Silent Assassin(9)

“Sounds like a nasty prick,” said Ferenc.

“You don’t know the half of it,” said Morgan. He didn’t say anything else, and Ferenc took the hint.

Looking out, Morgan saw that they were leaving the residential streets behind and coming up on an industrial district. After a few minutes, Lubarsky pulled into an abandoned factory complex, through a gate that had been left open. He drove toward the nearest building, and a man in combat armor holding a semiautomatic waved them in through a truck-sized door. Ferenc followed Lubarsky’s lead into a cavernous interior, crisscrossed with rusting catwalks and populated by hulking machinery that had obviously not been operated in years.

“Oh, shit,” said Morgan. “Take a look at that.” Morgan counted three more men similarly armed. At each man’s belt were two bulbous shapes. “Are those grenades?”

“We stick to the plan,” said Ferenc. “I don’t intend to be blown up today.”

“You and me both, buddy.”

Ferenc parked the truck behind Lubarsky’s car and the men converged on them, forming a loose perimeter.

Morgan stepped out and the men flanked him. He saw Novokoff standing in the middle of the abandoned factory floor next to a single aluminum surgical table, wearing a black turtleneck sweater with suspenders, a gun at his hip. Morgan had known him from the pictures, but there was something particularly unnerving about his personal presence, even at a distance. He was aloof, his carefully coiffed grey hair and beard giving him the aspect of a well-groomed wolf. His eyes had the quiet calm of a fearless killer. Morgan could tell that he would be a fearsome opponent.

“Bringing a gun to an introduction is no way to make friends,” said Novokoff, as Morgan approached. His voice was silky smooth, with only a trace of an accent.

“You’re one to talk,” said Morgan, looking at one of the armed guards. He stood at a healthy distance from Novokoff. “Why the army? Expecting an invasion?”

“I am not a trusting man, Cobra. Let’s just say I have had some relevant prior experience.” He signaled to his men. Two remained nearby, while two others walked off to man the wider perimeter. “And after all, we were de facto enemies for most of your life, were we not? The CIA agent and the arms dealer. Oh, you did not expect me to come to this meeting without finding out everything that I could about you, did you? But of course, there is so little to find out about Cobra. It’s almost as if he were a ghost.”

Morgan did not react. “It doesn’t pay to have an identity when you have so many enemies.”

“Ah, but therein lies the beauty of commerce, Mr. Cobra,” Novokoff said, smiling slyly. “It brings even mortal enemies together in the bonds of trade. It creates a connection of trust and mutual need.”

“I think even you understand the irony of those words coming out of your mouth.”

“Ah, that is true only if you believe the game at the KGB was really about socialism. Ah, it was for some, those hopeless young fanatics who readily gave their lives for this . . . cause. It is alien to me and most of the men of my time. We understood that it was not about socialism. It was not about Mother Russia. It was always, really, only about power.”

“So this should be right up your alley,” said Morgan.

“Very much so. And apparently yours too,” Novokoff said, shifting gears, “or you would not offer me such a rare item.”

“Exactly. So how about we get to it?”

“Very well,” Novokoff said. “I have money for you, Mr. Cobra. I trust you have product for me.”

“You show me yours and I’ll show you mine,” said Morgan. “In the truck.”

Novokoff motioned to his men. With Ferenc’s help, two of them opened the back of the truck and took down the crate very carefully. They carried it by the handles on the sides, slowly and grunting, and placed it down next to the table.

“Be careful with that,” said Lubarsky, who had been watching intently. “I do not intend to die today.”

Another of Novokoff’s men brought out a seamless Plexiglas cage that held five large lab rats and set it down carefully on the table. The rats, fat and white with blood-red eyes, were frantically climbing over each other, frightened by the movement and strange surroundings. Next to the cage, the guard placed a short mesh hose with complicated attachments at the ends. One of the men who had taken the metal crate from the truck opened it and removed a canister, spreading billows of smoke from the dry ice. He had his own temperature-resistant gloves, like Morgan and Barrett had used earlier. The guard held it carefully, walking slowly to the table and setting it down as gently as he could.