Greco's Game by James Houston Turner

Author:James Houston Turner [Turner, James Houston & Turner, James Houston]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-09-24T12:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 27

“You and Wilcox, how did you meet?” Ilya asked Talanov as a family of travelers settled at a nearby table, and the kids immediately dropped their brightly colored backpacks and raced for the soft drinks. The mother scooted the backpacks under the table and hurried after them.

“What did he tell you?” asked Talanov, taking a bite of his burrito, which contained scrambled eggs, refried beans, fresh salsa, avocado, and cheese.

“Nothing,” answered Ilya.

“I can assure you he’s on the level, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Ilya leaned closer and lowered his voice. “A man in my position cannot be too careful, if you know what I mean.”

Talanov kept chewing and did not reply.

“Surely you know what I mean?” asked Ilya, watching Talanov carefully.

Without losing eye contact with Ilya, Talanov took another bite of his burrito and did not reply.

“Okay, I understand that you may not wish to comment,” Ilya said, shuffling awkwardly in his chair, “but I have been asked to supply information about Russian mob activities here in Los Angeles.”

Talanov kept chewing and did not reply.

“All right then, I will be blunt,” said Ilya. “Is Wilcox trying to recruit me?”

Talanov knew the danger in this line of questioning. Whatever noncommittal answer he gave, Ilya might respond by asking if Wilcox had recruited him. It was not out of the question that he already knew about the notorious Cold War spy, November Echo. If someone within the CIA had leaked information about Connor Jax, then that same someone could have leaked information about November Echo, or worse, that he was November Echo.

The fact that he had been able to move to Australia after the Cold War was evidence that he possessed the means to do so. Former KGB colleagues had occasionally asked how he could afford such an affluent lifestyle, so it would be natural for Ilya to wonder too, and to ask questions. An outright lie to any question Ilya might ask would be visible on his face, even if Ilya did not possess the ability to fully interpret it. He needed to be careful about not giving anything away. How would Ilya respond if he discovered the truth? How would others in Moscow respond? Could this be the reason someone had tried to kill him but instead killed his wife?

At that same moment downstairs, Diane Gustaves was talking about the same thing with Jackson Teague and Martin Posner. The three were sitting around the same table in the interrogation room where Wilcox and Talanov had been. The wine bottle and glasses were gone, and in their place was a carafe of freshly brewed coffee. Cups and small plates with half-eaten sandwiches were in random placement around the table. Notepads and copies of reports were scattered in disarray.

“Assuming it wasn’t us,” Gustaves was saying, “who’s got a motive for wanting Talanov dead? We can make that assumption, can’t we?”

“It wasn’t us,” affirmed Teague. “To fill you in on what we know, the LAPD confirmed finding an unknown fingerprint on a forty-five caliber shell casing at the convention center where Talanov’s wife was killed.

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