He’d spent the night reading every single entry in Agniya’s restricted database. He’d figured out what the codes stood for, who the players were, and how they related to each other. In a single night, he’d put together in his head the rich tapestry that was the Russian top tier, the Kremlin’s elite players, and the Dead Hand organization that furthered their interests.

He knew what they wanted, and what they feared.

As he dialed, he took a sip of the vodka and told himself that fortune favored the bold.

A voice answered, a female, and to Igor’s ear, her accent put her in Krasnogorsk. Exactly where he’d expected her. This woman knew who was calling, and that was the point. She provided verification, like an escrow service. When she called Davidov, she would be able to assure him that Igor was who he said he was.

“I need to place a call,” Igor said.

“Destination?”

“Evgraf Davidov. Prime Directorate.”

“Authorization code?”

Igor gave Agniya’s authorization code.

“Stand by. I will call you back at this number in exactly fifteen minutes.”

Igor hung up. He was nervous, and lit a cigar to calm himself. He waited, smoking and sipping vodka, and almost knocked the phone off the desk when it finally rang.

“This is Aralov,” he said.

“Please hold for Direktor Davidov.”

He waited and a moment later heard the connection click.

“Direktor Davidov?” Igor said nervously.

“Direktor Aralov,” Davidov said.

The two men had never met, and Davidov’s voice sounded odd to Igor, like he was sucking a lozenge. He found it faintly nauseating.

“Please, sir. Call me Igor.”

“Very well,” Davidov said without reciprocating the courtesy. “You have some nerve making this call, Igor.”

“It’s not what you think, sir.”

“You shouldn’t have killed Agniya Bunina. She was under my protection.”

“She betrayed me, sir.”

“You let your feelings for her cloud your judgment.”

“I had no feelings for her.”

“You had a camera installed in her bedroom, you creep. You accessed the feed every single night. I know you, Igor Aralov. I’ve seen your hand pumping your little cock at that desk you sit at now, so don’t lie to me.”

“Sir,” Igor said.

“The only reason you’re still alive is because I thought you might be useful. But I was wrong.”

“Wrong? Sir, please” Igor said. “I can break the American for you. Laurel Everlane. I know her weakness.”

“I don’t need you to break her.”

“I know what you’re planning, sir. I know what you need from her.”

“I’m not planning anything,” Davidov said, his voice betraying his agitation.

“Of course not, sir. But I can break her for you. Torture her for you.”

“Timokhin is going to break her, Igor. He’s got a knack for that sort of thing.”

“Spector then. I can get you Spector.”

Davidov laughed. “How do you propose to do that?”