He wanted to make contact. Wanted to tell me what the terms were–the specific transaction he was proposing, the exchange he had designed this entire sequence to produce. The conversation that ended with me choosing between the empire and the person I had, against thirty years of operational discipline, allowed to matter.
He was going to be disappointed by how the transaction resolved.
“He’ll contact me tonight,” I said. “Within the hour, probably. He’ll want me unsettled, not planning–he’ll want to catch the window when the emotional response is maximum and the operational thinking is compromised.” I paused. “He has not correctly assessed the emotional response.”
Viktor’s expression had something in it that was the closest thing to grim satisfaction that his face produced.
“No,” he said. “He hasn’t.”
“When he calls, I take the call and I give him nothing–no evidence of operational activity, no indication that we have the compound location. I confirm I received the communication and I disconnect.” I looked at Dmitri. “How long to position?”
“If we leave now–ninety minutes to reach the road, another thirty to position at the perimeter without triggering the approach sensors, assuming they have standard setup.” He paused. “Could be shorter if we have the compound’s own security layout.”
“Get it,” I said to Alexei.
“Working,” he said.
I looked at Viktor.
“You and I drive ahead. Dmitri positions his men at the perimeter on our timeline. We go in when I have the internal layout and not before.” I paused. “This is not a fast operation. We do it correctly.”
Viktor nodded.
“One more thing.” I looked at the three of them–brothers, the specific weight of what that word meant in a family that had been shaped by thirty years of this, of rooms like this one, of decisions made in compressed timeframes with the full understanding of what they cost. “She comes out. That is the only objective. Everything else is secondary.”
Dmitri absorbed this with the seriousness the statement deserved.
Viktor said nothing, because Viktor understood that some things didn’t require acknowledgment to be fully received.
Alexei had gone back to the screen.
***************
Volkov called at 10: 47 pm.
I was in the car, moving east, Viktor driving and Dmitri coordinating the flank positioning by phone in the back seat. I took the call on the second ring–taking it on the first communicated urgency, taking it on the third communicated delay, and I was not giving him either reading.
“Mikhail.”
His voice was what I had constructed from reputation and intelligence–smooth, unhurried. “I hope the evening wasn’t too disrupted.”
“Tell me what you want,” I said.
“Always direct.” A pause, the pause of a man savoring a position. “I want to have a conversation about the future of your operation. About certain properties that have been under dispute. About the arrangement that I think would benefit both of us, given the current circumstances.”
“And Elena is the reason I’m having this conversation.”
“Elena is the demonstration that I’m serious,” he said. “She’s quite well, I want you to know. My people are professionals. She’s not being harmed.”
“She had better not be.”
“She won’t be. She’ll continue to be quite comfortable for as long as it takes us to reach an understanding.” A pause. “She is, Mikhail, a remarkable woman. Composed. I understand why you married her.”
I said nothing.
“I’ll be in touch tomorrow with the specific terms,” he said. “I’d encourage you to spend the evening thinking about what you value and what you’re willing to exchange for it.” Another pause. “I suspect the answer will surprise you.”
I ended the call.
