Since then, his people had already made three attempts on her life. All three had had to be aborted though due to faulty intelligence.
The fourth time, however, was the charm, as evidenced by the reports on all the news channels.
He took another drink of his champagne.
The SVR leadership would no longer be able to ignore him and would soon place him in a more suitable position. Perhaps even the crown jewel: Washington, D.C., station chief.
Feeling particularly jubilant, he called Boris Ustinov. He and Ustinov had started their careers together. For a while, Bronsky had been on a faster trajectory than that of his friend. These days, however, Ustinov was only a few steps away from the top in Moscow, while Bronsky toiled away in the metaphorical basement.
“Leonid?” Ustinov answered. “I’m a little busy right now.”
Though it was after midnight in Moscow, Bronsky wasn’t surprised his friend was awake.
“I take it you’ve been watching the news.”
“What news are you talking about?”
“What happened in London tonight, of course.”
There was a pause before Ustinov said, “I have. Why?”
“Do you believe me now?”
“Believe you about what?”
“You know very well what.”
The pause was even longer this time. “Please tell me you didn’t do this.”
“Of course, I did. I told you I would.”
A couple of years ago, Bronsky had informed Ustinov that he had every intention of fulfilling the mission to eliminate the head of MI6, and that he expected to be back in the Russian agency’s good graces once he did. Ustinov humored him by saying he’d talk to him again when it was accomplished.
“Dear God, Leonid! You should have run it by me first.”
“And if I had, you would have told me no.”
“Of course I would have! Do you realize the position you’ve—” Ustinov stopped himself and took a breath. “I’ll need to inform the director.”
“Perfect. Please let him know that I look forward to my promotion.”
“Where are—”
Bronsky hung up before his friend could finish the question. Moscow was always too cautious in his opinion, but he knew once the job was done, they would be pleased.
He turned up the volume on the TV, poured himself another glass of Moët, and raised his glass at the screen.
“To the late Dame Felicity Devonshire.”
He downed the champagne in a single gulp.
Chapter 9
Stone had just finished gettingdressed on Saturday morning when his phone rang. Tamlyn’s name showed up on the screen.
“Good morning,” he said. “If you let me know what time you’ll be landing, I’ll meet you at the airstrip.”
“I’m so sorry, Stone. I’m afraid I won’t be able to make it. I’m in D.C. and will be heading to Mexico City this afternoon.”
