I mean, this can’t be all one-sided, can it?
Apparently it could. When she searched his eyes, all she saw was the same friendly affection he’d shown her when she was thirteen.
Cockwaffle!
11
Flour Power Bagel Shop,
Goose Island, Chicago, Illinois
“The FBI has exited the compound.” Pavel held his cell close to his ear as he watched the changing of the guard in the gatehouse at the same time the three federal agents pulled their standard-issue black sedan away from the curb. Had he not been there to witness the exchange of the guards, he would not have known the original man had been replaced. As far as he could tell, the one who took over sentry duty was the first man’s clone. “They don’t have Agent Beacham with them.”
“Damnit,” Bishop snapped. “It would’ve been easier just to have her rot in jail. Now you’ll have to kill her. But make it look like a suicide, if you can. A rogue agent who offed herself after going crazy and murdering her partner.”
“Consider it done.” Pavel lifted the paper cup of coffee to his lips and absently fiddled with the pack of cigarettes lying atop the bistro table. Even though he was sitting outside the bagel shop located kitty-corner from the custom motorcycle factory, the owner of the place had informed him there was no smoking allowed.
Americans, he thought with disdain.They don’t let a man enjoy a vice, even outside.
“Second hand smoke kills, you know,”the twat had said, gesturing to the man sitting two tables over from Pavel.
Just one more reason the entire country should rot. It was full of self-righteous assholes who believed everyone should care about the person sitting next to them.
Pavel might have lit up anyway. Truly, what would the scrawny bagel man have done if he had? But, regrettably, he was keeping a low profile. So all he’d done was nod and shove his lighter back inside his pocket.
He missed the America of the Cold War. The America that was all about radical individualism, rampant capitalism, and a desire to keep a boot on the neck of the world.
ThatAmerica had been an enemy to reckon with.
Although, at thirty-four years old, he only knew of that America from the stories told to him by his father and grandfathers. He’d been drawing breath for only four months when the Berlin Wall fell, and only three years when the Soviet hammer and sickle lowered for the last time over the Kremlin and the Russian tricolor was raised in its stead.
He had high hopes things were changing for the better, though. His countrymen were nostalgic for the glory days of the U.S.S.R. And many of Russia’s leaders were looking to reconstitute the old block.
Pavel’s motherland was on the rise once again. And with his help, and the help of those like Bishop, it would fly even higher with America’s demise.
Drumming his fingers on the table, he raised an impressed eyebrow at the compound laid out in front of him. “These motorcycle men have tight security. There’s a guard at the gate, the whole place is surrounded by a three-meter brick wall topped by razor wire. The only weakness I see are their cameras. They have light sensitive chips. If I hit one or two of them with a laser, I can overload the chips and slip in before—”
“No,” Bishop interrupted. “That isn’t a simple custom motorcycle shop. And the men inside aren’t simple mechanics.”
Pavel straightened in the chair; his interest piqued. “What do you mean?”
“I mean Black Knights Inc. is a front for a covert government defense firm.”
“Ah.” He took another sip of coffee and relaxed back into his seat. “Sothatis why you sounded worried before.”
“Yes. These motherfuckers were picked by the president herself. They’re the best of the best. Youdon’twant to enter that compound alone. Believe me.”
“Well, well, well.” Pavel shook his head. “Imagine that. America’s illustrious leader employing her very own goon squad. I bet the rest of the world wouldloveto get their hands on this information.”
“They will. In time.” Bishop’s tone had changed, grown avid and passionate, that of a zealot.
It happened anytime they discussed the downfall of the president. Not for the first time, Pavel wondered if Bishop had a personal ax to grind with the woman who sat at the big desk in the Oval Office.
“I don’t think they’ll keep Agent Beacham onsite,” Bishop continued. “They’ve got too much to hide and having her there will inevitably bring in more law enforcement who’ll ask more questions and do more poking around.”
“Unless they spirited her away before the FBI arrived, she has not exited the compound. I would know. I’ve been watching.”
“There’s a back way out that very few people know about.”
