No Apologies and No Regrets

by Roddy Wix

Serge got word of Ivan’s death ahead of the public news reports. His agents, Boyd and Jeremy, remained in Nice owing to their inability to detect even a hint of Anya Kovich’s whereabouts. Boyd called his boss to report the latest.

  “Now there are no more Rusikovs.” All the more reason to find Anya.

  “True enough, Mr. Malroff. We're still working on the Kovich woman, but her trail is cold in three different cities.”

  “Perhaps you are looking in the wrong cities!” You fucking idiots!

  “Excuse me?”

  “I recommend you focus your attention on Bordeaux. Kovich was last seen at the Merignac Airport.” Serge gained the information only hours earlier, but had no reason to give up leverage by saying so.

  “Bordeaux?”

  “Yes!” Serge’s anger roiled up. “I suggest you and your colleague deal with this situation now! You two owe me for fucking losing Ilya Rusikov. Drag her ass back to Milan.”

  How the hell did he figure? Boyd listened for further instructions, but realized Serge had hung up on him.

  “What's up?” Jeremy casually opened another beer and scanned the promenade for women who appealed to him.

  “Like always with that bugger. He says we should go to Bordeaux.”

  “Bordeaux? That’s a bloody day’s drive from here.”

  “Yeah. His highness says somebody spotted her at the airport, but not when or which airlines.” Boyd needed to make some fast money. Serge’s comment about them ‘owing’ him sounded like he was being set up. His wariness increased and his motivation dissipated in proportion.

  “Tell you what, Boyd, I say we go have a look, but let’s have one more night in Nice. We can head out in the morning.” Jeremy jumped to his feet and moved toward a trio of Croatian girls he’d spotted.

  Oh, what the hell? Boyd followed after Jeremy to make sure the fool didn’t get lost before dawn, but the closer he got the younger the girls appeared to be. He could tell even at a distance they were drunk or well on their way. The thought of university kiddies out on a binge scored low on Boyd’s list of priorities so he turned and headed to a little bar he knew and more mature company. Screw Jeremy. If he was in the car in the morning, fine. If not, Boyd determined to go to Bordeaux alone.

  While the search for Anya continued, she remained hard at work on her project for Gabe. The Lion’s Hill was a wonderful place and Elisabeth an impeccable hostess. Since her arrival the day before she'd toured the formal gardens with Mr. Pendleton and later walked down to the estate's private beach. The dogs tagged along and spent their time close to her wherever she went. Anya correctly surmised Sasha and Tatiana were her guardians, and they proved to be agreeable companions.

  The young woman was as obsessive as most math and science types tend to be. She'd been at work at her computer for more than eight hours straight when Elisabeth insisted she take a break for cocktails and dinner.

  “I’m not sure Gabe expected you to finish your task in a single day.” Elisabeth spoke with a motherly concern Anya found endearing.

  “I understood the project was urgent and besides, I love my work.”

  Mr. Pendleton arrived, as if on queue. Dinner, he said, would be served in an hour. He took their drink orders and vanished to fetch their cocktails.

  “As a little girl I loved puzzles and math and computers. I was not so crazy about science although my grades were good. Fortunately I had the opportunity to study computer engineering at the University. They wanted to send me to medical school, but suddenly the government put on a lot of pressure to train people in computer science.”

  “Yes, the man who is now Prime Minister promoted the initiative. A good move on his part if you ask me. I understand you have distinguished yourself in your field.”

  “I should have done more. I got married and moved to Milan with my husband where he worked as a systems architect for Grosserkopf. I went to work at the company because of him. After he died I took charge of his department. The tasks are complex but not very creative.”

  “And, of course, that put you square in the middle of Serge Malroff's world.”

  “Yes.”

  Mr. Pendleton returned with a gin and tonic for her Ladyship and vodka for Dr. Kovich.

  “There’s a nasty piece of work for you.”

  “Do you know him?”

  “Too well, but let’s just say you and I were in similar situations and we both escaped. Few have been so lucky.” If not for Frank Beretta I’d as likely be dead.

  “I’ll drink to that,” Anya said raising her glass.

  Elisabeth smiled and took a sip of her cocktail. The young woman had a genuine quality she appreciated. Indeed, Lady Hartwell found herself growing fond of Anya Kovich.

  Over the next hour the women enjoyed good conversation and a delicious dinner of fresh lobster. Afterwards Anya returned to her computer and planned to work until she depleted her powers of concentration.

  At about two in the morning she was ready to quit for the day. She'd run endlessly through the code and became frustrated by her inability to ‘connect the dots’ as they say. To her regret she had too little time to thoroughly review the program while working at Grosserkopf and then she had no reason to suspect the thing might not work again. The supposed “trigger” perplexed her and the entire body of code failed to make sense. Perhaps she needed to put everything aside for awhile: regain her perspective.

  Anya leaned back and exhaled deeply, knowing how much she hated trying to go to bed on an unresolved problem. Sasha, who had been sleeping next to her chair got up and rested his chin in her lap looking for a little attention. Tatiana remained in a sound sleep a few feet away.

  Anya scratched behind the big dog’s ears and whispered, “So, Sasha, what do you think?” The dog peered at her with dark, gentle eyes.

  Remembering an old professor she’d admired she said, “Sasha, I believe you are smart enough to ask ‘If a thing doesn’t work now why would you assume it worked before?’” Sasha shook his head and Anya laughed at him. Then the little epiphany came.

  Who said it did work? Serge? He only thought that because the Rusikovs told him so. She had fallen into the same trap and now, looking from a different vantage point, she postulated that the program itself had been skillfully constructed to support a false conclusion. Part of the mystery became quite clear and the thought made her laugh out loud. The Rusikov brothers had conned Serge out of twenty-five million euros, but she did believe they had done something to tamper with the market, and she had a good idea where to begin searching.

  Pouring a cup of rather tepid tea for herself she re-booted her computer and went back to work with a fresh burst of energy. This time she expected to succeed.

  Anya began to test the depths of the Rusikov brothers’ deceit while Serge Malroff worked himself down from a fit of blind rage. Not long after receiving news of Ivan’s supposed suicide he got a call from the Prime Minister, his first in days. Once again the PM requested delivery of the complete code and directed Serge to prepare for a second event "soon". Malroff found the message disquieting so soon after Ivan’s death. The clever old spy never once mentioned Ivan or his demise, however, and Serge did not bring it up. Serge was crazy but far from stupid and correctly intuited some direct relationship between Ivan and the Prime Minister.

  I was right to suspect Ivan. The double-dealing son of a bitch! Worse, the little bastard is already dead and I am deprived of the pleasure of killing him. Slowly.

  The enraged Malroff broke several small pieces of furniture before he calmed enough to dial a number from memory.

  “Yes.”

  “I need leverage!” He spat his words into the phone.

  “Yes, you do.” Rudy responded in a calm, almost amused tone.

  “Make it happen!”

  Serge hurled his phone at the wall and went to tend to the nosebleed that erupted during his near apoplectic tantrum.

  42.
>