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“Nothing I do now is without risk,” Lyon said. “This is the best move I have.”
Rurik nodded and focused on the road. They’d traveled from the posh European tourist district of the Grand Mark hotel to the seedier neighborhood of Smíchov. The streets were still wide, the buildings crafted of the ochre stone that was a hallmark of the city, but Lyon recognized the subtle earmarks of a crime-riddled neighborhood: young men standing on street corners with their hands in their pockets, locals clutching bags as they kept a watchful eye on their surroundings, far fewer tourists than in the upscale parts of the city.
Rurik found a place to park along the river and they exited the car. Lyon looked out over the water while Rurik approached a young man in a leather jacket who was leaning on the railing above the water.
A wad of bills exchanged hands, and Rurik returned to where Lyon was standing a few feet away.
“He’ll watch the car,” Rurik said.
Lyon nodded.
They walked parallel to the river, then crossed the street. They continued deeper into the neighborhood through a series of narrower streets that resembled alleys, finally coming to a stop in front of a gray stone building with no sign and a set of black double doors.
Lyon reached for one of the doors and they stepped into a shadowed interior with dark paneled walls. The place was mostly empty, a series of stools covered in gray velvet lined up like soldiers in front of a bar lit with tacky pink and purple lights.
There were two men at the bar, one in an ill-fitting suit, the other in a denim jacket. Both turned to look at Lyon, and Lyon caught the bulge of a weapon under the denim jacket.
He was glad he had Rurik at his back. Lyon could handle a threat, but Rurik’s hulking presence might head one off, and Lyon was keen to save time.
He scanned the rest of the room, letting his gaze pass over a smattering of small tables at the edge of the room. They were empty, but behind them, at the back of the room, a lone figure sat in a booth facing the door.
Lyon started toward him. The man’s features came into full view as Lyon approached, and Lyon was struck with a bolt of memory: a slender man with the build of an athlete smiling down at him at a long ago birthday party, his bony hand coming down on Lyon’s shoulder like a thunderclap, his yellowed teeth exposed in a grin.
He slid into the booth opposite Tolya Sakharov. He didn’t leave room for Rurik. The other man took up a position behind the man sitting across from Lyon, a position from which Rurik could also view the door, as Lyon had known he would.
“Zdravstvuyte,” Lyon said, purposefully choosing the more formal version of a greeting.
“Privyet,” Tolya said. He stubbed out his cigarette in a cut glass ashtray on the table. It was the informal version of hello, a signal that he considered Lyon familiar, that if they were not friends, they were at least not strangers. He studied Lyon for almost a full minute, his eyes narrow and appraising. “You’ve grown.”
“Yes.”
“I was sorry to hear about your father,” Tolya said. Lyon felt a rush of longing at the sound of the man’s English, accented with Russian. He missed his father, wished he were there to provide counsel instead of this stranger across the table.
“Thank you,” Lyon said. “He held great admiration for you.”
“I assume that is why you’re here,” Tolya said.
“He told me if I needed information about our homeland, I should come to you,” Lyon said.
Tolya lifted an arm and shouted at the bartender in Russian. A moment later, the bartender delivered a bottled of vodka and three glasses to the table.
Tolya poured, then turned to hand one to Rurik behind him. He handed one of the remaining glasses to Lyon and picked up the last one.
“Za vaše zdorovie,” Tolya said, raising his glass.
Russians had many variations on the American version of “cheers.” This one meant “to your health,” and Lyon couldn’t help wondering if there was a secret message encoded in the words.
“Za zd?rovie," Lyon said, choosing the broader “to our health.”
They drank and Tolya poured again, although this time he left Rurik out of it.
Tolya removed another cigarette from his jacket and proceeded to light it. “You’ve overcome great obstacles.”
Lyon wasn’t surprised by the knowledge in Tolya’s words. He was still connected, although Lyon couldn’t imagine the dangerous and tangled network of contacts necessary to maintain such connections.
“Yes,” Lyon said. “With my father’s guidance.”
Tolya took a long drag of his cigarette. “The little Lion has become king of jungle. What could he possibly want with me?”
