The Kremlin Phoenix by Stephen Renneberg Read Free Book Online Page B

thought as Romano handed him a
menu.
    “Mr Balard?” The other man asked
once they were alone.
    Nogorev recognized the voice of the
man who’d phoned Craig Balard from the communications intercept. He nodded
    “You have the file?”
    Nogorev nodded again.
    “Well! Let me have it.”
    Nogorev shook his head, holding
out his hand and motioning to receive payment first.
    “I have already given you proof,
Mr Balard. You have the photograph. If you want more than that, you will have
to give me something in return.”
    Photograph? he wondered. Of what? He slipped his hand into his coat
pocket below the table, feeling for the small caliber silenced pistol, then
spoke in a low firm tone. “Who are you?”
    Nervous Eyes froze. “You’re not
Balard!”
    “Who are you working for?” Nogorev
demanded, glancing down at his concealed weapon, ensuring the man opposite understood
the danger he was now in.
    Nervous Eyes glanced toward Romano,
hoping to catch his eye, but the restaurant owner was talking to customers.
    “You wouldn’t shoot me, not in
here.”
    “Answer me!” Nogorev demanded firmly.
“Who are you?”
    “SK.”
    SK? Nogorev hid his surprise. “Sledkom?”
    The SK officer nodded. The
Sledsteveynny Komitet were civilian investigators and criminal prosecutors, the
nearest thing Russia had to the FBI.
    “How did you find out about MLI?”
Nogorev asked.
    “I’m leaving.”
    “Don’t move!” Nogorev ordered
quietly. He didn’t want to shoot. He wanted information, and to wait for Balard
to arrive, but he couldn’t let the SK officer leave.
    The Sledkom officer avoided eye
contact as he slid across the seat towards the edge of the booth. Nogorev
coughed loudly as he pulled the trigger, disguising the soft whisper from the silenced
gun. The SK officer shuddered as the hollow point bullet tore through his chest,
then he slumped forward. Nogorev pushed the other man back into the cushioned
seat, fastening his coat to conceal his blood stained shirt, then walked
casually to the counter where Romano stood.
    “I need to go to the bank. I’ll
be back soon. We won’t order until I return.” Nogorev said, eliminating the
need for Romano to talk to the dead man.
    “Of course, sir. Take your time.”
    Nogorev strode out of the cafe,
walked a short distance, and pretended to look into a shop window. At the
corner, the stop lights turned red and Craig crossed the road with a handful of
other pedestrians. He hurried towards the café, passing close by Nogorev, who
glimpsed his face as he entered the café. It was enough to allow the assassin
to commit his face to memory.
    Inside the café, Craig approached
the proprietor. “I’m meeting someone here. The table is registered under the
name of Balard.”
    “Of course sir. One of your
friends has just gone to the bank, he’ll be back in a few minutes.”
    “One of my friends?” Craig said
uncertainly.
    “Yes sir. The other gentleman is in
the booth, at the end. Follow me.”
    Craig waved him off. “That’s OK,”
he said, then hurried to the booth where he found a man sitting upright with
his head slumped forward. “I’m Balard . . .” He began, then realized the man
was staring blankly at the table.
    Craig slid into the booth beside the
dead SK officer. He felt for a pulse and discovered the welling red smear on
the man’s shirt. Craig glanced around quickly, ensuring he wasn’t being watched,
then searched the dead man’s pockets. He found a wallet and a cell phone, both
of which he slipped into his own pocket without looking at them.
    “Craig Balard, don’t leave by the
front door,” Mariena said from behind him.
    He spun around startled. She
stood with her back to him, facing an empty table. Craig stood and took a step
towards her, staring at the side of her face, more curious now than surprised
that she couldn’t see him.
    “Who are you?” he asked, but she
showed no sign of hearing him.
    “I know you were there when Yegor
Demidoff was killed.