Page 119 of Denied Access
“Settled a business dispute,” Rapp said, pointing the pistol at the Russian’s midsection. “A dispute between my organization and Herr Schmidt. It will not concern you unless you decide otherwise.” Leaving the pistol leveled at the Russian’s midsection, Rapp draped his coat back over his pistol arm, shrouding the weapons. “Do we have a problem, Colonel Zhikin?”
Zhikin slowly bared his teeth in a predatory smile. “You’ll never get out of this building alive.”
The gonging of a fire alarm rang through the air.
Zhikin narrowed his eyes.
“They’re playing our song,” Rapp said.
CHAPTER 70
RAPPcrossed the distance to the Russian in four easy strides. “We exit this building with everyone. Then I go one way, and you go another. Or I shoot you now and take my chances. Which is it going to be?”
For a long moment Rapp thought Zhikin might just call his bluff. Then the SVR officer slowly backed out of the office, allowing Rapp space to follow him. Once in the common room, the Russian’s lips twisted into a feral smile. “Which way?”
Rapp didn’t understand what Zhikin was asking at first. Then he got it. To the right lay the bank of elevators and safety. To the left, a final office.
Petrov’s office.
The Klaxon continued to sound, and the desk once manned by the receptionist was now empty. He had the time and the opportunity. A quick stroll followed by three equally quick trigger pulls and it would be done. The man who had torn out Greta’s heart would be dead and the fifty-year battle he’d waged against America over. Rapp’s gun handtrembled beneath his jacket with the need to see Petrov’s brains splattered across the office’s floor-to-ceiling windows.
He’d never in his life wanted to kill someone so badly.
“Elevators,” Rapp said. “Let’s go.”
The Russian’s smile faded, replaced by a look of confusion. He lingered for a moment as if he were the devil offering a wavering soul a final temptation. Rapp prodded Zhikin in the ribs with the pistol’s suppressor. “Move.”
With a shake of his head, the Russian started toward the elevators. Rapp’s skin crawled at the notion of leaving Petrov alive, but he still followed Zhikin into the elevator’s open doors. He’d been on the verge of entering Petrov’s office when his intuition had stopped him. As if he’d been standing on a lacrosse field watching a play develop, he’d seen what would transpire if he gave into his bloodlust.
His job was to finish wars.
Not start new ones.
The elevator doors hissed shut.
“Where to?” Zhikin said.
“Lobby. We walk out of this building together. Then we part company.”
“You know that’s not going to happen, right?”
Rapp sighed and gestured toward a patch of discolored carpeting on the elevator’s floor. “See that?”
The Russian looked where he was pointing and frowned. “Yes?”
“That was from the last man who underestimated me.”
Zhikin swallowed.
The remainder of the elevator ride passed in silence.
Thirty seconds later, the doors hissed open to a much busier lobby. The Klaxon had stopped ringing, but the Lubyanka’s occupants were still evacuating the building in twos and threes. Rapp nodded for the Russian to lead the way toward the door. Once again, the FSK officer paused as if assessing his odds. Rapp nonchalantly scratched anitch behind his ear with his gunless hand, revealing the bloody section of shirt stretched across his ribs.
Zhikin started for the door.
Six strides later, Rapp was out of the building. The biting Moscow wind had never felt so good. He tilted his head left and Zhikin obliged, leading them away from the crowd. Zhikin turned a corner, stopped, and then muttered something in Russian. He’d ushered them to a loading dock tucked away from the main pedestrian areas.
A deserted loading dock.
