Ah, Colonel."
"I want to make sure it's what you say, Vanko."
"Would I try to cheat you?"
"You're already trying to get a few extra rubles for the greedy guard. Open the case." Karpov stood back, hands in his pockets, cigarette dangling from between his lips.
Vanko flipped a pair of latches, not unlike a briefcase and carefully raised the lid, exposing a neatly machined panel containing an array of readouts and switches, barely visible in the dim trunk light. "You can set a code to open it. Here." Vanko indicated a spot near one of the latches on the inside of the case.
Alexei moved closer and peered in. "Ah, yes. I remember when we designed these." He reached out a hand and caressed the panel, almost fondly. "We were going to destroy the Americans." He closed the case, then the trunk.
"Those were the days, eh, comrade?" Vanko said.
Karpov puffed on his cigarette, regarded the hot ember, then dropped the butt and ground it out with the sole of his shoe. "There's much more opportunity now," he said.
"Speaking of opportunity..." Vanko puffed his own cigarette, hands in his coat pockets, gloves tucked beneath an armpit.
"Of course. The money."
"I had to give the guard an extra fifty rubles."
"Let's see," Karpov said as he reached inside his coat. He pulled out a pistol.
Vanko's eyes widened and he backed up a step, pulling his arms from his pockets, gloves falling to the ground. "What is this?"
"This is a Smith & Wesson .38-caliber Police Special," Karpov said calmly. "Made in America. New Jersey, I believe. Nice, is it not?"
"Alexei... Colonel... Please."
"You are a symbol of all that's gone wrong with the Soviet Union, Vanko and a petty thinker, to boot." In one smooth motion former Colonel Alexei Karpov raised the weapon and fired, striking Vanko in the forehead. As the roar of the gun died, his face, only slightly marred by the entry wound, took on a startled look. The cigarette fell from his lips, lodging on his heavy coat before he fell backwards.
Karpov put the gun back inside his coat and checked his watch. He still had fifteen minutes to get back to the border and it was only six or seven miles. He was, in fact, far more concerned with the nearly six thousand miles he'd have to drive in the next week. He stepped over Vanko's body.
"Das vadanya, comrade."
YOU ARE READING
Not-So-Secret
RomanceLike father . . . like son. The empty crib, the warning note - Kelly Declaremount-black recognised the signs that her secret life had been discovered. To save her son, she became the willing captive of a man arrogantly convinced that her baby was hi...
