Pushing Brilliance

by Tim Tigner

  “Did Grigori go with her?”

  “I’m not sure. I don’t think so. He was in pajamas. Hold on.”

  I made my way back around the pyramid, only to find that the pattern of clear panes over the office was no longer regular. Like the oculus of the Pantheon in Rome, it focused the sunshine on a single area. Peering in, I found it empty.

  Only the bedroom was left. I sure hoped Grigori hadn’t taken her back there. “Keep an eye on the front gate. See who’s leaving. Be prepared to follow.”

  “Will do. But an ambulance isn’t going to make for discreet surveillance.”

  Nothing we could do about that. “Katya’s not in the bedroom either, but Grigori’s there, getting dressed. Looks like he even wears a suit on Sundays.”

  Max’s voice came back on, an octave higher. “There’s a black Mercedes leaving through the front gate. The windows are tinted. I can’t see inside. Should I follow?”

  “Is that the only car leaving?”

  “Yes.”

  “Go for it. Sunday morning, who else could it be?”

  While Max followed the Mercedes, I had to figure out my next moves. I was running out of places to hide. With the sun rising, my silhouette would be visible to Grigori and his staff even when I was over the opaque portions of the pyramid.

  I surveyed the roof in the morning light. The terrace surrounding the pyramid was featureless as a jogging track — and just as devoid of safety rails. The east and west towers were capped by skylights, smaller versions of the central pyramid. No hiding there. The north tower supported a traditional terrace, with an umbrellaed table, four chairs, and a pair of loungers. It looked like a nice place to enjoy your brandy and cigars while mastering the universe. The south tower had the helipad with the gleaming black Ansat I’d visited.

  There was no decent point of concealment anywhere on the roof. If I tried hiding on a lawn chair, I’d look like a three-year-old kid who thought he was invisible while everyone chuckled. That discovery wouldn’t end with tickles.

  I had two options. I could either go into sniper mode by lying out of the way, still as a stone in my ghillie suit. Or I could return to the Ansat and kill anyone who came along. Not a tough choice, given the mood I was in. And I was ready for more pistachios.

  I bid an Arnold Schwarzenegger farewell to Grigori as he was adjusting his tie, and slid slowly down the pyramid. From the base, I low-crawled toward the south tower and the gear I’d stashed, then made a dash for the copter.

  Max broke radio silence as I shut the door, causing me to jump. “Katya just exited the limo in front of our MSU dormitory complex. She’s alone. The limo is driving off. I’ll pick her up, as soon as it’s out of sight.”

  Relief flooded over me. As long as Katya was safe, everything would be okay. I could take care of myself. “That’s great news! Please switch to speakerphone when you do.”

  I found myself nervously popping pistachios while waiting for news. This was the covert operative equivalent to giving birth. I heard the ambulance door open, and then Katya’s voice. “I’m alright. I’m alright. Is Achilles on his way?”

  “I’m not coming yet,” I said. “I’ve still got to learn Grigori’s plan. But tell us what happened, we’re dying to know. Max, drive the ambulance someplace inconspicuous while Katya debriefs.”

  Katya’s words came pouring out like an excited child’s. “At first everything went as planned. He brought me home. I’d never flown in a helicopter before. Didn’t know they were so loud on the inside. That was nice, because we didn’t have to talk. I played the excited schoolgirl, and he seemed to like being the big daddy.”

  The tone of her voice gave me a warm feeling. I couldn’t believe her level of enthusiasm. This was a math professor talking. Apparently, Max and I had been the only nervous ones.

  “In his apartment, Grigori turned on classical music and poured us drinks. More Cristal. Then he led me back to the bedroom, where I took a page from that angel at Vondreesen’s castle.”

  My phone beeped. Another call.

  I interrupted Katya. “My attorney is calling. You guys keep talking. I’ll be back on in a minute.”

  I clicked over, and Casey came on the line. “Before I go to bed, I want to be sure you’re headed for the plane. The charter company says you haven’t checked in yet.”

  “We still have time.”

