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“You’re wired tonight,” he said casually as he allowed his fingers to fly across one of the keyboards.
“I have reason to be.”
“Something new?”
“A gut feeling that I’m missing something.”
He shifted a quick glance in my direction. “Did you decide to head to another destination?”
“It all depends on this conversation; however, it’s plausible. Perhaps necessary.”
“Exterminating any leaks is always in your best interest.”
He seemed almost cavalier about his statements, which would normally trouble me, but his life as well as his worth to me was also being placed on the line. If we were discovered, I’d be forced to shut down operations for a lengthy period of time. While contingencies had been established a long time before, it was the last thing I wanted to do.
The thought of abandoning the animals left a bad taste in my mouth.
I drummed my fingers on the desk, my anger festering. It was five past midnight. In my line of work, an additional five minutes usually meant death.
Another three minutes passed and I was pissed to the point I couldn’t see straight. When I jerked up from the chair, Diego hissed and threw out his arm.
“Learn some fucking patience,” he snarled.
I slammed my hand on the desk, jarring several of the monitors. “Fuck that. Sixty seconds and I’m gone, but you will track him. Then that trip will be necessary.”
“Whew. Hold on.”
There was no need counting down the seconds. I’d programmed myself to process time without failure. With five seconds left, I headed for the door.
“He’s on,” Diego announced.
Stopping short, I took a deep breath. As I turned slowly, I could hear a crackling sound coming from the speakers. “SeñorOvachov.” I allowed my Spanish accent to surface, my abilities to hide my identity honed over the years.
“This must be the Ghost.”
Very few used the term, although it had floated around in various circles for almost a decade. “What is it that you require? My time is valuable.”
“Yes, I’m certain it is, so I will not waste any,” he answered. “I have a job for you.”
“I have many jobs, most that require extensive time.”
“This one pays very well,” he answered.
Diego shook his head. It was usually the prelude to some jerkoff who thought a million dollars would buy them an assassination.
“What are the terms?” I asked, although I was already stripping off my clothes in my mind, prepared to indulge in my greatest proclivity.
“Twenty million dollars for the removal of a thorn.” The man spoke clearly, hiding his true intentions. That meant he was trained in the art of subtle yet deadly negotiations.
I glanced at Diego, who was as surprised as I was. No one began the interaction by putting that kind of money on the table. The fact the amount had doubled in such little time was a surprise.
“And the subject?”
“Dimitri Volkov.”
Dimitri Volkov. I repeated the name in my mind. Not only was he considered the most powerful man in Russia, but also the deadliest. If anyone even so much as looked at him the wrong way, he’d cut off their fingers one by one then use a clamp to remove the man’s tongue. As the leader of the Bratva, even the president of the Russian Federation did his bidding.
I laughed softly, rolling my eyes so Diego could see it. “I don’t have a death wish, Mr. Ovachov.”
