Zero Day_ A Novel - Mark Russinovich [83]
“And I’ll let you resign, give you a good reference. You can trust me.”
Sue lay back across the bed. “You know what I think?”
“No.”
“No more hotel rooms. I like it better in the office.”
“That’s out of the question.”
“Then how about the garage? On the hood of your BMW?”
“No, no, no. I told you, I’ve rented this room for the entire month.”
“Yeah,” she said in mock seriousness, “who’s the boss here?”
“You are.”
“Then get down, boy. My turn. And get your car washed for next time.”
39
MOSCOW, RUSSIAN FEDERATION
DMITROSVSKY ADMINISTRATIVE DISTRICT
WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 30
7:02 P.M.
Ivana Koskov removed the shchi from the table, then set in place the kuyrdak her mother had brought by her office late that afternoon. She emptied the bottle of water into Vladimir’s glass, then opened a fresh one before joining him, their heads nearly touching as they ate the rabbit stew. The food brought back pleasant childhood memories, and she wondered again if she shouldn’t make more of an effort to learn to cook her mother’s dishes.
As he ate, Vladimir smoked a cigarette, taking puffs between bites. A smoker herself, Ivana thought nothing of it. On the wall near his computers was a poster of Rick James with the bulbous Afro and bulging biceps. In the background their stereo had started a random selection of James’s songs, including his hit “Super Freak.”
Ivana had long ago grown tired of Rick James, and especially of “Super Freak.” For Vladimir it was either feast or famine. He’d go months without his music, then in a frenzy it would be all she’d hear for days. He usually used his headset so it wasn’t so bad. Still, she wished his taste would move on.
When they were finished, she cleared the table, wiped it clean, then set out two saucers and cups for coffee. “Vodka?” she asked. Vladimir merely nodded, then wheeled his chair backward and spun it into the bathroom to empty the bladder sack that was tied to the side of his leg.
“I think we’ll have that new apartment in a few months,” Ivana said. “I talked to the manager today and he all but promised.”
Vladimir grunted. She heard the water run as he washed his hands. Thank God he was a clean man. Living in clutter was bad enough; if it had been dirty as well …
Vladimir returned to his place at the table, then downed a shot, followed by the hot coffee as a chaser. He leaned back, emptied his lungs, then picked up his cigarette. “Maybe I should give Boris a little something to move us up. I’m more than ready to get out of here.” Lately, he complained endlessly about their cramped quarters.
“I don’t think anything less than one hundred euros would help.”
“That’s okay.”
“Then I’ll try it.” Ivana was pleased to see his commitment. “I must say the splendor of our first place has worn off.”
They laughed. “Maybe you could keep this as a storage room for your extra equipment,” she suggested, and they laughed again.
“It’s better suited for that than an apartment,” he said with a grin.
Ivana smoked quietly, punched out her cigarette. “Do you want to tell me how much you’ve got? I don’t want to start a fight, but it’s hard to plan not knowing.” His elusiveness and his obsession with his work ate at her. This was the first time she’d been able to broach the subject without his responding with anger.
“I’ve only saved it up as a surprise. It’s just over twenty thousand.”
“Euros? Not dollars?”
“Euros.”
“You have been doing well.” She picked up his package of cigarettes and lit another. After inhaling, she released the smoke. “This work you’re doing … how long will it last?”
“I don’t know. Not much longer, I think. They seem to be on a deadline but I don’t know what it is.”
“What is it you’re doing?” For months now Ivana had been certain he was working for the Russian Mafia again. She had feared for their safety, and his surly manner of late hadn’t helped a bit.
“It would bore you.”
“Tell me anyway.” Vladimir hesitated, then explained about the rootkits, growing excited as he did. “They hide things in computers?” she asked when