Zero Day_ A Novel - Mark Russinovich [113]
But keeping Vakha here meant exposing him to information he’d rather the man didn’t have. Still …
“Wait,” Manfield said. “I will likely be ten minutes or so. Do nothing to attract interest, but watch where I enter and move closer when the ten minutes are up. Allah be with you.”
“And with you,” the driver said.
Vakha Dukhavakha had been born in Moscow of Chechen parents. His father had served in the Great Patriotic War and been swept up in the army purges that followed victory. Released at Stalin’s death, he’d remained in Moscow for the remainder of his life, a bitter, angry man.
An only son, Vakha inherited from his father an absolute hatred of the godless Communists. Vakha had watched the collapse of the Soviet Union with emotions bordering on ecstasy. In the years since, he had, from time to time, been of service to the so-called Chechen Mafia in the city. This Englishman masking his true Chechen self was intriguing, obviously up to something. Vakha had instinctively offered him his assistance. Brothers could do no less for one another.
He eased the car forward.
* * *
Manfield found the apartment building without difficulty. Not trusting the elevator, he decided to take the stairs to the third floor, passing the open door of the concierge without being observed.
The stairway was ripe with the smell of boiled cabbage, potatoes, and onions. It brought back a wave of childhood memories, when he’d lived happily in Moscow with his mother. The steps creaked loudly and he dismissed any thought of approaching the door silently. The target would be accustomed to the sounds of foot traffic outside. What would attract his attention would be the sudden absence of sound, especially in an unexpected way in the hallway.
As he reached the third floor, Manfield hesitated only a moment before walking directly to Vladimir Koskov’s door, while placing his hand on his gun.
* * *
Vakha watched as another car stopped outside the same building the Englishman had entered. A slender woman got out, followed by an older, heavyset man. Russians. She removed the wiper blades, put them into the car, then locked it up. Both of them went into the building without hesitation.
The moment they disappeared, a taxi turned the corner behind him, drove down the street past him, then stopped at the same place. Another couple got out of the car, foreign and handsome. They gave the driver money, faced the building as if uncertain about what to do, then went inside.
Curious. The Russian couple might very well live there or be visiting. But the foreign couple was too much of a coincidence for Vakha.
The moment the couple was out of sight, the taxi drove off. Vakha engaged the gears and slowly moved his taxi even closer to the building.
* * *
Vladimir Koskov thought the old apartment looked naked, even with the various moving boxes stacked here and there. The place was still crowded, but without his primary computer and monitor, it was as if the major part of the apartment had already been moved. It was like an enormous chasm.
How many years had he worked here? For how long had this cramped space been the center of his world? More than he could recall offhand. He couldn’t remember ever seeing this little room so empty.
Vladimir was organizing what was left for the next move since Ivana had promised he’d be up and running in the new apartment that night. The rest of this would come over the next day, and he could get completely set up then.
He had prepared a sketch of the small bedroom that would be his new office, drawing where everything would be placed. He had to admit that having more room was going to be nice.
He lifted his head. Someone had been walking outside and stopped. He heard a knock