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Nik nodded, saying nothing. He didn’t know where Pavlovich was going with this conversation. The doors opened and they walked directly into the sumptuous suite. Nik didn’t gawk, having been in rich places before, but this one was palatial and thoughtfully designed. Pavlovich looked around and pleasure came to his face.
“Very nice. Tell Korsak he did good, will you, Morozov?”
“Yes, sir, I will.”
The guard gestured for Nik to move to the kitchen table and did so. Moments later, Kravec and Duboff arrived with the suitcases. They gave Nik an odd look, not knowing why he was being preferentially treated by the Don. He ignored them, and heard the guard snarl at them to leave immediately. The guard came over to the table where he opened his ruck. He pulled out a list and handed it to Nik.
“My name is Oleg Laskin. I’m the head of Don Pavlovich’s security detail. This is a list of all the medications he needs. If you don’t have them, don’t cross them off the list. I’ll make the call myself to the Cusco hospital if we need replacements.”
“Of course,” Nik said, taking the list. There was a hardness to Laskin. He had dark green eyes, a square face and short black hair. He was easily over two-hundred pounds, heavily muscled, with a face marred by scars. Nik knew he had to be ex-Spetsnaz. The guard left him alone to attend the Don who was taking off his blazer. In no time, Nik had set out the medications on the table. Laskin came back.
“Only two I don’t have,” Nik said, handing the list back to the guard.
Giving a brisk nod, Laskin said gruffly, “The Don wants to talk to you. Say nothing. Speak when spoken to. Don’t ask questions unless he urges you to do so.”
Nik nodded, closing up his medical pack and hefting it across his shoulder. The Don was standing by the huge window six stories above the hill that overlooked the small town. He had a finely-cut glass in hand and Nik thought that might be whiskey in it.
“Morozov reporting, sir,” he said, coming to a halt, at attention, in front of Don Pavlovich.
“Relax,” he murmured, taking a sip of his drink. He turned, looking Nik in the eye. “I want you to join me for dinner in two hours. Up here, in the penthouse.”
Shock rooted him. Nik nodded. “Of course, sir.”
“I’ll see you then.”
Nik nodded and turned on his heels, reeling and stunned. What was going on here? He was only a drug soldier, not the leader of this team. His mind churned as he left the penthouse. First, he’d best tell Korsak what was going on or the man would be furious with him, feeling left out of the process. And then, go see Daria. He wanted to do the reverse, but knew better under the circumstances. Don Pavlovich had invited him up for dinner, not Korsak. His stomach tightened. The last thing Nik needed right now was to be put in the spotlight. He wanted to stay a shadow like always, seen, but never heard from. Hurrying out of the hotel, he strode down the street, urgent to get to Daria who, he was sure, was worried. After dinner, he would drop by and see her.
Daria waited, butnot well. As a sniper, she was patient, but this was way different. Pacing, it was nearly 2300, elevenp.m., when there was a soft knock at her apartment door. She hurried over, opening it. Nik gave her a tired smile and stepped in. He took off his medical pack, setting it down by the door as she closed and locked it.
“What a night,” Daria murmured, going over to him, her hand on his arm, worriedly assessing him. There were slight shadows beneath his eyes and he looked worn. “What can I do to help you, Nik?”
He turned, sliding his arm around her waist, drawing her to him, burying his face in her hair, their cheeks touching one another. “Nothing but this,” he growled, inhaling the fragrance of her hair, the scent of her.
Daria relaxed in his arm, folding against him, overjoyed he was home once again. “I couldn’t sit still all night. My mind was jumping around over one bad scenario to another.”
“Did you contact Shield Security?” he asked, drawing away, sliding his fingers across her hair, smoothing it back into place.
Nodding, she eased out of his arms. “I got intel. Jack is going crazy up in Virginia. I used my sniper scope and got photos of the men coming off the train. Don Pavlovich showing up here unannounced has thrown a wrench into everyone’s plans, the CIA’s, ours, and the Army Special Forces A-teams’. Everyone is scrambling. I guess they knew nothing that he was going to come down here.”
Reluctantly, he released Daria. “We didn’t either. Good that you got photos and sent them. I need a lot of intel on him. I smell coffee. Is there some?” and he looked hopefully toward the kitchen.
“Sure, come on. I just made a new pot. I’ve been drinking and pacing.”
A thin smile stretched his mouth. “And worrying. You are a worrywart, Daria, there’s no question.”
“Guilty as charged,” she agreed, moving into the kitchen. “Did you eat?”
Nik took down the mugs and she poured the coffee. “Yes. I was invited to dinner with Rolan Pavlovich. It was a nice meal but my stomach was tied in knots and I didn’t eat much,” he admitted.
Daria gave him a worried look. “What did he want?”
“Information about the team, how much cocaine was being picked, processed, how many pounds were yielded, and anything doing with that stuff,” he said, sitting down at the table.
Daria sat at his left elbow. She stirred cream and sugar into her mug. “Anything else?”
Rubbing his brow, he muttered, “No, but I felt him fishing. I think he’s trying to get a fix on Korsak. I don’t think Pavlovich is impressed with him.”
“Did he ask you directly?”
