That Time in Moscow Logan Ryles (book suggestions .txt) 📖

and uncuffed. Powerful hands jerked his arms in front of him, then new cuffs snapped into place, and the blindfold was removed.

Wolfgang blinked in bright light, but he didn’t really need to see. He could feel the cold steel of an interrogation table beneath his palms and the rigid discomfort of a chair made of similar construction beneath his butt.

Outstanding. Glad we skipped the foreplay.

One guard stomped through the door and slammed it shut while the second retreated to a corner and kept his rifle trained on Wolfgang.

Wolfgang leaned down until he could reach his face with his hands, then rubbed his eyes. “Listen, Yuri. Ivan’s not gonna keep me waiting, is he? I’m on a tight schedule.” The guard said nothing, and Wolfgang smiled. “You guys love the stone-faced look, don’t you? Is that something they teach you in Russian elementary school? ‘Yuri! Stand here and look like statue!’” Wolfgang mimed his best stone-faced expression while adopting a Russian accent. The guard still said nothing, but the hint of a smile played at the corner of his lips.

He speaks some English.

Wolfgang prepared another probing jab, but before he could speak, the door burst open, and SVR Officer Ivan Sidorov barreled in like a charging rhinoceros. The door clapped shut as Ivan stood just behind the angled lights, glowering down at Wolfgang, then her jerked his head at the door and muttered something in Russian.

The guard nodded, then disappeared through the door. A second later, the bolt slid shut.

Hmm. I don’t like that.

Ivan stood in the shadows a moment, still invisible thanks to the blast of light that glared down at Wolfgang. Then he placed both meaty hands on the table and slid in front of the light so his head blocked it, now haloed like a demented angel. Wolfgang faced him, unblinking. The Russian’s hair was disheveled, and there was two days of stubble on his cheeks. His eyes were as cold and heartless as Wolfgang had ever seen them, glowering down with enough menace to fry an egg. So close that Wolfgang could smell the sour odor of Russian tea on Ivan’s breath.

Wolfgang pictured the big man charging at him the night before. He saw him hurtling over the wall, frantically grabbing at thin air before crashing into the icy depths below. Even here, handcuffed to a table and probably about to be shot, he couldn’t help feeling a little sorry about that.

“Glad you’re okay, Ivan,” Wolfgang said. “You really shouldn’t go swimming this time of year.”

Ivan’s right hand shot out like a striking snake, and he slammed the table between Wolfgang’s hands. The sound was as loud and sudden as a gunshot, reverberating off the walls and filling the room.

Wolfgang didn’t move. He didn’t so much as blink. He just stared at the Russian as his stomach flipped like a carnival ride.

Dear God, what was I thinking?

Ivan kept his hand only millimeters from Wolfgang’s chest and continued to glower. Seconds ticked by, then a soft smile tugged at the corners of Ivan’s mouth. After kicking back a second chair and settling into it, he reached into his pocket and produced a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He lit a smoke and took a long drag, never taking his gaze off Wolfgang, then he blew smoke toward the ceiling and grunted. “You know something, Amerikos? I was wrong about you. You do have stones.”

Wolfgang returned the smirk and turned both palms up. “How’s your head, Ivan?”

Ivan sucked down the cigarette and grimaced. “Russian heads are made of iron, Amerikos. But a toilet seat . . . it hurt like a bitch.”

“You treat those bruises with some vodka?”

“With vodka and good Russian women.” Ivan held out the cigarette. “Smoke?”

Wolfgang nodded. “Da.”

Ivan placed the smoke between Wolfgang’s lips. Wolfgang took a slow drag, then coughed.

Ivan laughed, returning the cigarette to his own lips. “No such cigarettes in America, eh?”

Wolfgang shook his head, his eyes watering.

Ivan extinguished the smoke against the tabletop. “You should not have come, Amerikos. Now I must make example out of you.”

“I understand,” Wolfgang said. “Russian justice, da?”

“Da. Russian justice.”

Wolfgang’s heart thumped, but he resisted the urge to swallow.

Now or never.

“Whenever you catch those terrorists, I guess they’ll also experience some Russian justice.”

Ivan didn’t move, but his left eyelid twitched.

Score.

“They gave you the slip in Paris, didn’t they?” Wolfgang continued. “Me, too. But now you’re on their trail again. Who would’ve thought hunting international terrorists would have led you right back to Moscow?”

Ivan ran his tongue across his lips, then spoke softly. “You’re one of them. I know you are.”

“Wrong. I’m hunting them, just like you.”

Ivan snickered. “You expect me to believe this?”

“How else do you explain us crossing paths so many times?”

“Easy. You’re one of them.”

“What if I could prove I wasn’t?”

“How would you do that?”

“With documents. The woman you arrested last night? She’s CIA. She had in her possession certain files pertaining to an imminent terrorist attack. An attack involving chemical weapons.”

Ivan stiffened.

Pay dirt.

“You work for CIA?”

“No.”

“I think you do.”

“I don’t. I work for, let’s call it, a third party. I came to Moscow to disrupt an illegal Russian chemical weapons program. Only, after I got here, I realized the program isn’t Russian.” Wolfgang leaned forward now, only inches from Ivan. “You have a highly organized group of anarchy terrorists operating dangerously close to the heart of your government, and you know it. You just don’t know who they are. That’s something I can help with.”

Ivan held his gaze. “If what you say is true, you would contact American CIA. They would pay you.”

“Sure they would. And then they would leverage those documents against fragile American-Russian relations. They might use it as an excuse to develop their own chemical weapons program. Who could blame them? It’s the right thing to do, defensively.”

“You do not love your country?”

“Oh, I do. More than any place on Earth, which is why I would love to see these terrorists succumb to Russian justice.”

Ivan smirked. “I don’t know who you are, Amerikos.