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“Yes. All agencies have factions.”
“So do we. I suspected it was the same everywhere. Some in my government have different ideas about the war on terror. Unfortunately, they’ve acted on them. You might call them cowboys or rogues.”
“What kind of different ideas do these factions have?”
She brought those intense, blue eyes to rest on me. “We all have the same goal: s
top terrorism. Some people in the Russian government feel like the US has not participated the way it should.”
I couldn’t hide my shock. “Are you saying this is a Russian government–sanctioned attack?”
Darya stayed calm and steady. She didn’t rush what she had to say. That was the mark of a pro.
She said, “No, just the opposite. Now this is all hypothetical, of course. But suppose a rogue element, which was now neutralized, had forced a Russian agent to carry out an attack like this.”
“Temir Marat worked for the Russian government?”
She lifted her hands and said, “I was just giving you a theory. I’m doing this because I know you’re actually trying to help things.”
I said, “I want to capture Temir Marat and question him. What do you want?”
Darya gave no answer.
Before I could press her on it, I glanced up. There, near the front door, at the end of the bar, stood Temir Marat.
Chapter 28
It felt unreal to have been searching for someone so hard and then see him in person not far away. I guess part of me thought Lewis Vineyard was full of shit.
I stared at Marat. A bandage on his cheek covered the cut I’d given him with the bottle. He wore a NY Rangers baseball cap pulled low. He was gazing around the room, looking for someone. I suspected I knew who.
I eased out of my chair, getting ready to make a casual stroll across the dining room to get next to him.
Then I saw the couple coming into the bar behind Marat. A tall, burly man with short hair, and a woman nearly six feet tall with black hair. The man’s birthmark told me exactly who he was. The birthmark looked like a smeared tattoo of a purple house.
All I could think was that the FBI was going to owe Lewis Vineyard a truckload of cash.
If I wanted Marat alive, I would have to act quickly.
Then the mob hitters made their move. It was smooth and professional—if I didn’t know what I was looking for, I might’ve missed it.
The man stepped up right next to Temir Marat, folded his hands across his waist, and casually slipped his right hand under his dark linen coat.
It was subtle, but not too subtle. Marat immediately picked up on the man right next to him. He moved like a cat.
I could clearly see the Russian mobster as he pulled his blue steel SIG Sauer P220 semiautomatic pistol. It was an ugly thing, out of place in a nice restaurant like this.
But Marat was smooth as he turned and used both hands to block the gun before it could come up. He locked the man in close, with the pistol pointing almost straight at the floor.
The killer struggled with the gun under the power of Marat’s grip. I could tell he was also struggling with the shock. He’d thought this would be easy.
Marat head-butted him, then ripped the gun right out of his hands. Now the woman got involved, reaching into her Louis Vuitton purse to pull out an identical pistol.
Marat reacted immediately, jerking the dazed man right in front of him as the woman pulled the trigger, shooting her partner twice in the chest.
Marat shoved the motionless man toward the woman. The dead weight knocked her off balance.
This all happened before I could even reach the bar. Everyone was looking around, startled by the two gunshots. The echo had made it difficult to pinpoint. This guy really did have skills.
