No Tomorrow (7 page)

“O
kay.” Victor nodded. “For Eleanor.”

“Thank you,” Norimov said, words expelled on the rush of a heavy sigh. “Thank you.”

“Don't thank me. I'm doing this for Eleanor.”

“I don't care why you're doing it. Just that you are.”

“Where is Gisele?”

Norimov shook his head. “I . . . I don't know. She lives in London, as far as I'm aware.”

“As far as you're aware?”

“She hasn't spoken to me in years, and I don't know where she is. I tried to contact her straightaway but I can't reach her. She's missing.”

“Then you need to consider she might already be dead.”

“No,” Norimov hissed through bared teeth. “Not yet. She's still alive, I know she is. If those bastards who sent me that photograph had killed her, they would mail me a box containing her heart. And if they had her, I would already have received the footage of them torturing her. Until that happens, I have to believe she's out there and okay.”

“How am I meant to protect her when you don't know where she is?”

“You can track her down, Vasily. I know you can. Not even the most elusive of targets could hide from you when you had their scent. Go to London and find my daughter before those animals do.”

Victor nodded. “After I've done this, I never want to hear from you again.”

“Of course. Anything you want. Just please help my daughter.”

“I'll take the first flight in the morning. Let me have a number I can contact you on. I'll update you as and when I learn anything.”

“Yes, yes. Absolutely. We'll do it your way.”

“Tell me exactly what has taken place since you received the threat.”

“As soon as the photograph arrived I sent one of my men to London. He's been looking for Gisele for the past week, but he's an enforcer, not a detective. When you arrive, he can help you. He'll meet you at the airport. I have a place where you can stay there. Everything will be provided for you.”

“No. I'll make my own arrangements. You can give me his number and I'll contact him after I've arrived.”

“There's no reason for you to be concerned about me or my men.”

“Do you think I would have agreed to find Gisele if I was concerned?”

“Then why the precautions?”

“Because I would be dead without them.”

Norimov listened, then nodded. “Sure, I understand. I can give you money to help with your expenses. I don't
know how long this will take. I don't want you out of pocket on my account.”

“I'm not doing it for you, remember?”

“I'm not likely to forget. If Eleanor was here, she would insist and you would take the money instead of offending her.”

Norimov reached into his coat. He had a shrink-wrapped brick of hundred-dollar bills. A glance told Victor the brick contained one hundred bills. “It's clean.”

“Regardless,” Victor said. “I don't carry that much cash.”

“Your choice,” Norimov said, putting the brick away again.

“You do realize that they might have her already? They might be keeping her alive while they smuggle her back to St. Petersburg. Better leverage that way, and here is where they are strongest. That's what I would do. I would call you and make her scream down the phone for you to save her, and I would tell you to come alone—and you would.”

Norimov put his face in his hands. “For all my crimes, I have never been so sadistic. I am a sickly lamb surrounded by wolves because my compassion is weakness. Ironic, because my criminality bred Gisele's hatred of me. Had I been crueler, she would now be safe.”

“Almost certainly,” Victor agreed. “You forgot the first rule.”

The Russian stared at him, red-eyed and weak. “Survival before everything. I know. I did forget. I allowed myself a life. But is it worth it, Vasily? Is surviving enough?”

Victor thought about all the corpses he had seen, all the dead faces of those who had failed to survive because he had instead.

“Each breath is worth it.”

London, United Kingdom

I
nternational airports were among Victor's least favorite places. Almost without exception they were teeming with armed security guards and cameras. Each time he passed through passport control he risked being compromised. Either because the identity he was traveling under had been flagged in connection with one of his previous jobs or it had ceased to be clean for reasons beyond his control, or his frequent surgeries had failed to outwit the continued advancements in facial-recognition technology, or a keen-eyed member of staff identified that he simply wasn't
right
.

He'd been in London within the past year as part of a job, but only to discuss it. The time before that, the visit had been what could be called a personal project, and though he'd been involved in serious criminal activity, no one had lost his life by his hand. Traveling anywhere he'd operated before carried risk, but in this instance visiting London posed minimal risk. He had a strong suspicion that once he left again, he wouldn't be returning for a long time.