  “Well, technically. But you’re down to hours. Don’t forget that in addition to flight time, which the pilot tells me will be a good twelve to thirteen hours depending on headwinds, you’ve got customs and clearances and bureaucracy. Then there’s the traffic at both ends. You’ve gotta add four or five hours for that stuff, at a minimum. I don’t need to remind you what’s at stake, do I?”

  “It’s only money.”

  “It’s ten million dollars, Achilles. Your birthright.”

  “Nine a.m. at the Santa Barbara Superior Court. Got it. That gives me until three a.m. Moscow time to reach the airport. How’d it go with Flurry?”

  “She’s happy with the evidence provided. She’s been having fun with the two you left in the Escalade. Apparently they’re wanted for other crimes.”

  “So I’m good?”

  “You just get here. I’ll take care of the rest. But do get here. I know this judge, and he’s merciless on defendants who disobey court orders.”

  I clicked back over to Katya and Max. “Casey wanted to be sure I’d show up for court.”

  “You are tight on time,” Katya said.

  “It’s going to get tighter. Unless Grigori flies somewhere today, I’m going to hit him tonight, when he goes to bed.”

  Chapter 113

  Bad Reflection

  IT WASN’T UNTIL AFTER MIDNIGHT that the lights went on in Grigori’s bedroom —12:06 to be precise. The day of waiting had been no joyride, and I wouldn’t eat another pistachio for the rest of my life, but now the departure deadline was whittling away at my nerves.

  If I wasn’t on my way to the airport in 174 minutes, I was going to be in contempt of court and out ten million bucks. My only ten million. Grigori’s late arrival had left me precious little time for finesse during his interrogation. At the moment, that suited my mood just fine.

  Judging by the extinguishing lights, Grigori finally slid between the sheets at 12:22. I gave him twenty minutes to start sawing logs, and then crept about twelve feet up until I was on the pane I knew to be directly over the center of his bed.

  I’d waited so long for this moment.

  Exactly 200 nights earlier, while my family and I were enjoying my father’s sixtieth birthday celebration, Grigori Barsukov’s men crept aboard the Emerging Sea. Using tools covered in my prints, they diverted the exhaust, bypassed the catalytic converter, disabled the carbon monoxide detectors, arranged the vents, and superglued shut every stateroom window but mine. Then, once everyone was sleeping soundly with full bellies and intoxicated brains, they started the motor that spewed the gas that claimed three precious lives.

  Katya would be dead too, but for Colin's snoring.

  I would be bearing those lost lives in mind throughout the next 138 minutes.

  After readying the lock blade for action in my right hand, I buried my face in the crook of my elbow. With my eyes thus protected, I palmed the sonic pick in my left, pressed it into the glass, and hit the power.

  The top pane shattered with a pop as the argon gas exploded outward. Then the second pane burst. I rode a carpet of broken glass down onto Grigori, landing on his chest with a whoosh and a crash and the melodic tinkle of crystal rain.

  My nemesis screamed, but I didn’t care. I already knew from Katya that nobody could hear. This scream would likely be the first of many.

  I put the blade to his throat and clamped my hand over his mouth to control his movements and focus his attention before speaking. “Kyle Achilles. Pleased to meet you. Utter a word, one word, and I’ll blind you.”

  We locked eyes.

  After a second of intense star
ing, I moved the knife from the crease of his throat to the bridge of his crooked nose, then removed my hand, drew my Glock, and backed off the bed.

  Grigori remained silent.

  I grabbed hold of the puffy white duvet with my knife hand. Once my grip was solid, I backed up, pulling the duvet and about a hundred pounds of glass off my captive. “Roll over, then grab your ass with both hands.”

  I knew Grigori was dying to talk, longing to issue bribes and threats, but he managed to resist the urge while doing as I’d demanded. He was a man of discipline, if nothing else.

  A door swooshed behind me. I spun to see two black suits entering the room, sidearms up but aimed at the moonlight coming through the missing window rather than my head.

  Their eyes hadn’t adjusted to the dark.

