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“I speak only the truth.” He took another step.
Rapp pushed himself away from the wall and got ready. The only question left was whether Milinkavich would go straight for the door or try to take Rapp out first. Rapp was betting that the man would be misled by his size advantage.
“Sit back down right now, or you’re going to get hurt.”
Milinkavich, only six feet away, made his move. He charged straight at Rapp, his left arm out in front of him, reaching to grab hold of something, and his right arm cocked and ready to deliver a forceful blow. Time slowed down for Rapp. Everything so far was expected. Big men always attacked this way. They came in high thinking they could smother their opponent. The only problem was they left their legs and midsection open. Milinkavich had a hell of a tire around his waist. Rapp had noted this and knew that in these tight quarters it would be difficult to get enough force behind a blow to have much effect. That left two knees and two testicles. Rapp decided on the right knee.
The big man’s right arm came in straight like a battering ram. Rapp stepped quickly to his left and swept his right arm up and around in a clockwise motion grabbing Milinkavich’s right elbow. Using the man’s own momentum Rapp pulled him closer and turned him away at the same time. He brought his right leg up and then sent his foot crashing down on the completely exposed outside of Milinkavich’s right knee. There was hideous crunching noise as ligaments snapped and the knee collapsed inward. Milinkavich hopped once on his left leg and then fell to the floor screaming in agony.
Rapp stood over him, ready to strike another blow, his jaw clenched in anger. He was pissed that this idiot had forced them to go down this road. “Where were you born?” Rapp yelled.
“Minsk. I was born in Minsk.”
“And who do you work for?”
“The KGB.”
Rapp kicked him in the bad knee and the Belarusian howled in pain. “You mean the BKGB.”
“We are one and the same.”
“The hell you are.” Rapp kicked him in the knee again. “I’m done fucking around with you, Yuri.” Rapp bent down and looked him in the eye, noted the shocked expression on his face. “That’s right, you dumb fucker. I know your name. I know all about you. I know you’re not Russian. I know you never worked for the KGB, and I know you were one corrupt motherfucker when you worked for the BKGB. My friends at the KGB told me you got fat working for the Minsk mob.” Rapp mixed facts with suppositions to build his case and chip away at Milinkavich’s confidence.
“I need a doctor,” the man wailed in pain.
“You aren’t going to get shit until you start answering my questions.” Rapp stomped on the bent knee, and shouted over Milinkavich’s cries, “Who do you work for?”
“The Minsk mob!”
“And who do you answer to?” Rapp brought his foot up and held it in the air.
“Aleksandr Gordievsky.”
Before this morning Rapp would not have recognized the name, but he’d just read it in the file Langley had sent over. Aleksandr Gordievsky was none other that the former communist party chairman of Belarus and the current mob boss of the entire country.
“And why were you on Cyprus?”
“To kill the man.”
“Which man?”
“Deckas. The Greek.”
“Why?” Rapp yelled.
“I don’t know.”
Rapp lifted his foot.
“I swear.” Milinkavich put his hands up. “I do not know.”
Rapp’s foot came crashing down. “Bullshit!”
Milinkavich screamed in agony and tears began spilling from his eyes.
“You want me to kick you again?”
“No!”
