First Kill by David Hagberg

Author:David Hagberg
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates

* * *

Baranov disengaged himself from Karina and got out of bed. The suite was in semidarkness, illuminated only by the lights from the bathroom. Mati wanted to see what was happening. He liked looking at his wife’s body, and he especially liked to watch when she was having sex with other men.

He pulled on his trousers and went out to the pool deck where Varga, dressed in a silk kimono, sat at a table drinking brandy. He drank every day, he’d explained, but never to excess. Becoming mellow and staying there was fine with el Presidente, but drunkenness was not. The keys to his rise within the regime were his work at Valparaíso, his golf game—he always let Pinochet win, of course—and Karina.

Baranov did not ask if she shared her bed with the president, but he suspected that she did.

Varga looked up. “Would you like a drink?”

“Vodka.”

“It’s on the sideboard. Karina got it for you.”

At the drink cart Baranov poured a stiff measure of vodka, drank it down, then poured another and joined Varga.

“This evening was enjoyable,” he said. “The movies were an eye-opener. The capacity for human pain never ceases to amaze me.”

“The Nazis quantified it for us. They did the pioneering work. Without them we’d be groping in the dark.”

“I understand.”

Varga looked at him. “Do you, Captain? Do you really? Because as a Russian with your bloody history I would think that your comment was unnecessary.”

“It was a pleasantry, General, nothing more. A thank-you for this evening’s … activities.”

“We’ll wake my wife in a little bit. There’ll be more. In fact, she would be disappointed if we didn’t wake her.”

Wanting to shift the subject Baranov said, “Our efforts to have the assassin taken down have been unsuccessful so far.”

Varga shrugged. “Is he still in Washington, or is he on his way?”

“He’s looking for a mole at Langley.”

Varga’s eyebrows rose. “Will he find him?”

“I don’t think so. He’s young with a lot of energy, but he hasn’t learned patience yet, nor has he developed any finesse or panache.”

“You admire this man.”

Baranov looked away for a moment to wonder if it was a valid question. He nodded. “I think I do. His wife and daughter were to be killed, but the contractors missed them, and when he showed up, he killed both of the men.”

“Did you send them?” Varga asked sharply.

“No.”

“Good. A man’s wife and especially his children, if he has any—Karina unfortunately cannot conceive—should be sacrosanct.”

The comment was so insane Baranov almost laughed out loud, but he kept himself in check. “I couldn’t agree more.”

For a long time they sat in silence. Varga poured another brandy and Baranov went to the drink cart for another vodka.

The night was soft, ten billion stars filled the sky, and in the distance the whistle of a large ship echoed off the hills from the harbor below.

“It would be easy for him to get here aboard a cargo ship,” Varga said.

“It’s a strong possibility,” Baranov said, and he explained about the mock-up at the Farm.

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