  The lead suit spoke first. “You okay, Mister Barsukov? The roof alarm–”

  I squeezed my Glock’s trigger twice, once for each of them. The first suit dropped like a fishing sinker. The second staggered and tried to aim his gun with his right arm while his left pressed his stomach. I sent two more 9mm parabellums on their way before he found his balance. The bedroom door slid shut as he collapsed, like the curtain on the final act.

  “I might have mentioned the roof alarm. But I didn’t want to end up blind.” Grigori’s voice rang out behind me, calm and cold. “Now drop it!”

  Chapter 114

  Hanging Out

  WHERE HAD Grigori gotten a gun? The bastard must sleep with it under his pillow. I wondered if that was a recent development.

  The gun was probably a slimline subcompact like mine. Probably from the same crate. Identical serial numbers but for the last couple of digits. Didn’t really matter. What did matter was that he hadn’t racked the slide. My ears pick up on that sound like a mother does her baby’s cry, and I hadn’t heard it.

  Semiautomatics won’t fire without a chambered round. Would Grigori, safe in his tower, sleep on a gun with a chambered round? Glock 43’s didn’t have a manual safety. I decided that a man who’d been losing bodyguards left and right just might.

  I decided not to risk it.

  Without turning, I slowly raised my gun arm out to my side. As it reached waist level, I said, “Did I forget to mention my friend?”

  During Grigori’s moment of apprehension, I flicked my left wrist with everything I had. The knife I’d pilfered from Gorilla back at the Korston Hotel was a lightweight ceramic model, so it soared a good twenty feet. As it clattered on Grigori’s left, I dove to the right, spinning and bringing my Glock to bear. I had three bullets left and I used them all, aiming for Grigori’s weapon. I couldn’t afford a repeat of the Escalade situation, with no one left alive to interrogate.

  Normally I’d have gone for the shoulder on an armed subject I needed alive, targeting the brachial plexus. Disrupting that bundle of nerves turns the arm into the functional equivalent of a bag of meat. But shooting on the move is never good for the aim, and I couldn’t risk hitting his head or heart. Not with my president’s life at stake.

  The first two shots missed, but the third flew true. It amputated Grigori’s trigger finger and sent the Glock flying from his hand. I rolled backwards and somersaulted onto my feet. Using my legs like springs to reverse my momentum, I dove and bowled Grigori back to the floor.

  He howled like a dying dog.

  Ignoring his screams, I rolled him over and pinned him with my knees. I trussed his wrists together behind his back, snugged them tight with cable ties, and then secured his ankles.

  Still tuning out Grigori’s voice so I could focus on ambient noise, I picked up his Glock and ran to the door, racking the slide as I went. No bullet ejected. There had been no chambered round. No bullet had loaded either. Strange.

  I racked the slide again and confirmed it. The clip was empty. That made no sense until I paired the thought with Katya spending the night in Grigori’s bed. She must have emptied it just as I had the pilot’s. What a woman.

  Bending down over my fallen assailants, I used my left hand to confirm that neither suit’s heart was pumping. Satisfied, I hit the lights and searched the corpses. No radios, just cell phones.

  I dragged the nearest suit over to the corner and stopped before the panel marked as a door. Hoisting him up, I pressed his right palm against the reader.

  The pane retracted.

  Grigori moaned on in the background.

  I released the corpse so that he flopped over the sill. There was something poetic about turning one’s rival into a doorstop.

  Returning to the man of the hour, I flipped him face up, grabbed the cable tie that bound his ankles, and dragged him outside onto the terrace like a caveman hauling a carcass from his cave. “Time to talk.”

  As we neared the building’s edge, I readjusted my grip. I took him by both ankles, and swung him around until the top half of his body swept out over the building’s edge. Satisfied with his precarious position, I crouched down and used my hands to anchor his ankles the way I’d do for a buddy during a sit-up test.

  The little bastard had some strength in his abs. He remained rigid as a plank.

  I stared into his dark, reptilian eyes and then tuned in his voice. “How’s it feel to be on the other side of this equation?” I asked, remembering Vaughn’s story.

  Grigori said nothing. Showed nothing. His KGB roots had grown deep.

  “You know me, and I know you,” I continued. “So we’ll dispense with the pleasantries, and get right to business. I just have one question for you. Are you ready for it?”

