Fugitive

Chapter 16

Grigory smiled at me. More of an evil grin really. He knew he could get something from me now. "I will tell you. After you do a little job for me". "Don't play that card with me. I'm not going to be bargained into doing something for you. Tell me the man's name". "You're not in any position to be making threats Jacob, remember who holds the deck". His voice was darker now. More sinister. He handed me a file sitting on his desk. Out of curiosity, I opened it. Inside were some pictures of a man. Different angels in different places. Ivan Kuznetsov was typed at the top of a profile page in bold lettering. His hair was cut short, buzz cut, and it was a dark blonde colour, almost brown. His face was round and his frame was slim, but strong. His lips were thin, pulled into a frown. Stubble was beginning to appear on his chin. A normal guy. "You kill him and bring me evidence, then I tell you who killed your sister and her son. I think you'll find sufficient information in that file to figure out where he'll be". I threw the file back on the desk. "If you know where he'd going to be why don't you kill him yourself"? "Why would I do my own dirty work when I can get someone else to. Besides, he has high security detail, personnel on him 24/7. Our men wouldn't be able to get close enough to get a good shot without drawing attention. Seems like a job for you don't you think? I've heard you're a pretty good hitman". "Sniper", I correct him. "What's the difference"? It was a rhetorical question, but I answered anyway. "A hitman is paid to kill someone, usually an innocent billionaire. I protect my country". "Whatever". Grigory clearly didn't care. "The way I see it, you need me to kill this guy. You tell me the man's name and I'll consider killing him". Grigory didn't say anything for quite a few moments. He just smiled at me, shaking his head with an amused expression. "I think you'll find, Jacob, that this is a battle of wanting. And I'm willing to bet you want to know the name of your sister's killer more than we want that man dead. Come back within a week, with evidence of Kuznetsov's death, then we'll talk". I had nothing more to say. What could I say? Instead, I stormed out, the file in hand, closely followed by another man. He escorted me out of the building where I started the long walk back to the hotel. I hated the way he treated me like a child. Like I was so naïve and I had no idea what was going on. Like he was already ten steps ahead and knew that eventually I would do anything he said. My walk gave me time to cool off and man, was it cold. All I'd learnt from the confrontation is that I'm a bad negotiator. I guess I also learnt why Cat and Toby were killed. The reason horrified me. When I was in Afghanistan I met Alexander there. He was a member of Bratva, as I've mentioned. I got to know some of the other guys there. They didn't talk much about why they were there, but by the end of our time there I had picked up why. Bratva had been selling weapons, drugs and even information in some cases to members of the Taliban. We didn't have authority to stop them. No one else really knew anyway. But I knew. I also knew it was wrong. Everything seems wrong these days. My moral compass is seriously out of whack. For whatever reason, I never said anything. Nothing ever happened. But I knew, and I wasn't supposed to. I can see how that would be a threat to Bratva. Clearly their operation was a lot bigger that I thought. They wanted to keep it safe. They wanted insurance that it would never be disturbed. I only knew that it was happening, and I never told anyone. Ever. It had skipped my mind honestly. If anything, Bratva should be thanking me, not killing my family. I guess that's not how they work. Old leaves cracked underfoot and my breath clouded in front of me. I shivered under my jacket. The cold was bighting at my nose. No one was out on the streets tonight. Cars drove by, but there were no people. At one point a lady drove up beside me in her car. Her window slowly rolled down. Stiff with cold. "Khoteli by vy prokatit'sva"? I shook my head. "I don't speak Russian". I spoke my words clearly and slowly, with lengths in between, as if doing so would mean she could magically understand English. It clearly didn't work. She drove off in silence leaving me alone once more in the cold. Why would anyone want to live here? The cold, the snow. It seems pretty torturous to me. When I finally reached the hotel, I had a hot shower. The water stung a little on my skin but I turned it up as hot as I could bare, hoping it would thaw out my bones. I threw on some clean underwear and crawled into the bed. The covers itchy and the mattress lumpy. The room was warm, a small heater in the corner working wonders. I wasn't tired. Thinking about it I really hadn't been awake for that long. Beside me was the remote so I decided to try and find a channel in English. Something with subtitles maybe? I couldn't find anything. There was a news channel which wasn't very interesting for many reasons. A movie was playing on another channel but I couldn't understand a word of anything. There was a late night talk show. A game show. A documentary. Everything you would expect to see I guess. I flicked back to the movie and sat back trying to decipher the dialogue. I didn't have much luck. I only picked up a few words here and there. I'd tried to learn languages