Last Snow - Eric van Lustbader [92]
But Jack, studying his face, saw a different answer the Russian was afraid to voice, or possibly in the course of plying his profession he had come to believe the lies he uttered every day.
Annika came to stand beside Jack. “Limonev is also rumored to be a member of Trinadtsat.”
Kirilenko’s upper lip curled in a sneer. “Now that’s simply laughable, especially since I very much doubt this Trinadtsat exists.”
Limonev’s cell had received a text message, not a call. “Well, now,” Jack said, concentrating hard on reading the two words in Cyrillic, “this is an interesting development.”
He showed it to Annika, who laughed and said, “Jesus, these people eat their own.”
“I’d like to show it to you,” Jack said to Kirilenko.
The Russian remained stone-faced. “I’m not interested.”
“No? But you should be. It proves everything Annika has said.”
Jack held the screen in front of Kirilenko, who managed to hold down his curiosity for all of thirty seconds before his eyes slid back. They fastened on the text message, which consisted of two words:
TERMINATE KIRILENKO.
NINETEEN
HAVING TRACKED Kirilenko, Mondan Limonev arrived in the Crimea. He’d spent four years here, a time when he’d been happy—almost carefree, or what might pass for carefree in a man of his dark calling. Six commissions, all assassinations of Russian oligarchs who had fled their country after the tide had turned against them. Limonev was unique among FSB assassins inasmuch as he was paid per commission. His fees were exceptionally high, but Yukin and Batchuk were more than happy to cough up state money for the exclusive privilege of his services. They knew that the moment he was handed a commission the target was as good as dead.
Kirilenko had been no exception. Using his FSB elite-level credentials Limonev quickly canvassed the airport personnel in the Arrivals hall, one of whom had seen Kirilenko enter the CCTV monitoring station. Kirilenko had left by the time Limonev reached it, but with his usual thoroughness, Limonev made a complete circuit of the hallway. Further down he saw something lying against the wall. Reaching down he retrieved a slim box of wooden matches. He’d seen Kirilenko strike matches from this very box numerous times. Drawing a handgun, he put one foot silently in front of the other. At each door he paused to place his ear against it. Such industriousness paid off when he heard Kirilenko’s voice seep through the fifth door. He had his hand on the doorknob and was about to turn it when he heard other voices he could not identify. Listening carefully, he determined that these people, whoever they were, had managed to capture Kirilenko, something of a feat in its own right. However, it was Kirilenko alone who interested him.
THE MOMENT Kirilenko’s brain registered the text message he broke out into a cold sweat.
“I don’t fucking believe this,” he said. “There’s no way, no way at all.” He looked up at Jack. “This is a trick.”
“How could it be a trick?” Jack asked in a pleasant, almost friendly voice.
Kirilenko indicated Alli with his chin. “The girl. She must have done something when she had the phone, manufactured that message.”
“Don’t be idiotic.” Jack shook his head. “How could she—or any of us, for that matter—know about Mondan Limonev, who he was, or that he was a member of your team at the dacha?”
Kirilenko stared at Alli as if he was seeing her for the first time. Then his eyes went out of focus as the bleakness of his current situation began to sink in. At length he nodded. “Fuck it,” he said to Jack, “what d’you want to know?”
“What can you tell me about Trinadtsat?”
“What?”
“You heard me. Are you a member of Thirteen?”
Kirilenko reared back as much as his bonds would let him. “I don’t know a thing about it. I keep my head down and my nose clean. I’m a detective, not an apparatchik. I’m a field man, small potatoes.”
Unsure whether the Russian was telling the truth, Jack tried another tack. “I could understand why the Izmaylovskaya might be after Annika,