The Domino Game by Greg Wilson Read Free Book Online Page A

distance between them.
    “The man,” he tested cautiously. “The one who made the delivery. Do you remember what he said?”
    Natalia answered with a tight, dismissive shrug.
    “How should I know. ‘A delivery for Nikolai Aven.’ Something like that. I wasn’t paying attention.”
    She dragged the T-shirt over her shoulders and tossed her head, the tautness of her movements underscoring her mood. The empty plastic cases lay open on the bed, the tapes beside them. Nikolai picked up one of the un-labelled cassettes, examined it. Drew a breath and tried again.
    “Please, Natalia.” He made an effort to balance contrition and reason. “Please try to remember. It could be important.”
    She turned around and looked at him. Then averted her eyes and shrugged again.
    “He was about your height. Thin. Short blond hair. Well dressed.” Perhaps it was Nikolai’s imagination, but the air between them seemed to thaw a little as Natalia worked her memory. She gave another shrug. Resigned. “Too well dressed for a delivery man, now that I think about it.” Her gaze fell, demoralized, to the silk chemise and she shook her head. “I was so pleased. And now I feel so… so stupid.”
    Nikolai tried to recall some occasion when he might have felt worse. None came to mind. He got up from the bed and made his way across to her, wrapped his arms around her and felt her melt against him. Whispered in her ear.
    “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
    For a long moment she remained still, then finally he felt her hair brushing against his cheek as she began nodding.
    “I know,” she sighed. “I know you will.”
    She clung to him a moment longer, then drew back and sealed the reconciliation with a single kiss. Across his shoulder she noticed the tray she had set down on the bedside table and sighed. “The coffee will be cold, Niko. Why don’t you get dressed and I’ll make some fresh.”
    Nikolai stood in the steaming shower stall, thinking.
    ‘A delivery for Nikolai Aven.’ Who the hell would want to send him two pornographic movies and a piece of designer lingerie, and why? He turned to face the stammering stream of hot water, closed his eyes and let it play across his face as Natalia’s description of the delivery man ran through his mind. His own height, thin, short blond hair, well dressed. Nikolai shook his head. No connection he could make. Nothing. He tried building the picture again in a different sequence. Short blond hair. Well dressed. Someone who knew where he lived. His eyes shot open. Christ! Gilmanov! Then at the same instant he heard Natalia’s voice coming to him from behind the glass screen, tight and insistent.
    “Niko!”
    He turned and saw her outline behind the rippled glass. Something about her tone triggered a sense of alarm and his hands shot out immediately, locking off the taps and sealing the pipes with a shudder. He flung the door open to find Natalia staring at him with anxious, uncertain eyes, the video remote controller clasped tightly in her hand.
    “Niko.” Her voice was subdued. “I think you’d better come and look at this.”
    Nikolai snatched a towel from the rack, wrapped it around his waist and, still dripping from the shower, followed Natalia into the living room.
    The curtains to the street had been drawn shut; in the corner the television shimmered with a frozen image. The empty video cases and one of the tapes lay open on the coffee table. He glanced at Natalia, down to the steady green light on the face of the VCR, back to Natalia again. She nodded. Lifted the remote and held it out tentatively to him. He frowned and took it, his eyes travelling back to the flickering image.
    Four men. Figures in profile, two either side of the screen, facing each other across a long polished table.
    Judging from the angle and length of the shot the camera must have been placed somewhere above them at one end of the room, its distance and the width of