in the past but it's difficult. Sometimes I wish my Mom had been Russian or something so I would have grown up learning English and Russian. Or you know another language. I don't know. I would love to know another language but it's hard for me. I feel like I'm too old to learn. I promised myself I would make a solid effort when all of this was over. If it ever ended. Instead of attempting to watch the movie, I forced myself to sleep in hopes it would help the time zone adjustments. Banging woke me up at just past six the next morning. I dismissed the banging, I didn't know what it was but I knew that it wasn't anything to be worried about. Most likely a trash can being emptied or a car door slamming. My eyes were immediately drawn to the file I'd dumped by the door when I stumbled in last night. Rubbing sleep from my eyes I leant over to grab it. Everything was still inside. The photos, the info. How much was I willing to give to find out who killed Cat and Toby? Was I willing to kill this guy? He must be a criminal, right? If he's working with the Bratva it's more than likely. It's almost certain he's a bad guy... Yet I couldn't think about killing him without feeling an overwhelming swell of guilt. No not guilt... but something like it. The more I read the profile the more I realised my assumptions were true. This guy was a bad person. Still this is different to killing on a battlefield. This is killing in cold blood. I'm practically a contract killer if I do this. Every time I told myself I shouldn't, that I couldn't, Cat and Toby entered my mind. This was my last chance to figure out who'd killed them. My only chance. No one else knew who'd done it. So, after a quick breakfast I headed over to Ivan Kuznetsov's last known address. His street contained all new houses. Large, but privately enclosed with large fences. Security cameras on all the corners, big iron gates that appeared electronic. Perfectly manicured grass and pruned trees. The driveways were large and tarsealed. I drove there in the rental car. For a while I simply sat in the car and watched the house. After a bit, I started to doubt that anyone was even home. Until the elegant curtains were drawn back, Ivan himself stood in front of the window. A minute later a man in a clean pressed suit stepped outside and walked down to the mailbox. His security detail. He scanned the area, looking around for anything out of place, ie me. I leant back in my seat a little, bringing my phone to my ear and talking into the phone. Pausing at all the right times. The man's eyes settled on my car, knowing it was out of place. Nevertheless, he moved on quickly and went back indoors shutting the door tightly. He was careful. I put my phone down and drove off round the block. I got out of the car, locked the door then scaled the neighbours fence, not an easy mission, but I got there. From my spot down the side of the house I could see Ivan's. There were many plants and trees decorating the side of the house so it would be easy to hide if someone were to come outside or look down the side of the house. There didn't appear to be anyone else indoors, besides Ivan and his security guard. There were cameras though. Judging by the area I figured they weren't fake. After hours of sitting there on the dewy grass and in the chilly air, I finally decided this wasn't worth it. Until another man in a suit walked in. He straightened his tie as he walked up the path and knocked on the door. It opened. I didn't hear their conversation, I was too far away. The man in the suit headed inside. It was then I noticed the second security guard. Minutes later he exited the building with a briefcase. He checked his watch and started down the street. His car stood out of the street everyone else seemed to have their cars tucked away in a large garage. Quickly and quietly I followed him. My footsteps barely making a sound. I wrapped my arm around his neck. I held it there tightly. He dropped the briefcase and brought his hands up to my arm. Clawing and scratching. I pulled us both backwards down the side of one of the houses away from the street. "What's in the briefcase"? My breath went down his neck. "None of your business", he choked. "Why did you go and see Ivan"? "None. Of. Your. Business". He spat onto the ground in front of him. He wasn't going to be much help. A normal business man would probably not have acted that way. They would have surrendered instantly and offered up any information I'd wanted. This guy was skilled. Or if not skilled at least aware of the business he was partaking in and knew how to handle hostile situations. He really wasn't that skilled fight wise. It was easy to take him down and he didn't struggle very much. As if he almost expected it. Or was waiting to be ambushed. I put it down to his business. He knew that some day someone would be after him and he might get hurt. The pay check must have been worth more to him. In a few seconds his body lay still and I lowered his body onto the ground. He would wake up soon. I adjusted my coat before picking up the briefcase that was left on the ground. Then, I made my way back to the car. Inside I busted the locks and opened it up. Inside was cash. A lot of cash. Bundles of hundred dollar notes from top to bottom. Okay, no good guy can just have this much cash lying around in a briefcase ready to give to some man. He's a criminal; but what kind?