Zero Day_ A Novel - Mark Russinovich [126]
Ivana drew a deep breath, walked toward the shadows on the right side of the street, then moved slowly toward the address she had for Graphisme Courageux. She shifted her shoulder bag well back behind her left arm and firmly gripped the revolver in the pocket of her light jacket.
For a second she realized she was likely walking to her death, but she pushed the thought back. Some things you had to do, and this was one of them.
As she crossed a narrow street to the block where the address was, a taxi came up behind her. She turned and watched as it slowed, then stopped about twenty feet from where she was standing. The American couple she’d last seen in Moscow, the handsome young couple she’d thought dead, emerged from the vehicle. The taxi drove off, and the couple, spotting her, ran toward her, the man holding the shoulder where he’d been shot.
“Ivana,” the woman shouted. “Don’t do this.”
“Stay back,” Ivana warned. “I have a gun. I don’t want to hurt you, but you aren’t going to stop me.”
“It won’t bring your husband back,” Daryl said. Ivana looked frail for such determination. A large bandage covered one side of her head, and her face was pale.
“You have to be Russian to understand why I must do this.”
“The external drive. Do you have it with you?” Jeff asked, thinking of the hundreds of thousands, even millions, of lives that might be at stake.
“Of course. I may need to show it to them to get close. Now go away from here.”
“Give us the drive and then we can all talk about what to do next. Please,” Jeff pleaded.
“No. I need it. Walk away.”
“Let us call the police,” Daryl said
“Why?” Ivana said, seeming genuinely perplexed. “How do I prove these men killed Vlad and my father? Think about it. Everything was done by computer. It was a virtual killing, except for the blood of my family.”
“The assassin is dead,” Jeff said.
“How do you know?”
“We saw it,” Daryl said. “Those men in the hallway managed to kill him.”
“Good. Very good.” Ivana’s voice was hard, and bitter.
“Ivana, please…,” Daryl begged.
“Enough! Turn and leave, or I will shoot you too. I mean it!” Ivana drew the pistol from her pocket and pointed it at them. “Go!”
Jeff took Daryl’s sleeve and drew her back. “We’ll wait,” he said.
“Good. If I miss one, you can kill him.” Then Ivana turned and walked briskly away from them, returning the revolver to her pocket.
Jeff and Daryl watched as the slim woman paused at a door, tried the handle, then entered without hesitation.
“Keep an eye on that door,” Jeff shouted at Daryl before running toward it, then turning right down the alley.
Daryl moved toward the door herself, uncertain what she should do. A long minute passed. Then she heard a gunshot.
* * *
Dufour was startled from his sleep when the bell over the front door chimed. He jumped to his feet, nearly losing his balance. They had left the night-light on so as not to attract the attention of the police patrol, who were used to it. The front office was almost entirely in shadows.
Only then did he see the woman, standing just inside the door.
Labib also rose from his chair. “You startled us,” he said.
“I’m sorry, I don’t speak French,” Ivana said.
“English, perhaps?” Labib said, switching languages, moving slowly toward her.
“Yes, English is fine. My name is Ivana. Are you the men I e-mailed earlier today?”
Dufour had gathered himself by now. “Yes, I am Xhugo. It is a pleasure to meet you in person,” he said in heavily accented English. “Allow me.” He moved toward her, closed the door, then locked it, all the while smiling.
Ivana shifted her place slightly so he could not reach her, pretending to look scared. Could these men really be the killers of her husband and father? It didn’t seem possible. The man nearest her appeared to be a teenager, while the other, though older and clearly an Arab, looked as if violence was far beyond him.
“We are sorry for the loss of your husband. But you are safe now, here with friends. We greatly respected his work. You have the external drive?” Labib asked,