Page 63 of Denied Access

That was an excellent question.

Rapp was not an agent runner like Irene or Stan, but it wasn’t difficult to put himself in the Russian’s shoes. Regardless of what the former KGB officer had communicated to Hurley, Rapp had figured that he wouldn’t stick around long. As the old saying went, it’s not paranoia if someone really is out to get you. The Soviet intelligence service had a long memory, and Rapp had no doubt that when it came to Volkov, someone still was out to get him.

“Grigoriy Petrov,” Rapp said.

Volkov exhaled a deep, rattling sigh. As if his lungs were asweatherbeaten as his face. Judging by the yellow stains between his fingers, this was probably true.

“I’d hoped for a different name.”

“It’s the only one I have.”

Another sigh. “I told Hurley everything during my initial debrief. I don’t have anything more to add.”

“Since Hurley is the one who sent me, I don’t think that’s true.”

Volkov’s gray-streaked eyebrows came together, and his eyes narrowed. Before he could respond, the waiter appeared with a bowl of hummus and a heaping platter of warm bread. Volkov looked longingly at the steaming bread, but didn’t touch it.

“What is my former comrade doing these days?”

The question irritated Rapp.

Volkov had been one of Hurley’s most prized assets. A founding member of the Boys from Berlin. Not only that, but when offered the opportunity to relocate to America, the Russian had declined in favor of setting up his own identity and reinventing himself. These were not the actions of a man who intended to spend his retirement drinking strong coffee and watching the tide roll in. Rapp had a feeling that Volkov knew full well what Petrov was doing these days. Still, this wasn’t his area of expertise. He didn’t know how to “handle” assets, so maybe this back-and-forth was how the game was played.

“He’s a lieutenant general in the FSK. Does that jog your memory?”

“You misunderstand me,” Volkov said, his earlier levity gone. “I haven’t forgotten about Petrov. The opposite in fact. I didn’t chooseshabby Veniceover the Virginia horse country because I loved the smell of rotting fish. Vanishing to a third-world backwater was my best chance to stay alive. Petrov has a long memory and his list of wrongs dates back to the Great Patriotic War. He’s an old man now with an old man’s view of the world. My guess is that his time is waning, and he’s decided to balance the ledger. I want no part of what you and Hurley are working.”

Volkov made to leave.

Rapp had other ideas.

“I think you’re the one who has misunderstood,” Rapp said, snaring Volkov’s arm and jerking him back to his seat. “I don’t know what arrangement you had with whatever weak-kneed case officer you negotiated with for this deal, and I don’t care. I’m not the guy they send to convince some morally bankrupt jerk-off to spy against his own country. The Colombian cartels have a saying—plato o pluma. You know it?”

The Russian shook his head.

“It means silver or lead.”

“I take it you’re not the silver,” Volkov said, prying his arm free.

“Smart man.”

“I guess that’s good because we’re both going to need your services.”

“What do you mean?”

“That apartment building to your right—the multistory tower. See it?”

Rapp knew exactly which structure the Russian was referencing. The odd construction reminded him of a layered cake made to look like an accordion. Strange design aside, there was another reason Rapp had marked the building on his mental map—it towered over the single- and double-story buildings lining the waterfront. Its whitewashed exterior made for an excellent landmark while navigating the maze of winding side streets and alleys that made up the city proper to his west.

“Yep,” Rapp said, never taking his eyes off Volkov.

“There’s a red blanket draped across the railing on the top-floor apartment’s balcony. It wasn’t there a moment ago.”

Rapp looked over his shoulder. A crimson blanket flapped in the breeze. “So?”

“For the past day or two, I’ve suspected that I’ve been under surveillance. I used this meeting to test my instincts. The person in that apartment is conducting countersurveillance for me. The blanket means he’s detected a team. I suggest we bring this meeting to a close.”

Once again, the Russian got to his feet.