Vector by Robin Cook Read Free Book Online Page B

pocket flask. He deserved a shot of vodka After making sure no one was watching, he took a quick slug of the fiery fluid. He breathe out a sigh of relief as a sensation of warmth spread deliciously through his body. Now he felt even calmer.
    He was even capable of appreciating that there had been some recent bright spots in his life.
    One of the luckiest things that had happened to Yuri since his arrival in the U. S. was meeting Curt Rogers and Curt's buddy Steve Henderson and striking up a relationship. It had been this relationship that had turned Yuri's fantasy of vengeance into a realistic possibility. The initial meeting had occurred purely by chance. After a very long day of hot summer driving Yuri had stopped at a hole-in-the-wall bar called White Pride in Bensonhurst, Brooklyn. His flask had long since been drained, and he needed a shot of vodka so bad he couldn't wait until he got home to Brighton Beach.
    It was after eleven at night, and the local hangout was crowded, dark, and noisy with the heavy metal beat of Skrewdriver reverberating off the walls. Most of the customers were tough working-class white youths with shaved heads, sleeveless T-shirts, and a profusion of tattoos.
    Yuri should have guessed the kind of clientele he'd encounter. Outside he'd seen a number of gleaming Harleys emblazoned with Nazi decals nosed in against the curb directly in front of the bar's open door.
    Yuri could remember hesitating on the threshold while debating whether to go in. His intuition told him that danger hung in the air like a miasma above a swamp. People eyed him with hostility. After a moment's indecision Yuri had taken the risk to enter for two reasons.
    One was the fear that fleeing would have provoked a chase just like running from a vicious but indecisive dog. The other was that he really needed the vodka and that all the other bars in Bensonhurst would probably have been equally intimidating.
    Yuri sat on an empty stool, hunched over the bar, and pulled in his elbows. He kept his eyes straight ahead. As soon as he ordered his drink, his accent caused a stir. A number of the youths with supercilious expressions closed around him. Just when Yuri feared trouble was about to occur, the punks parted and a clean-cut man in his late thirties or early forties appeared whom the youths seemed to respect.
    The newcomer was dirty blond, tall, and lean. His hair was short but his head was not shaved. The style was more like a military man's.
    He, too, was wearing a T-shirt, but it was clean, had short sleeves, and looked ironed. There was a small image of a red fireman's hat high on the left side of the shirt. Below that it said Engine Company #7.
    In sharp contrast to the skinheads, he appeared to have only the one tattoo. It was a small American flag on his right upper arm.
    "I don't know whether you're brave or stupid for coming in here uninvited, friend, " the blond-haired man said. "This is a private club."
    "I'm sorry, " Yuri mumbled. He started to get up. The blond man put a hand on his shoulder to keep him in his seat.
    "You sound Russian, " the man said.
    "I am, " Yuri admitted.
    "Are you Jewish? "
    "No! " Yuri blurted. "Not at all." The question surprised him.
    "You live over in Brighton Beach? "
    "That's right, " Yuri said nervously. He didn't know where the conversation was going.
    "I thought all you Russians over there were Jewish."
    "Not me, " Yuri said. The man knew what he was talking about. The majority of the Russian emigres in Brighton Beach were Jewish. It was one of the reasons Yuri had so few friends. There were all sorts of Jewish organizations that welcomed their fellow religious refugees.
    The Jews had been the only people allowed out of Russia during the Communist regime, so there was already a sizable community there by the time of the fall of the USSR. Because of his lack of religious affiliation, Yuri had been ignored.
    "Do I detect a negative attitude about the Jewish persuasion? " the blond man