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“The Beached Whale.”
“Vybroshennyy na bereg kit.” He nodded. “So long as it stands, the memory will endure. Remove the bar, and the incidents will be forgotten. Like they never occurred. I will take care of that tonight. You will find me a list of relevant persons we have in our pocket. Understood?”
Mikhail’s head swam with all the things that he could mean and the ramifications to their business. “I understand.”
He nodded. “Don’t fail your Pakhan again, Brigadier.” With that final, unspoken threat, he turned on his heel and moved down the steps. Again, no one interfered or dared get in his way.
Mikhail watched him go, but as the Chechen neared the door to the office, he found his eyes drifting back to the railing. He stared at the knotted tie and couldn’t stop himself.
“What’s your name?” he called, then by way of explanation added, “for his mother.”
The Chechen froze at that, dropped his hand and turned back to face the Avtoritet. From where he stood, he’d seen it all. He’d glimpsed the stunned soldiers on the suite, the commander at his desk, and the body hanging from the bannister, and smiled. He understood the request. A mother had the right to know the name of her son’s executioner. Vengeance ran as thick as vodka in their blood. He had made an enemy the moment he slew Rory. It would probably just be another drop in the ocean, but she had the right to know.
His eyes moved from Rory’s blue and swollen face to Mikhail, and his smile was suddenly a wolf’s grin.
“Kleyton.”
