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“Describe his nose, Scott.”

“I don’t know. Not real big. Kind of sharp.”

Nash brought up a selection of noses from a drop-down menu. It was a common change for a plastic surgeon to make—easier to take away flesh than to add it.

He chose the best match and then used a commercial software program to age the man to his midthirties. Finally, he walked the tablet back to Coleman.

This time there was no need to ask him what he thought. The rhythm of the heart rate monitor he was connected to accelerated audibly.

“Grisha Filipov,” Coleman finally managed to get out.

“I didn’t want to say anything to influence you, but this was our top pick.”

“Russian?”

“Yeah. Spetsnaz. He was identified as an exceptional athlete when he was a kid and put into the Soviet athletics machine. Interestingly, he ended up in a sport you’re a fan of—biathlon. Turns out he had a minor heart murmur. The system spit him out and sent him back to the family farm. A few years later, he joined the military. Apparently, he strolled through spec ops training without breaking a sweat and tested extraordinarily high on intelligence tests. After distinguishing himself in a few operations, he left the military and disappeared. Our guess is that he caught the eye of Russia’s new president.”

“Krupin,” Coleman said.

“It makes perfect sense,” Irene Kennedy interjected. “Krupin was consolidating his power at the time and Filipov would have been just the kind of person he would have needed—young, talented, and relatively anonymous.”

“Do you know where he is?” Coleman said.

“Not yet. But we’ll find him.”

“When you do, don’t get anywhere near him, Mike. Take it from me. Drone that asshole from the stratosphere.”

“That’s up to Mitch.”

Coleman opened his mouth to say something but fell silent when a timid knock sounded on the door. Irene Kennedy glanced at the glass wall and saw Claudia Gould peeking through. She waved her in.

“Are they bothering you?” Claudia said, taking a position by Coleman’s side and adjusting his pillows.

“Definitely,” he said. “I think you should throw them out in the street.”

She frowned at them. “Are you talking business? You know the doctors said not to upset him. He needs rest.”

Kennedy rose and motioned for Nash to do the same. “You’re right. We’ve overstayed our welcome. Claudia, I have to get back to the office. You have my personal number as well as Mike’s. If there’s problem—any problem at all—you should call one of us immediately.”

“I understand.”

The young woman reached for the tablet but then froze with her fingers still a few inches away.

“Claudia?” Kennedy said. “Are you all right?”

“Grisha Azarov,” she said, sounding a bit startled. “Was it him, Scott? Did he do this to you?”

“What did you say?” Nash asked. “Azarov? We have his name as Filipov.”

“No,” Claudia said. “Not Filipov. Not for many years.”

“You know this man?” Kennedy said.

She suddenly took on a bit of a deer-in-the-headlights expression. “No . . . No, I—”

“Calm down,” Kennedy said. “You’re among friends. Everyone in his room knows who you are.”

“I’m not that person anymore.”

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
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