Page 21 of Cash

I went back to eating, shoving aside the hurt I had no business feeling. Zane was smart not to trust me—he shouldn’t. I gathered information and wielded it like a sword.

Five more days, I reminded myself. Then none of this would matter. I’d shed Lore and figure out how to be a normal, everyday citizen. I’d pretend I didn’t know that darkness lurked in the shadows. I’d pretend I didn’t know that the world was controlled by subterfuge and lies. Life was nothing more than a game of who knew what and keeping it close until the right time to use it presented itself. It was exhausting. I was glad to be done—or at least with that—I had one more mission to complete. One more asshole to take out. But that would require patience.

“Her father was KGB,” Dutch started like I hadn’t told him Zane didn’t trust me with this information. “Aleksandr Zolotov was a highly successful assassin—both in the quantity of his kills and the targets. Zolotov was known as the man who was sent in when a HVT was deemed untouchable. When the USSR fell and the KGB dissolved, Aleksandr floated around making a name for himself—Ministry of Security as part of the old guard. Ninety-three to ninety-five he worked domestic counterintelligence at the FSK before taking his place in the SVR. At the time of his death, he was a legend. It’s rumored at one point he had more than thirty double agents from five countries under his control.”

It took me a moment to realize I knew who Dutch was talking about.

“You’re talking about Sasha,” I returned. “One of his doubles was the director’s personal assistant. And didn’t the man murder his pregnant wife and dump her on the doorstep of her alleged lover?”

The story I’d heard was that Sasha had waited until his wife was almost ready to give birth before he brutally stabbed her and left her for the man she’d been accused of having an affair with to find even though he’d known all along the baby she was carrying wasn’t his.

“That’s the story and he never hid that fact he killed the wife and the unborn baby. Irinia was five at the time and was raised by her father’s mistress until she turned ten. Then she was sent away to school.”

“Yep. That sounds about right,” I grumbled.

“Which part?” Cash asked. “A Russian being ruthless or the hypocrisy?”

“Both,” I told Cash then went back to Dutch. I might’ve been getting out of the game, but old habits die hard and if he was sharing, I was interested. “Does the translator have her father’s burn book?”

“There was a time when I got off on all the spy shit,” Cash grumbled, spearing some potatoes with his fork. “Now I’m pleased as fuck I no longer have the need for a burn book.”

Before I could comment, Dutch did. “She doesn’t need her father’s blackmail material. What Irinia Kikoin has is thirty-five years of service. She started with Ministry of Internal Affairs translating documents. She moved to the Federal Security Service where she spent ten years before she left the FSB to move into military intelligence and spent five years with the GRU. The last twentyish years she worked with the SVR and the Federal Protective Services. At her father’s insistence she speaks nine languages. From a young age Aleksandr groomed his daughter for intelligence work. She’s been in the field, but her specialty is interrogation. She has a background in behavioral and quantitative psychology along with sociology. Her cover as a translator has given her the unique position of sitting in on meetings involving high ranking Russian officials. She’s been at the Russian President’s side many times. Not only for her language skills but her insight into the behavior of an advisory or ally is deeply regarded.”

None of that sounded good. A translator deflecting and turning traitor was one thing. A highly skilled operative was another.

“Um, she’s a walking red flag,” I pointed out.

“On the surface, I agree she’s got all the makings of an operative playing at being a double,” Dutch conceded. “At eighteen, her father had her sterilized.”

I felt a sharp pulse of anger wrap around my throat. It took me a moment to realize not all the anger that was choking me was mine. Beside me, Cash seemed to be vibrating with fury. As were the other men sitting at the table. However, theirs was a dull thump instead of a fresh throb, which meant they already knew about the violation that had been perpetrated against a young woman.

“Say again?” Cash demanded.

“She was allowed to keep a companion but not marry. By the time her father died, Irinia was nearly fifty. She married her longtime lover Vladimir. And by long time, I mean they’d been committed to each other for almost twenty years. During this relationship, by Aleksander’s decree, Vlad paid for the privilege. The man loved Irinia so to keep her father happy and their relationship intact, he paid both in currency and information. Five years ago she decided she’d served her county and it was time to retire.”

I didn’t like where this story was going—not that I liked how it had started with a young woman’s ability to have children stripped from her and her choice to marry taken as well.

“Let me guess,” I interrupted. “Vlad’s dead and not by natural causes.”

“She came home from a work assignment and found her husband murdered in their marital bed, his body in bad shape since it’d been there for days decomposing.”

Hell.

“Yeah,” Dutch continued. “You’re seeing why that red flag is really green. A woman might be able to find her way to staying loyal to the Mother Land after what her father did to her physically. She might even be able to stay true not being able to marry the man she loves if she gets to at least to be with that man. But finding her husband’s corpse in her bed because she wanted to quit her job—not so much.”

Some women might be able to. I was not one of those women. I would’ve slit any man’s throat before he had the chance to forcibly sterilize me, and I didn’t even want children. Never had and it didn’t take someone with Irinia’s background in psychology to figure out my childhood had a lot to do with it.

I picked up my beer, took a healthy glug to wash away the nasty taste of my parents’ memory, and went back to my food while the guys continued to talk.

CHAPTER SIX

It was late morning by the time we rolled up to the farmhouse after taking a redeye flight from Salt Lake to Baltimore, then driving the two hours back to the Eastern Shore. Stella had slept most of the flight. Between the thumb drive Shades had given me and the thick stack of documents Irinia had handed over, I didn’t so much as close my eyes.

I was dog-ass tired and facing a debrief which meant sleep was going to have to wait.

As soon as I rolled to a stop, Stella opened her door and silently slid out. Which was how she’d been for most of the trip. This after she spent nearly six hours speaking with Irinia. I was still unsure exactly what Lore did as a profession. There was a lot of speculation and lore surrounding her—hence the handle she’d earned. However, it was obvious a big part of what she did included intelligence gathering and she was damn good at it. Which meant I spent six hours watching her work while only interjecting a few times to ask a follow up question. It was clear, Lore needed no help interrogating a woman who looked to be someone’s sweet grandmother, or anyone besides.

She was a damn good interrogator.