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“What’s your name?” I ask.
He furrows his brows in confusion. “Grigoriy Belyaev,” he answers after a brief pause.
“How old are you?”
“Forty-two?”
“Where were you born?”
“I’m originally from Kazan.”
“Where is Edvard Levitsky hiding?”
“He’s—” Belyaev struggles in his seat, face squishing up in a mix of horror, confusion, and stunned amazement. “What the fuck is happening?”
“Tell me where I can find Levitsky,” I repeat more firmly. “At the very least, tell me where I can find the boy. He’s really all I want. I want to save the child and be done with all this nonsense.” I gaze at him. “Do you hear me?”
Belyaev’s mouth opens, closes, and opens again. Poor man’s confused. “There’s an apartment complex in the southern district. Heavily guarded. The kid’s being held on the top floor.”
“And Levitsky?”
“He won’t be there for long. He said he was going to meet with Dimitri Antonov for the hostage trade off, but…”
“What?”
“Levitsky has no plans of giving the kid back. It was just a way to get Dimitri out in the open to take him out.”
My stomach flips. I should have known Edvard wouldn’t have any qualms about resorting to such a dirty trick. This just means we have to save Simon before he has a chance to hurt Dimitri.
“I need an exact address,” I say. “And don’t bother fighting the truth serum. It’ll cause permanent brain damage if you do.”
Belyaev’s eyes widen in horror. “O-okay! Okay,fine. 1270 Moska Street. It’s the big grey building with glass doors out front. You can’t miss it.”
The relief I feel is fleeting. “Thank you very much,” I say as I quickly rise from my chair.
“W-wait!” he gasps.
“What?”
“How long does it take for this stuff to wear off? I don’t want brain damage.”
I throw my head back and laugh. “Oh, that? It wasn’t actually a truth serum. That stuff’s hard to find, and we were kind of in a hurry. I gave you a shot of a low dose of saline solution. Salt water? Totally harmless.”
“But…”
Behind me, Mikhail chuckles to himself. “Very clever.”
I shrug.
Belyaev’s mouth drops like a gaping fish. “You tricked me!”
“Yeah? And you used my father’s funeral as an excuse to manipulate me. Pot, meet fucking kettle.”
“W-wait! You’re not going to leave me here, are you?”
Mikhail steps forward. My job here is done. “You’ll remain here until our business is concluded. Pray I don’t forget you’re here and lose the key.”
“Wait, please!”