He arrived at London City Airport after a smooth Rossiya flight that took a little more than four hours, getting out of his seat when about half of the cabin had already departed, to reduce the chances he would be picked out for scrutiny. Those in a hurry to disembark were more likely to be noticed, as were those in no hurry. The center of the bell curve was where Victor always preferred to lurk.

A smiling woman asked him a few routine questions as she checked his documents and smiled wider after she'd wished him a pleasant stay. He circled the terminal twice as part of his routine countersurveillance, paying particular attention to those waiting with a view of where his arrival lounge connected with the terminal proper.

He had an overnight bag but no other luggage. Victor preferred to travel light. He would travel with no luggage at all if not for the fact it would mark him as someone to pay attention to. The case was a cheap knockoff purchased from a market trader in St. Petersburg. It contained similarly counterfeit clothes. Victor had no intention of wearing them or keeping hold of the case any longer than necessary. Though the case and the clothes had not been used as part of any criminal activity, they connected him to St. Petersburg, to Russia. Therefore they were compromised. Not solely because of his relationship with Norimov or his enemies in the country, but because they were evidence of his movements. Any connection with his past, whether a day ago or ten years ago, had the potential to cause him harm.

A Polish woman fixed him a coffee and he sipped it while sitting on an uncomfortable plastic chair. Abandoning the half-empty cup on the table, he found a pay phone near an information kiosk, inserted coins, and used
the knuckle of his left middle finger to punch out the international dialing code, then number.

It took a few seconds for the line to connect.

A voice said,
“Privet?”

“I'm in London,” Victor replied in English. “But we might have a problem.”

“What kind of a problem?” Norimov asked, switching languages too, tentative but curious.

Victor watched travelers walk by, wearing shorts and T-shirts, limbs browned by holidays in sunnier climes.

He said, “You need to answer a question for me, and you need to be honest.”

“Of course.”

“Did you tell anyone to wait for me at the airport?”

The answer was a resolute “No.”

“Okay,” Victor said. “That's good and bad.”

“Why both?”

“It's good that you respected my wishes. But bad because it means a third party is interested in me and knows enough about my movements to have a watcher in place for my arrival.”

“A watcher?” There was hesitation in Norimov's voice.

Victor looked over to where a large, dark-haired man in a padded jacket and jeans loitered near a concession stand.

“Don't worry,” Victor said as he watched the man trying to act casual. “I'll deal with it.”

More hesitation. “What do you mean . . . you'll
deal
with it?”

“I mean I'll neutralize the threat, of course. I'll call again when I've news about Gisele's whereabouts.”

“Wait.”

Victor did, then said, “Is there something you want to tell me?”

“Wait,” Norimov said again. “Don't hang up. You don't have to neutralize any threat. He's my man.”

“I know that. Did you honestly think I wouldn't know that the second I saw a pumped-up gorilla hanging around near my arrival lounge? I'm offended you have such a low opinion of me.”

“I . . . I don't know what I thought. I wasn't thinking. I should have known better. I'm sorry. I truly am. I panicked, okay? I just wanted to make sure you arrived. That's all. You'll appreciate that I'm on the edge here, don't you? Dmitri wasn't going to follow you, I swear.”

Victor said, “He couldn't follow me if his life depended on it. When you hire people for their muscle mass you really shouldn't be surprised when they stand out in a crowd. I could smell the stink of steroids in the air before I even saw him. Where's the other one?”

Silence on the line.

“Don't make me ask you again, Alek. You have two men in London. I'm looking at one of them. I'm asking you where the other is. Don't even think about lying. Gisele's missing. You haven't been simply praying that I'd show. You said yourself that you didn't believe I would meet you. You also said you have ten good men on your payroll. There were eight guarding you in that bar. That leaves two. Which isn't a lot to send if you're concerned about your daughter. But I take it the two in London now are the only ones who could get visas in time, or at all.”

Norimov took his time responding. When he did, “I'm sorry” was all he managed to say.

“You said that already.”

“I'm not trying to f— I'm not trying to screw you
around, Vasily. I'm scared. I'm not thinking straight. I should have told you about Dmitri and Yigor. I'm sorry. I know you work alone. I didn't want to risk you saying no. They won't bother you. They won't get in your way.”

This time Victor didn't respond.

“Are you still going to find Gisele for me?” Norimov asked after a moment.

“If I were here for you I would now be boarding the first flight out, and the next time you heard from me would be when I was standing over your bed in the middle of the night.” A pause. “But I'm not here for you, am I?”

