The Coldest War by Dave Sinclair

Author:Dave Sinclair
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780648572060
Publisher: Dave Sinclair

Chapter

Ten

“You cry out, you’re dead.” Atticus pushed the gun barrel into Oliver’s forehead for effect. “You make a run for it, you’re dead. You try to signal anyone, you’re dead.”

With his free hand, Atticus shoved Oliver back into the apartment. Before forcing him into an armchair, he gave the traitor a pat down, and checked the chair for concealed weapons for good measure. Anyone who underestimated Oliver didn’t last long.

Oliver sat heavily. “I imagine the list of things that will result in my death is quite extensive.” He blew out a lungful of air. “Is there a list of things that will keep me alive, or is that as short as your attention span?”

“I’m here to talk, Oliver.”

“The gun in your hand says otherwise.”

“Would you have let me in without it?”

“Who can say? A present never goes astray.”

Atticus rocked his head from side to side, then extracted a bottle of Laphroaig from his pocket.

“A peace offering. Thought you might appreciate a gift from home.”

Instead of showing appreciation, Oliver’s face hardened. “This is my home now.”

Acknowledging the statement with a frown, Atticus replied, “Fine. Call it a house-warming gift, then.”

Atticus returned to the entrance, placed the bottle on the hall table near the front door and took in the apartment. It was modern, especially by 1964 Soviet standards. Light-filled and spacious, it was filled with luxurious furniture. It was more akin to New York of the time than a staid communist bloc apartment.

Outside, it was getting dark; with the lights on, their meeting would be observable from other apartments. Atticus scrutinised the walls.

“The light switch is to your left.”

Flicking the lights off, Atticus said, “Thanks.” Glancing around him again, he added, “Nice digs.”

“The Soviet Union values its key minds.” Even from his position of subjugation, Oliver glared at Atticus with disdain. “They do not treat them as inferior, nor punish them with menial drudgery, working for the weak and brainless.”

“I missed you too.”

“I doubt that.”

Atticus sighed. He had hoped things wouldn’t become acrimonious so quickly. “I’m not here to argue ideology, I’m just here to talk.”

Oliver folded his arms. “Then talk.”

“You’re making a mistake backing Shelepin.”

That got his attention. While he did his best to remain neutral, several facial tics gave him away.

“Who?”

“You’re going with who? Really?” Atticus rolled his eyes. “You would have been better off with I don’t know what you’re talking about. Or your mum. Or anything really. Especially given that you were standing next to the guy an hour ago. So, let’s start again, shall we? Backing Shelepin will not end well, for you or anyone else.”

Oliver pushed back his glasses and narrowed his eyes. “You killed everything I loved.”

Atticus leaned against the kitchen table, pistol still trained on Oliver. “In my defence, he tried to kill me first. Oh, and let’s not forget that he bombed MI6, killing twenty-seven. Some of whom were people you worked with for years, Oliver.”

He was surprised it had taken this long for the subject of Mikhail to come up. Atticus wasn’t about to point out that he hadn’t been the one to pull the trigger.

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