Max’s face is as impassive as a stone wall, and I can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking. He doesn’t correct Levin, likely because leaving out thedefrockedpart of the equation offers him some additional protection here, beyond what his connection to the Andreyev name gives him.
“He’s with us, on business,” Levin says smoothly. “I’m here to ask a favor.”
“A favor.” Vladimir’s eyebrows draw together. “A favor from the syndicate is no small thing, Volkov.”
Neither Max nor I miss the abrupt switch to Levin’s surname. I can see the tension in Levin’s shoulders as well, though he doesn’t let on.
“I did quite a few favors for the syndicate in my day,” Levin says quietly. “I need a name, if it can be found.”
“A name can be worth more than a life here.” Vladimir frowns. “You were a valued asset to us, Volkov. I can’t say I’m inclined to pass on information without a price attached to it, though.”
Levin’s face remains impassive as he reaches into his pocket. Every armed man in the room moves at once, all of their attention and weaponry aimed towards him, but Levin just smirks as Vladimir raises a hand.
“If I wanted your boss dead, he would be,” Levin says coolly as he extracts his hand from his pocket. “One of the reasons I was allowed to leave is because he knew better than to try to have me killed. But that’s not what I’m here for.”
With one smooth motion, he flips something into the air above Vladimir’s desk. It takes a moment before I realize as it falls that it’s a coin—a heavy one, from the solidthudthat it makes as it hits the wooden surface.
“A name,” Levin says, his voice as hard as the coin sitting face up in front of Vladimir.
The blond man stares at him for a moment, as if he can’t quite believe what Levin’s done. The room goes very silent, so much so that even the slight ruffling of the papers sounds loud as Levin and Vladimir stare each other down.
I’m not sure what Levin’s done, but it’s clear that the coin carries some significance. At long last, Vladimir reaches for the coin, holding it up. I can see a woman’s face etched into the side of it and letters spelling out something in Russian—likely, I would imagine, the same phrase that Levin used to access the mansion.
“You’re sure this is what you want to use this on,syn?” Vladimir narrows his eyes. “Once done, it cannot be undone.”
“A woman’s life is at stake,” Levin says, his voice gravelly. “I’m sure.”
Vladimir turns the coin over in his fingers, considering. Another beat passes, the air thickening with tension, and then he drops his hand, abruptly pocketing the coin.
“Tell me who you’re looking for,” he says calmly, as if the entire odd exchange between him and Levin never happened.
* * *
We leavethe mansion with a name—Adrian Drakos, a Greek assassin trained by the syndicate who apparently makes it his mission in his free time to hunt down the types of men who buy and sell women. While Vladimir himself had no knowledge of a Frenchman who would spend a hundred million dollars on a damaged woman—and he’d looked slightly green around the edges at the idea—he’d assured us that if anyone could point us in the right direction, it would be Drakos.
Which means we’re headed to Greece next.
As we leave the mansion, I feel torn, heading back to the car and the hotel Viktor arranged for us. On the one hand, Levin seems to think it’s a solid lead, worth whatever he handed over to Vladimir for it. On the other—I doubt Ana is in Greece, which means this is yet another pitstop on the way to really finding her, and more time that she’s in the hands of the Frenchman that bought her.
More time that anything could be happening to her. The possibilities are endless, and I don’t dare imagine them, or I’ll go insane.
The hotel that Viktor arranged for us is an unsurprisingly lavish, five-star hotel in downtown Moscow. The three of us head directly for the bar. It’s full of leather booths and mahogany tables with dim lighting and the smoky scent of whiskey filling the air, which makes it feel remarkably homey for being in the middle of Moscow. We find a booth towards the back, where there aren’t many guests and Levin motions for a waiter as we settle in.
“Jameson on the rocks, a double shot,” I tell the crisply dressed man who comes over to our table.
“Vodka, whatever you’ve got.” Levin glances at Max. “And you?”
“I’ll take an old-fashioned, a double as well.” Max leans back in the booth. “I need a stiff drink after that experience.”
“What was that back there?” I narrow my eyes at Levin. “Between you and Vladimir. The coin? What the fuck happened?”
Levin sighs, waiting until our drinks are in front of us to respond. “I used to work for the syndicate,” he says calmly, taking a sip of his vodka. “I know Vladimir well, and what would be necessary to get a name out of him. Any name.”
“That doesn’t really answer the question.”
Levin raises an eyebrow. “I’m not sure you’re owed an answer to it.”
I shrug, leaning back as I take a sip of my own whiskey. “Be that as it may, you can’t fault me for wanting one. Especially when you say that Vladimir’s enemies are walking dead men, but that he let you leave the syndicate on account of the fact that you’d kill anyone who tried to stop you.”