Page 82 of Nightfire

But no Russian vor worth his salt would allow a thickly landscaped strip separating the road from the beach to exist. Or if is existed, it would be patrolled day and night by guards.

Foolish Americans, so trusting.

He watched this Chloe Mason’s face as she was being fucked from behind, observing her every move, every expression. Trying to figure out what kind of a woman she was, how she could cost him two good men.

The man fucking her. That had to be it. He had to be this Mike. Nikiten watched to get a glimpse of his face, but for the moment, his face was buried in Chloe Mason’s shoulder. But he was strong, unusually broad-shouldered, thickly muscled, though not tall.

Like the prostitute’s description.

Was this the man who had cost him two good men?

Nikitin pulled out his iPad from his backpack. The Americans were so lousy at some many things but they were superb at high tech. Still, whenever brainpower was needed, you had to look to Russia.

Nikitin entered his login and password, took a picture of his thumbprint on his iPhone and sent it all off.

Forty seven seconds later, Pirat was online. Nikitin had an open account with him. Just talking to Pirat was ten thousand dollars an hour. He’d like to keep it down to a quarter of an hour.

What do you need?

Schematics of a building in Coronado Shores, San Diego, California. La Torre. Names of owners. Particularly owner of third apartment from left fourth floor.

After a minute and a half, he had the schematics and the names of all the owners of record. The owner of the apartment who was at this moment fucking Chloe Mason—Nikitin lifted his binoculars to check. The man had stamina. The owner of the apartment was one Michael Keillor.

A photograph filled the screen. Dark brown hair, light blue eyes. A hard, even brutal face.

Nikiten started to type in a request for intel, but facts were already scrolling down.

Michael Keillor. A former Marine, Force Recon. It was like a slap to the face. A warning that a formidable enemy had just crossed his path. A tiger instead of a cat. Americans were, yes, a soft people. But not its soldiers. Force Recon was Special Forces. Spetznaz.

Yes, this man could certainly have taken Lyov and Ivan down, if he had weapons and the element of surprise.

The data scroll continued. After leaving the Marines Michael Keillor joined the San Diego Police Department as a member of the SWAT team. Nikiten knew they were the tactical officers of the police department.

And now he was a partner in a security company, RBK Security Inc.

Ex soldier, former policeman, now owner of a security company. Nikiten felt his senses sharpen, exactly as if this were the moment before going into battle.

But no soldier goes into battle blind.

Intel on Chloe Mason, owner of a property in the same building.

While he waited for Pirat to search his databases, Nikitin lifted the binoculars to his eyes once more. The couple were straining, clearly at the end of sex. Did people not realize how ridiculous they looked in the throes of sex? The woman’s mouth was open, eyes closed. Both their bodies were bathed in sweat, visible from here.

It was disgusting.

The display changed and he put down the binoculars and looked at the screen.

Chloe Mason, age 28, adopted at age of five by Rebecca and George Mason of Boston. Attended Catholic boarding school in London from the age of 14 to 18. Degree in English Literature from London City College. Sister of Harry Bolt, partner in RBK Security, Inc.

Once was coincidence, twice was a pattern.

RBK Security.

He reached into his pocket to write down the address and froze.

Nyet!

He scrabbled in his leather jacket, desperately trying to find a hole in the lining because…because this was impossible. Maybe in the other pocket. No.