As Finka headed out into the night with her old friend Natalya, Matvei Federov was unwittingly just blocks away, traveling with Boris.
Matvei stared out the passenger's side window of the car. "Something feels off, Boris."
His lieutenant didn't take his eyes off the road, and slowed to a stop at the red light. "I agree."
Matvei had met Deputy Prime Minister Valeriya Shumeyko, as she had requested. He had chosen to be honest with her about his plans for a nuclear bomb detonation - radical as it was - and she had been surprisingly receptive to the plan, even offering to assist him in acquiring it.
The Moscow city lights lit up the night and washed over the windshield of the car as the pair drove towards their unofficial hideout at the Pashkov House. A long, thoughtful silence ensued before Matvei straightened in his seat and cleared his throat.
"I told Shumeyko about the deal with the MARCOS commander: money for the materials for a nuke, plain and simple. Told her about Yevgeni and the others - Arseny, Vachislav, the boys - going to New Delhi to make the exchange." Matvei sighed in frustration. "I just told her the truth. We had the money, our men went to acquire the materials, and I haven't fucking heard back from them."
Boris frowned as he turned onto a bridge arcing over the Moskva River. "And? What'd she say?"
Matvei lost himself for a moment. He was replaying his final conversation with Viktor Sidorov earlier that day in his mind. He was remembering lying to the man, urging him to sacrifice his life, and the lives of his men, to create chaos in Washington D.C.
It was all happening too fast. He hadn't even had a chance to mourn his friends' deaths.
"Matvei? What did she say to that?"
Federov blinked and sank back into the present. "That's just it. She was so... accepting."
"Accepting?"
"Da." Matvei rubbed his grizzled chin. "I always tell you I'm a good judge of character, Boris. Valeriya was surprised, but...." He trailed off momentarily. "She didn't feel surprised. It felt... off. Fake. I don't know."
Boris frowned again. "About what? The nuke? Our deal with the MARCOS guy?"
"Any of it. I got the impression that she was trying to project shock, but what I got instead was too much of a performance. She was too shocked. Too surprised." Matvei tugged his seatbelt uncomfortably. "She raised her voice at the wrong moments, you know? Just... felt off."
The pair drove in silence over the bridge.
Matvei watched the shimmering city lights on the surface of the Moskva River, and he felt a sudden chill in the pit of his stomach.
Yegor. Viktor. Petr. Adrian. Sergei. Petra. Dusan. Dmitri. So many others, all dead in just a few days' time.
Matvei's conscience reared its head in the dark waters of his mind, and he forced it away as swiftly as it had come.
Now was not the time for mourning.
He had a bomb to build, and materials to acquire. He had questions for his contacts in New Delhi that needed answering.
And then, as if an unseen deity had empathized with Matvei's inner turmoil, his phone rang, and the leader of November Sun found himself staring at the screen of his phone in disbelief.
He answered. "Алло."
"It's me," came a man's voice. Matvei recognized him instantly: the mysterious Khatri, the rogue captain who had supposedly deserted the MARCOS - India's Marine Commandos - and now ran black market operations in New Delhi.
The last time he and Khatri had spoken, they had agreed to the sale of materials to assemble a crude nuclear device.
Matvei leaned forward in his seat. "You owe me a bomb, and an explanation."
"I don't owe you shit, you arrogant fuck." The former MARCOS commander's words were laced with anger. "You Russians are all the same. Think you can do whatever the fuck you want to do."
A rush of anger surged up into Matvei's chest. He nearly erupted into a furious onslaught, but he stopped himself and narrowed his eyes in realization. "What are you talking about?"
Khatri laughed. "You must think I'm stupid."
"No, I do not." Matvei paused. "I think I'm missing something here."
The line was quiet for a lengthy moment.
"Khatri?" Matvei tried. "What's happened? What am I missing?"
The rogue commander on the other line clicked his tongue scoldingly. "You really don't know, do you?"
"The suspense is killing me. What the fuck is going on? Tell me."
Khatri chuckled to himself. "Mr. Federov, it appears your men are not as loyal to your cause as you thought they were."
"I don't understand. We gave you the money. My men came to pick up the packages."
"No. Your men - what was their leader's name, uh... Yevgeni? They betrayed you. Both of us."
Matvei froze. "What?"
"Rather than honor our deal," Khatri replied, "your men took your money, showed up and tried to kill my courier and his escorts so they could take the packages, too."
"Fuck," Matvei breathed.
"Indeed. Your men showed up with fake cash and tried to take my merchandise. They are all dead, now." Matvei could hear Khatri's smile over the phone. "We chopped them up and served them to some homeless children in the slums."
Matvei wanted to scream. Yevgeni and the others had betrayed him. They had betrayed all of their comrades. They had jeopardized November Sun's final mission. "I-I... listen, they—"
"No, you listen; and listen closely," interrupted Khatri. "I still want your money. You still want my bomb. I think we can work out a deal."