“How’s your shoulder?”
Norimov blew air out through his nose. “Ha, it still gives me problems. I went to a specialist in Moscow only last year. He told me there was a fluid buildup behind the shoulder blade. I promise you, he put a needle this big into me to drain it.” Norimov gestured, his palms a good twelve inches apart. “It’s no better. Some weeks I go through a whole bottle of painkillers.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Between the pain of living and the painlessness of death, I choose the pain gladly.”
“Nicely put.”
“Thank you.” Norimov tilted his head. “And you, Vasily, still bulletproof?”
Victor thought about the huge bruise on his chest and the tiny scab in the center. “I wouldn’t like to say.”
“Don’t want to tempt fate?”
“Something like that.”
Norimov pointed. “You used to say you make your own fate.”
“I still do.”
“No matter how good you are, how fast you are-”
“You can’t outrun a bullet,” Victor finished.
Norimov gestured to one of his bodyguards. “Get us both a drink.”
The bodyguard opened a cupboard and took out a bottle of Scotch and two tumblers. He poured Norimov and Victor a generous measure each. Norimov clutched the glass tightly, hungrily. There was a red tinge to Norimov’s cheeks, damaged capillaries showing under the skin. He never used to drink so much.
Norimov raised his glass. “To old allies.”
“To old friends,” Victor corrected.
Norimov downed his drink and grunted in approval. Victor followed suit, but without the grunt.
“This is nice,” Norimov said. “To share a drink with a friend. It’s not often I get to talk to someone who isn’t afraid of me.”
“I’m surprised anyone is afraid of you.”
Norimov laughed. “Yes, well, maybe not of me but what I can have done. All these worms that work for me now, none of them know who I was ten years ago, or even five years ago. They think I’m old, slow. I doubt anyone remembers I was ever any different.”
“I remember.”
They held each other’s gaze for a long moment. Victor opened his packet of cigarettes and took one out with his teeth. Norimov’s eyes widened a small amount.
“I thought you quit.”
Victor struck a match and brought it toward his mouth. “I did.”
“Those things-”
“I know,” Victor said. “So don’t say it. I have been cutting down.”
“Even Bond doesn’t smoke anymore.”
Victor rubbed the match out between his thumb and forefinger and drew in smoke from the cigarette. He raised an eyebrow. “Who?”
Norimov grinned for a moment. His teeth were yellow. “What score are you up to now?”
“I don’t keep count.”
“You used to.”
Victor nodded. Once it had seemed important.
The Russian gave a caustic smile. “Still go to church to confess your sins?”
The leather of Victor’s chair creaked. He glanced at his glass. “How long are you going to make me wait for another?”
Norimov motioned for his bodyguard, who promptly refilled the glasses. They both took a sip. “So, how is the killing business?”
He thought for a moment. “I need some more reliable employers.”
“I would like to be able to hire you myself. But I can keep four good men at my side for the best part of a year for what it costs me to employ you for one night’s work. When you have numbers skill is not so necessary.”
Victor didn’t see the need to challenge the point. “I charge a lot more these days, anyway.”
Norimov laughed hard. “Why am I not surprised?”
“And you, Alek, how’s the aspiring empire?”
“I’m the only honest criminal left in this town. See what it gets me?”
Victor took a taste of whisky. “How’s the delightful Eleanor?”
Norimov’s face was hard. “Dead,” he said easily.
“What happened?”
“She was sick.”
“Sick?”
“The doctors didn’t think it was serious. By the time anyone realized, it was too late.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” He was.
“Thank you.”
“She was a beautiful lady.”
Norimov looked away. “Not at the end she wasn’t.”
The silence hung heavily for a moment. Victor didn’t say anything. Though uncomfortable it would have been vulgar to speak banalities just to sit a little easier.
But it was Norimov who broke the silence. “Do you still take all that shit?”
“Not anymore.”
The Russian cracked a smile then sighed, as if saddened to turn the conversation to the inevitable. “I’m assuming that this isn’t a social call.”
“Someone’s trying to kill me.”
The Russian smiled. “Shouldn’t that be the other way around?”
“Quite,” Victor agreed. “I have acquired some enemies.”
“I imagine that’s an ever-present hazard in your line of work.”
“It’s somewhat more complicated than that. I need your help.”
There was something approaching amazement in Norimov’s expression. “You need my help?” Victor nodded. “This must be serious.”
“It is.”
“So what can I do?”
“I want you to make some inquiries for me.”
“I stopped doing work for them before you did. I-”
“But you are still connected to the organization, are you not?”
Norimov nodded absently, the action seemed almost subconsciously.
“Good,” Victor said.
“What do you need?”
Victor reached into his coat. He did so slowly, so the two bodyguards couldn’t mistake the action for something else. Victor pulled the hand out from under his coat. In his fingers was the flash drive.
“On this is a file. I need its encryption broken.”
Victor placed it onto the table, and Norimov picked it up and examined it closely.
“Where did you get this?” he asked.
“From a former business acquaintance.”
Norimov raised a knowing eyebrow. “Tell me what happened.”
“I did a contract in Paris on Monday, a part of which was the recovery and delivery of that memory stick. When I returned to my hotel there was a kill team waiting. I’d like to know who sent them.”
Victor thought it prudent to leave out the fact that the someone appeared to be the same person who had hired him, who also happened to work for the CIA.
“Paris? I read about that, but I never would have guessed it was you. You’re not one for making headlines.”
“This time it was unavoidable.”
Norimov leaned forward. “They said eight people were shot dead at that hotel. All you?”
“I only killed seven,” Victor corrected. “Another beforehand. Another since.”
“I thought you weren’t counting.”
Victor looked at him for a moment. “Some habits are harder to break than others.”
Norimov shook his head. “Well, you haven’t lost your touch anyway.”
Victor ignored the remark. “Whoever tried to kill me wanted that drive. As of this moment it’s all I have to go on. If the information on that thing is worth killing for, then I need to know what it is.”
“And what will that achieve?”
“Maybe it will help track down my enemies. Maybe not.”
“But why do you want to? You’ve never cared about revenge before.”
“I don’t care about revenge now,” Victor said. “And I never will.”
“Then why?”
“Because they found me.”
Norimov held his gaze and nodded. “I still know people in the organization, computer people, who may be able to help.”
“Thank you.”
“But what you ask is highly irregular. People will be suspicious, questions will be asked.”
“Then bribe them. I will cover any expenditure.”
Norimov looked at him closely. “They still want your head, remember?”