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Ireread the text I received a few moments ago from Lucas.

We have Mikhail. How do you want to proceed?

I call, instead of texting back. “That was fast.”

“We put out feelers, and he showed up. He needs friends. Where should we put him?”

He risked his life to help Cristiano, albeit on Fedorov’s order. But I have no reason to trust him. Even less now that Fedorov’s gone. I don’t trust anyone who comes in voluntarily any more than I trust someone who comes in kicking and screaming. Maybe less.

“The small conference room adjacent to my office. I’ll contact Cecelia and have her clear my schedule. Bring him in through the back. Put him on a service elevator. Tight security. He’s not a prisoner—yet. But don’t take your eyes off him for a second.”

“He’s been on the run. Could use a shower. We’d all be happier in that conference room.”

“It’s going to have to wait. Anything on the accident?”

“It’s tough going. That car was blown to bits. Our guys are finding debris blocks away. This was a professional job.”

“Make sure you run DNA tests on any body parts you find.” I want to know who was in that car.

“If we find anything worth testing. You can take a look at the photos from the scene. This was nothing like the explosion on the boat. They made sure there was no fuck-up this time.”

“Do we have anything that ties the explosions together?”

“Nada.”

“Keep looking. There has to be some connection.”

Although, sometimes it feels like separate and distinct entities are causing havoc. Each running their own shop to bring me down. But that’s unlikely.

Tomas is dead, and no one else would bring in the Russians. I have plenty of enemies, but outside of Nikitin, I can’t think of anyone who would risk so many innocents to get rid of me—especially with Fedorov gone.