The news infuriates me, not that I expected otherwise. Still, it’s worth a shot. “What about Ms. Morrell?”
He stumbles over his feet in his eagerness to boot up the second of the five monitors on his desk. “I already put together a visual file for you.”
He presses a button, pulling up a kaleidoscope of faces, some with Katerina in the picture and others without. Many of the faces are hardly discernible. Others are partially or fully hidden from the cameras.
“Patient list?” I ask, my irritation growing.
“Here, sir.” Grabbing a printout from his desk, he offers it to me. “As you’ll see, there are a lot of Russian names, but seeing that the hospital is situated in an Eastern European neighborhood, nothing out of the ordinary jumps out.”
I scan over the names printed on the paper. The list is long. “Pull whatever records you can find on every one of them. Use my government contacts to speed things up.”
“We’re already working on it, sir.”
“Good.” I shove the paper back into his hands. “Report to me on the hour, and let me know the minute anything comes up.”
The paper trembles in his hand. “Yes, sir.”
I make my way to the door with long strides. My employees busy themselves as I pass, not daring to meet my eyes. I suppose I have somewhat of a reputation. People fear me, including the ones who feed their families on the generous salaries I pay. Good. In my world, you don’t get very far with kindness. No one is complaining, though. They’ll search long and wide to find better fringe benefits or working conditions.
The kind of work they do requires the room in which they spend eight hours a day to be underground. The walls, ceiling, and floor are fortified. No radio waves or infrared beams can penetrate the structure. That means the industrial intelligence I keep in this room is safe from unwanted eyes and ears, but it also makes the room blast-proof. A sophisticated system carefully monitors and purifies the air. The lights are bright without being harsh on the eyes, and the temperature never varies from a comfortable twenty-three degrees Celsius. Wallpaper depicting a mountain landscape covers the gray concrete bricks, and trees planted in pots provide greenery. A fountain in the corner creates the tranquil sound of a waterfall. It empties into a pond populated with koi fish. Apparently, the fish have a calming effect on the human psyche. As per the advice of the interior designer who specializes in Zen environments, the air purifier releases minute organic notes of bergamot and citrus into the air. The fragrances are supposedly uplifting and revitalizing. Yeah, there are worse bunkers to work in.
The metal door shuts behind me with a soft click. Dimitri straightens from where he leans on the wall. Leonid watches me from under hooded eyes.
“What?” I snap. “If you have something to say, say it.”
Leonid’s chest expands with a breath. “It’s unlikely we’ll uncover anything via this route. You’ve seen the quality of those tapes. A lot of people walk in and out of that hospital on a daily basis. Anyone could’ve snatched Kate’s access card.”
Spearing my hands through my hair, I practice the control I’ve mastered through the years to get a handle on my anger. I’ve come to the same conclusion, but I don’t have anything else to go on. “What do you fucking suggest we do?”
Igor gives me a worried look.
Silence.
That’s what I thought. No one has any better ideas. If only I knew who dared to threaten her. If only I knew why.
“I need answers,” I say through clenched teeth, shoving my hands into my pockets as I circle the space. “Who? Why?”
“Maybe a competitor,” Igor offers. “Someone who wanted to send a message.”
It’s not a new suggestion. We’d already considered this possibility after Igor got shot. Where my business is concerned, there’s no shortage of competitors. Power is both a valuable and dangerous commodity in Russia. As the saying goes, the highest trees catch the most wind. Getting to the top takes hard work and dirty fighting, but the real war only starts when you reach that level. Once you’re in the number one spot, you’re a target for every man beneath you on the ladder. You have to fight twice as hard to stay at the top than to get there.
Threatening a woman who has nothing to do with my business just to send me a message is a low blow, but it’s not uncommon. Women make men weak. Enemies have exploited that weakness since the beginning of time.
“For now, we wait,” Dimitri says, always the pragmatic one. “It looks like we don’t have much of a choice. Whoever took Kate’s card wanted your attention. Now that he has it, he’ll make known what he wants sooner or later.”