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The man remained on the floor, his arms cocked, fingers spread out. Edmunds immediately walked over to theprostrate man and secured both wrists, hauled him up, and sat him on the couch.
“Keep an eye on him, Edmunds. Stark.” Viktor jerked his chin to begin the search of the apartment. It didn’t take long to find what they came for.
“Son of a bitch,” Viktor muttered. His eyes took in the crate holding four canisters. The empty slots chilled his blood. Nine slots. Five empty. Two were used. Where were the other three?
His gaze slid to the laptop sitting on the table in front of the canisters. “Stark! Call Tim!”
Picking up the laptop, he walked over to the living room and sat in front of the hostile.
“What’s your name?”
The man simply stared at Viktor.
That’s how he wants to play it. Fine.
Setting the computer down, Viktor pulled out his cold steel Arc Angel Butterfly. Flipping the balisong open, he looked at the man again.
“Asking you one more time. What—is—your—name?”
“I—Ivan,” the man stammered as he eyed the knife warily.
“Ivan what?”
“Volkov.”
“You’re Russian?”
“Yes.”
“You know what I want?”
Silence.
“I don’t have much time, Ivan. I need three things from you. The password to this computer, the location of the other three canisters, and the whereabouts of Owen Reed and Henry Logan.”
The distress in the man’s eyes indicated that he didn’t know the answer to any of his questions.Fuck.
“I have Tim on the phone,” Nathan interrupted.
“Work with him to unlock the laptop,” Viktor said. He turned his attention back to Ivan.
“Reed doesn’t tell me everything,” Ivan said, beads of sweat started trickling down his face. “I just do as I am ordered. He keeps very close counsel—”
Viktor ran a finger over the blade of the knife like a caress. “Have you ever wondered how you would look with an eye-patch, Ivan?”
“Wh—What?” The Russian visibly gulped.
He nodded to Edmunds, who understood what he wanted. The Guardian leaned over Ivan and kept his head immobile, Viktor immediately stilled the man’s legs with his own and braced him across his shoulders against the couch.
“What are you doing?” Ivan screamed. “I don’t know anything. Oh, God.”
“Ah . . . ah . . . don’t move too much,” Viktor said silkily as the tip of the knife went right below Ivan’s left eye. “. . . or I might . . . slip.”
Ivan froze.
“Tell me something I can use.”
“I heard something about the train station.”
