Enemies Like You by Joanna Chambers & Annika Martin

Author:Joanna Chambers & Annika Martin [Chambers, Joanna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781944736033
Published: 2017-05-14T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

Kit

London

In the days following the Cage debacle, Polzin is impossible. He demotes Dmitri, bringing in two new guys above him. Gleb gets sent back to the motherland on some other mission. As for me, my position is unaffected since I, at least, managed to salvage the situation, but he doesn’t seem to have the same confidence in me as before.

He’s also become obsessed with taking out Nero. He’s worked out that’s who came looking for him in Cage but thankfully hasn’t linked him to my supposed ex-boyfriend from the party in New York. To my vast relief, Cage’s assurances that they don’t run security cameras in the playrooms turns out to be actually true. The only CCTV available of Will is of him entering and later leaving the building, and there’s not a single image of his face. Somehow he contrives to be out of shot or looking away from the camera the whole time, without appearing the least bit shifty.

The female he’s with isn’t so fortunate. Polzin quickly identifies her as Agent Taryn Wagner of the CIA and deduces from this that the US government is bankrolling this hit. I’ll have to tell Archie to pick up with his guy in the CIA about moving Wagner off the case.

“You need to neutralise him,” Polzin tells me. He’s in the midst of getting a massage so he’s speaking to the floor, his head held stationary by the face-hole in the massage table. The masseur, a huge Turkish guy, is pummelling his back so hard it’s making me wince. “I get you because you say you are best,” he goes on. “So why is this American still walking around, eh?”

I’m glad he’s not looking at me, glad I don’t have to worry about my expression, only my tone of voice.

Patiently I say, “Like I said, we’re working on ID’ing him, but from what he said to me the other night, I’m pretty sure, first, that he’s ex-military and second, that from his side, this is personal. So, tell me: Can you think of any US military personnel who might have a grudge against you?”

He swears in Russian. Something impatient. “How old is he?”

I suppress a sigh. I’ve told him this half a dozen times already.

“I’m guessing thirty. I’d put money on his having been some kind of commander. A leader of some sort...but he lost his men. Two, three years back, maybe?” I pause. “Anything you can think of that falls into that category?”

He’s quiet for several long minutes, then just when I’m beginning to wonder whether he’s actually fallen asleep, he shifts, dismissing the big guy in Russian.

“Anything?”

He hops off the table and reaches for his robe. Sergei Polzin is in his mid- to late sixties with a stocky, barrel-like frame, short, strong legs, and a pelt of silvery chest hair. Silvery sideburns too, though the rest of the hair on his head is improbably black. All in all, he’s kind of bear-like, lumbering but somehow effective.

Polzin crosses the room to the fridge while the masseuse packs up.

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