At the very least, these men were still alive.
I stood and waved the card in front of the lock. It played a short tone, and I heard the magnets disengage. I slid the key into my pocket, entered Solovyov’s home, and locked the door behind me.
I was in a kind of foyer, a large oval-shaped room with halls to the left and right. Arranged in a semicircle along the walls were a series of portraits, one of which I recognized as Solovyov himself. They all seemed to be actual paints on panel. Faint hints of relief accompanied some of the thicker strokes of color. Something like that wasn’t particularly rare among the wealthy—the Black Kuei syndicate used art as a form of untraceable currency—but who the paintings depicted seemed out of place.
They were each of one subject and included men and women of varying ethnicities. I didn’t recognize any of the people except Solovyov. On the far right was his portrait, looking like he did in most photos of the Russo-Sino Armistice decades ago, but on the far left was an image of a child. The only one of the series, it was an image of a young boy sitting in a street among brightly colored plasticrete-block buildings. There was a deep cut along his cheek, and dried blood stained his face and clothing. His dark brown eyes stared out of the canvas with a look that was either the beginnings of a scowl or wince.
The boy’s portrait was subtly menacing and was probably why I went right instead of left. The hall led to a guest room with a collection of historic artwork. Small jade Buddhist statues and wooden topeng masks were locked inside minimalist display cases tastefully arranged around the space almost like a gallery.
This room had a view, looking out over the neighborhood. I took a moment to glance outside, checking for any sign of StateSec. It wasn’t likely, but Lera the receptionist could have noticed that I hadn’t yet returned and alerted someone. I saw nothing but quiet streets and tree-lined skyways in the perpetual violet twilight.
I heard voices from around the far corner. I put a hand on my pocket and checked my posture, repeating my cover to myself. I crossed the room and rounded the corner into an open kitchen. There were three men in black suits gathered around the center island. The empty plates told me why I had encountered these men so far into the penthouse. One of the men was in the middle of a story.
“She said she’s married, but she’s always sticking those tits out when I walk in the building, and I’m thinking ‘how married are you?’ One day I’m gonna—”
One saw me then and motioned to the others. The man who was speaking paused in mid-sentence, arm still raised with a glass of water in his hand. As far as they knew, they hadn’t heard anything about a trespasser, and I didn’t look the part, so who was I and what was I doing here?
“Excuse me…sir? I wasn’t told—”
“It’s fine. That’s alright, really. Don’t worry about it.” I flashed a smile at them, as I approached. I leaned against the island countertop in an open posture. “Should I be waiting somewhere else?”
The man with the drink looked at his buddies, then he set his drink down on the countertop and turned back toward me. “Do you have a meeting with Mr. Solovyov, sir?”
“I do. The guys at the door told me to go on in, but I seem to have gotten lost along the way somehow.”
The man to his left closed his eyes. It was something people often did when making dataspike calls as a way to see the AR more clearly. I knew he was calling the men at the door, but I wasn’t sure how he would react when neither picked up. I could wait for him to walk away and check on them, leaving me with just two people to deal with instead of three, but that would also mean I’d eventually have one man on alert out of sight.
“What was your name again, sir,” he asked. I decided the risk of taking on three at once was justified.
I snapped my arm up into a punch, then I rotated at the hip and twisted my upper body to strike through the man standing in front of me. My fist caught the storyteller just under the cheekbone. His head whipped back, and his body folded backward