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Chapters (86)
  1. Foreword
  2. 1
  3. 2
  4. 3
  5. 4
  6. 5
  7. 6
  8. 7
  9. 8
  10. 9
  11. 10
  12. 11
  13. 12
  14. 13
  15. 14
  16. 15
  17. 16
  18. 17
  19. 18
  20. 19
  21. 20
  22. 21
  23. 22
  24. 23
  25. 24
  26. 25
  27. 26
  28. 27
  29. 28
  30. 29
  31. 30
  32. 31
  33. 32
  34. 33
  35. 34
  36. 35
  37. 36
  38. 37
  39. 38
  40. 39
  41. 40
  42. 41
  43. 42
  44. 43
  45. 44
  46. 45
  47. 46
  48. 47
  49. 48
  50. 49
  51. 50
  52. 51
  53. 52
  54. 53
  55. 54
  56. 55
  57. 56
  58. 57
  59. 58
  60. 59
  61. 60
  62. 61
  63. 62
  64. 63
  65. 64
  66. 65
  67. 66
  68. 67
  69. 68
  70. 69
  71. 70
  72. 71
  73. 72
  74. 73
  75. 74
  76. 75
  77. 76
  78. 77
  79. 78
  80. 79
  81. 80
  82. 81
  83. 82
  84. 83
  85. 84
  86. Afterword

“Yes,” she said, “And you’re the director of the NSA. My orders are to kill you.”

“Kill me? No. Those can’t be your orders.”

“My orders come straight from the Main Directorate.”

“The Main Directorate? Who in the Main Directorate?”

“What difference does it make to you?”

“You’re making a huge mistake. Listen to me. Who gave you your orders?”

“Igor Aralov.”

“No. Listen to me. Tell him to call the Prime Directorate right now.”

“He can’t call the Prime Directorate.”

“Yes he can. Please. He’s making a huge mistake. He needs to speak to Davidov. Evgraf Davidov.”

“Evgraf Davidov?”

“In the Prime Directorate. Just make the call. This goes straight to the Kremlin. I swear, your boss will thank you. ”

Tatyana was about to pull the trigger when the door burst open. She grabbed Mansfield and swung him around, using him as a human shield as bullets flew at her. Two men dressed entirely in black were standing in the hallway and as their bullets continued to strike Mansfield’s body, she raised her gun and put a bullet in each of their foreheads.

She let Mansfield’s corpse slump to the ground.

Then, looking in the mirror above the vanity, one of Igor’s favorite locations for placing a camera, she said, “Igor, I’m coming for you next, you son of a bitch.”

71

Vasily Ustinov had killed a man before. It was years ago, a local politician in his home town of Izerbash in Dagestan. The man had been swindling Vasily’s grandfather out of his farm. When the police refused to get involved, Vasily took the law into his own hands. He’d been fifteen years old.

He hadn’t meant to kill the man, but things got out of hand. They got into a fight and the man’s head hit the ground. Vasily tried to revive him but he was dead.

Vasily had always thought of it as the day his own life ended too. He’d felt cursed afterward, and was sure nothing he ever did would atone for the blood on his hands.

So he was willing to kill this general, this man who’d caused the death of so many innocent people, and he didn’t care if that meant losing his own life in the process. As far as Vasily was concerned, it was a price worth paying.

He felt as if everything he’d done in his life had been a preparation for this day.

After leaving the train station, he got a cab back to his apartment in the city, where his grandfather’s old Nagant seven-shot revolver was hidden beneath the floorboards. He loaded the gun with its distinctive Type-R cartridges and put it in his coat pocket.