, and rather than match it, he takes a deep breath and lowers his voice. “This is a blood-in, blood-out kind of thing, Mark. Yours, or someone else’s. We all know who you are and what you’re capable of. But that isn’t really an option for you anymore, is it?”

“Maybe it should be.”

Booker and Valencia freeze at that.

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