Page 32 of Code Name: Harbor

Mikhail’s a dark Russian with nearly pitch-black hair and a pockmarked face that makes him look almost gruesome. He’s wearing a dark wool coat over a dark sweater, dark slacks, dark shoes. Everything about him is dark, including his eyes, the iris and pupils nearly indistinguishable.

He makes a very pointed move, pushing one edge of his coat back to tuck a hand in his front pocket, exposing a leather pistol harness on his chest. The butt of a Ruger peeks out.

Connie steps from the bathroom, wiping her hands on a paper towel as if she had just finished washing, and tosses it in the trash. “Oh, look… visitors.”

Mikhail’s gaze lands on Connie, slides to Marcus, lands on me. “Finn.”

“Mikhail.”

“You have a minute?”

“For you, always.”

I don’t stand up and he doesn’t sit down.

“Looking for some information,” he says, his Russian accent guttural and thick.

I lean back against the bench, elbow on the table. “What kind of information?”

“Tuesday night. North end. Somebody fired on one of our pickups.”

“Why would they do that?” I inquire.

Mikhail’s black eyes narrow on me. “If I knew the answer to that, I wouldn’t be here.” His eyes cut over to Connie who stands with her arms crossed over her chest. “The shots came from the water. A small craft with no lights.”

“Sorry,” I say, lifting a shoulder. “We haven’t made a run in several weeks. But I’ll keep my ears open.”

“You do that.” Those three words are a very pointed threat. “And if you hear anything…”

“You’ll be the first to know,” I promise, or rather, lie.

Lie through my teeth.

“In fact, you hear of anybody on the water that night, you tell me.”

“Understood,” I say with a nod.

He looks to Marcus, who understands the demand. “Got it, chief.”

Then Mikhail looks at Connie. “I’ll sing like a bird,” she promises.

We’ve all agreed too quickly, and he doesn’t trust us a bit. His eyes are like black pools of ice. “If you know something, and you don’t share it with us”—a small pause—“it’s the same as if you’d fired the shots yourself.”

“I know how this works, Mikhail,” I say, my tone glacial.

“I sure hope so,” he says, eyes cutting to Marcus and Connie before returning to me. “For all your sakes.”

I stand up from the table and square myself up to the Russian. “Anatoli and I have been giving each other wide berths for nine years. I’m not stupid enough to break that arrangement. If I had information for him, he’d have it without you having to ask.”

“He might like to hear that from you directly.”

“I’m a busy man, same as he is. Pass the message on.”

Mikhail’s mouth flattens. He clearly doesn’t like his authority being questioned. He looks at me for one more beat, then turns away, making his way back up on deck. We listen as their footsteps recede and then they’re gone.

The cabin is very quiet.

Marcus exhales slowly through his nose, and Connie says nothing for ten seconds.