“I'm not likely to forget.”

“But that doesn't mean I will tolerate your interference. Consider this your first warning. Do you understand what the second will be?”

“Yes. I—”

Victor hung up.

Fourteen seconds later the large man with dark hair fumbled to retrieve his phone from a pocket of his jeans. He held it to his ear and Victor watched the movements of his lips.

Privet?
Yes?

Then:
Nyet, kone no, on ne videl menja.
No, of course he hasn't seen me.

The man listened for a moment, then glanced at Victor.
Oder'mo. On smotrit prjamo na menja.
Shit. He's looking straight at me.

Victor watched as the man ended the call and forced the phone back into his jeans pocket. They were tight. Victor approached the man. He stared at Victor as he crossed the space, his back straightening and his shoulders squaring, maximizing his already significant height and bulk as a show of defiance and ego.

“Dmitri, right?” The man responded with a single slow nod. “Do you speak English?”

Dmitri nodded again. “We met two years ago in St. Petersburg. Your name is Vasily. You broke two of my ribs.”

His English was good, as Victor had expected. Dmitri wouldn't be much use searching for Gisele in London otherwise.

“I meant to break only one,” Victor replied.

Dmitri frowned. He had a wide but low forehead and the same prominent eyebrow bone from growth-hormone abuse as the guys outside the bar. They were probably gym buddies.

He said, “I had to have two surgeries to fix them. And they're not properly fixed. I have to sleep on my back or on my left side. I snore if I sleep on my back and my girl kicks me in the shin until I wake up and stop. Sometimes, when I'm already asleep, I will roll over onto my right. I don't know it at the time, but then I wake up and I'm in agony. The pain is unbelievable. It's the nature of the break, they tell me.”

“I could have killed you. I didn't. You should be thanking me.”

“Fuck you,” he said with a small smile.

“It's good to catch up, but we really don't have time for this while Gisele is missing. I take it you've been trying to find her—checking where she lives, speaking to friends, and so on?” A nod. “Good, then you can help me.”

“Why would I want to help you?”

“This is about Norimov's daughter, not me. He sent me here because you've failed to locate her. Either you can assist me or you can refuse. Whatever you decide, I'll find her. If you help me track her down you can share the
credit, assuming she's still alive. If you don't help me and I find her too late, then Norimov will know you put your personal feelings before the life of his daughter.”

“You're an asshole.”

“That's what people always tell me.”

“I don't like you.”

“No one likes me.”

Dmitri took a step closer. “I don't take orders from you.”

Victor could smell the coffee on the man's breath. “I never said that you did. But I recommend you stand down before you say something you'll feel compelled to back up.”

“Do you remember what happened when you fucked up my ribs?” He didn't wait for an answer. “We just asked you to leave, that was all. No big deal. You pretended to comply. You acted like you were an okay guy. Then you hit me with that cheap shot.”

“A succinct summation.”

“You're a coward. I didn't know that then, but now I do. So I'm never going to give you that same opportunity again.”

“Good for you. But you probably shouldn't have told me that. Better if your opponent doesn't know your intentions. Like when I broke your ribs.”

Dmitri drew a sharp inhalation of air through his nose. It wasn't quite a snort, but equally unpleasant. “It doesn't matter. All that matters is you're nothing but a little man who acts like pussy. In a fair fight, I'd snap you in half.”

“Then I guess it's good for me that I never fight fair.” Victor stared into Dmitri's eyes. “So, if we're done with the bravado, what's it to be? Are you going to help me or not?”

Dmitri edged closer: aggressive but short of an outright challenge. He wasn't about to start a fight in an airport, whatever his level of dislike. “I'll help you find Gisele, assuming you're not bullshitting that you can. But I'm doing this for Norimov, because he's a good man. I'm not doing it for you.”

“I appreciate that. I'd also appreciate it if you watch your language.”

“Excuse me?”

“Don't swear.”

Dmitri thought about this for a moment, then shrugged as if it didn't matter. He said, “No swearing, sure. And I'll do whatever you need me to do. Then when this mess is all sorted out”—a little smile played on his face—“we can . . . settle our differences.”

“Sure,” Victor replied. “If you're that keen to sleep on your back for the rest of your life, I'm more than happy to oblige you.”