was a prisoner in penal colony number six for seven years. Do you know this place?”
“I can’t say I’m familiar.”
“It is the oldest prison in all of Russia. They call the prisoners, ‘the maniacs’—a fitting term, no? Terrorists, child molesters, serial killers, even cannibals. Life sentences only. No one gets out.”
“No one but you?”
“Da. Ivan Zharkov got me out and brought me back to the brotherhood. Promoted me. Phakan did not put me here. The one who betrayed us did. The only reason I am talking to you is so you can find the man who betrayed this mission.”
“How do you know someone betrayed it?”
“How do you Americans put it? This was not my first, uh, cattle drive? You avoided the ambush and now you are asking me about Ivan Zharkov a few hours later.”
“Tell me about him.”
“He worked his way up. He was a foot soldier, like me. In 1991, Russia became like your cowboy West, I think you say? He saw opportunity and is now one of the most powerful men in Russia.”
“Why would he want to kill me?”
Dimitry hesitated.
“Why!” Reece demanded, shaking the capsaicin syringe attached to the IV line.
“I think it has to do with the American.”
“The American?”
“A CIA man defected to Russia and now works for Zharkov.”
“What CIA man?” Reece asked with renewed interest.
“One I escorted from Argentina to Russia. He was an old Soviet mole, involved with the President Zubarev assassination.”
Son of a bitch, Reece thought. Oliver Grey.
“And who do you think betrayed you?” Reece asked.
“Someone I should have killed long ago. Ivan’s son.”
“Son?”
“He has many, but the one who is most valuable to the organization is Aleksandr.”
“Why?”
“He’s a director in the SVR.”
“The SVR has ties to the mafia?” Reece asked, pretending he didn’t already have the information.
“This is Russia. The ‘bratva, intelligence, political triad’ is strong.”
“I want you to think long and hard about this one. Why would Aleksandr Zharkov call a contact at the CIA to sell you out moments before the attack?”
Reece watched as his detainee’s eyes flashed with recognition.
“Tell me.”
“It is said that Aleksandr is sick.”
“He’s dying?”
“No, sick, like how do you say, ‘crazy’?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Aleksandr is what I hear called ‘not right in head.’ He hunts humans.”
“What? Where?”
“He leases an island in the Russian Far East from the government. Medny Island. It is said he imports people from Africa, but this is only how do you say? Guess? But if Aleksandr called your CIA to warn you of the attack, then I want you to kill that suka. I know you can’t let me live. In exchange for this information I want you to kill Aleksandr Zharkov. Send him to me in the afterlife.”
“You have my word.”
Reece would have preferred to put a bullet in Dimitry’s head but that would have left DNA all over the former senator’s cabin. This was going to be hard enough to clean up as it was.
Depressing the syringe’s plunger, Reece pushed the remaining 30cc’s of solution into Dimitry’s veins, flooding his system with an overdose of capsaicin. The right side of his brain stroked immediately, the left side of his face dropping into paralysis as blood filled his retinas and brain, the red fluid attempting to escape from its dying host through his nose, mouth, and ears. Almost simultaneously, his bladder and bowels released a mess of bloody excrement. Seconds later his heart went into fibrillation, and Dimitry went to hell to wait for Aleksandr Zharkov.
Reece stepped outside and grabbed the railing of the deck for balance, taking deep breaths of mountain air while suppressing an urge to vomit.
Oliver Grey was in Russia working for the mafia, working for a man whose son was a senior intelligence official with a penchant for hunting humans. That same son had called a contact at the CIA to betray his father’s, and Grey’s, plan to kill him. Why?
Reece waved to a worried-looking Liz on the dock, then picked up the sat phone to call Raife via the landline at the main ranch house.
“Hanna?” Caroline Hastings picked up on the first ring, a hint of panic in her usually steady voice.
“No, I’m sorry, Caroline, it’s Reece. Is Raife there?”
“He couldn’t wait. He’s in the air on his way to Romania to look for Hanna. She hasn’t answered her phone or any of our emails. Vic has the embassy trying to track her down but Raife doesn’t trust them. He just couldn’t sit around and wait.”