The man glanced around before showing Abundio the picture on the phone. Same man, different setting. “And his name is not Ilya Baranov.”
“He cannot be dead unless he’s the best-looking zombie ever known. Or he was killed within the past seven days.”
“Then he has a secret twin. This man’s been dead for over twenty years. That is when this picture was taken. His name was Jake Peterson, and he was captured and died in custody.”
“Impossible,” Abundio said. “I’m telling you, this picture was taken seven days ago.”
The man shrugged. “I do not know what you wish for me to say.”
“Wait…” Abundio studied the Russian’s phone for a moment. “Peterson, did you say?”
“Yes.”
“Do you happen to know if he has a son?”
The man once again searched on his phone. “Yes, one. Carl Peterson.”
Abundio’s blood ran cold. He pulled up another picture. “This man?” He showed him.
The Russian scowled and looked from his phone to Abundio’s and back. “That looks like him, yes. How old is your picture?”
“Taken early last year.”
The man laughed. “Now you are pulling my leg.” He showed Abundio his phone. “This picture was taken years ago when he first enlisted in the military. It is impossible two men do not age.”
It was definitely Carl.
His missing man.
One of them, anyway.
And yes, now he absolutely saw the family resemblance.
“Do you have any idea where Carl Peterson is right now?” Abundio asked.
“We do not. He was not the…eh, target, at the time. Being in the military, he was off-limits to us then. Later, we could not locate him.”
“Why did you seek him? And his father?”
A mask dropped over the man’s features. “That is our business.” He sat back. “Why was your daughter talking to a supposedly dead American pretending to be a very much alive Russian who claimed to be Bratva?”
Abundio was still trying to process everything. “I believe she wanted to strike a deal with him.”
“That tells me nothing.”
“Because I don’t know what the deal was.” Which was a lie, because he had a very good idea what the deal entailed, even if he didn’t know the details.
Only that it absolutely will not happen.
He didn’t change the plan for Miranda to come straight from work and have supper with him the next evening, as per usual.
She was smiling when she walked into his office. “Hello, Father.” She rounded the desk and kissed him on top of his head, breaking his heart. Then she scowled. “Where is your other chair, Father?”
“Having it reupholstered. The leather was beginning to wear.”
This chair was much shorter than his usual one, the back not quite coming up to her shoulders.
He stood, smiling. “I would like you to do something for me.”