  “I’m mildly curious,” Grigori said, his voice now calm and steady. “But I won’t make any promises.”

  What was with this guy? He had to know I’d happily kill him. I’d already gone through nine of his men. I had him dangling over a ledge. And yet we may as well have been talking about sports at the local pub. Somehow the threat had calmed him.

  Normally I’d have softened him up before getting down to business, but I was very tight on time. I hit him with the trillion-dollar question. “What’s the plan to kill President Silver?”

  Surprise registered on his face. His scleras flared, his eyebrows rose, and his mouth opened ever so slightly. They were micro-movements, but they betrayed him. His surprise was nothing, however, compared to my own. My jaw fell when I heard his reply. “You can drop me now.”

  Chapter 115

  Smoke Detector

  I LOOKED PAST my captive toward the dark expanse beyond and the lights of Moscow far below. It was a beautiful night. Fresh air, clear skies, warm breeze. A good night for revenge.

  To reach this lofty height, to mount one of the world’s most powerful companies and the apex of a mighty nation, a CEO had to have superior negotiating skills. He had to be able to bluff with the best of them. But this was no ordinary negotiation. There’d be no on-second-thought moment. If I released Grigori’s ankles, that was it. No replay. No do-over. It was all call the priest, and make arrangements.

  You can drop me now. I let his words hang there for a moment, like a slow softball pitch. Then I did as he asked. I released my grip.

  His rigid body pivoted over the rim like a seesaw.

  I watched his face flash surprise once again, but the emotion that followed wasn’t fear.

  His words hadn’t been a bluff.

  I was the one who’d been bluffing.

  I lunged and grabbed his ankles like an outfielder stretching for a ball. I pulled them back against the rim and slid forward on my elbows until my head was between his feet. Staring down past his crotch to his upturned head, a drop of sweat fell from my brow.

  Grigori smirked as it landed on his crooked nose.

  I ignored his jab and repeated my question. “What’s the plan to kill President Silver?”

  He didn’t sniffle or stammer or spit a response. He did nothing.

  Then I got it.

  There were things worse than death.

  For Grigori Barsukov, one of them was the repercussion that
would follow from betraying his old friend, the president of Russia.

  I was pretty sure I knew another.

  But first I decided to shake things up, throw him off balance. “I know you’ve got McDonald’s here in Moscow. Have you got Burger King?”

  Grigori blinked. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m going to let you have it your way, Grigori.” I worked my way into a crouch, then jerked up and back like I was doing an Olympic power clean. As soon as Grigori’s head was clear of the edge, I took a couple of steps away from the rim and dropped him to the ground with a thud. As he groaned, I rolled him over and repeated the caveman drag. Facedown this time. Back past his fallen protectors, through the bedroom, and into the kitchen.

  With another Olympic lifting move, I hoisted him up onto the island. While he watched wide-eyed, I selected a razor-sharp paring knife from the butcher’s block. Setting it aside, I grabbed Grigori by the collar and hauled him atop the Viking range.

  “What are you doing? I told you to drop me.”

  “I’m not here to do what you tell me, Grigori. I’m here to get an answer to a question.”

  Using cable ties, I fastened his neck to the Viking’s heavy cast-iron grid. Then I secured his legs in a similar fashion. Sensing what was coming, he tried to flail, but there’s not much you can do while strapped facedown by your neck and legs.

  I sliced through the tie binding his wrists together behind his back. Power-handling his right arm over the edge of the island, I secured it to the handle of a drawer. His left wrist got the same treatment. The end result was no cross, but then he was no saint. The position, however, would most certainly suffice.

  My watch read 1:15 a.m.

  I was down to my last hundred minutes.

  I walked around to the end of the island and crouched so I could meet Grigori’s beady eyes. I was pleased to see him starting to sweat. “Does this place have smoke detectors?”

  He closed his eyes, but didn’t answer.

  I hadn’t really expected him to. I looked up and didn’t see any, but then his was hardly the typical ceiling. I used the paring knife to slice off his black silk pajamas, just in case.