Yuri Bykov was getting nervous about this simple assignment, especially after Leonid Anosov had phoned and said the woman didn’t have the flash drive that seemed so important to Butch Hardy. Twice he had almost phoned the Brighton Beach number to make sure he hadn’t misunderstood, but both times he’d backed off. Leonid was an old friend, and he vouched for his crew, which was good enough to take to the bank. There was no reason for him to lie.
He stood at the dining room window looking toward the East River and the traffic on the street twenty-four stories below when Zimin came down the short hall from the bathroom and joined him.
“Is everything in order, Yuri?” Zimin asked.
Bykov shrugged. “I don’t like loose ends.”
“The Brighton Beach guys?”
Bykov shrugged again.
“Maybe we should have handled it ourselves.”
“Wasn’t my call.”
“Then it’s not our problem,” Zimin said. “Do you want a beer?”
“Later,” Bykov said. His cell phone buzzed. It was Butch Hardy.
“I need some information about your Brighton Beach people.”
“You hired them.”
“They’re your pals,” Hardy said. “I want to know if the bastards are telling the truth or are they blowing smoke up my ass.”
“The truth about what?”
“The flash drive the woman carried out of here, goddamnit. We want it found!”
“My people were not involved,” Bykov shot back. “You hired us to do a job, which we will do in the morning, and then we’ll be gone.”
“You fucking well vouched for them, and we paid you a shit pot of money to do one simple job. I want it finished, do you fucking well get my point?”
“Leonid’s not a liar.”
“Either he is or you are. The woman left the office with a friend. Your people grabbed her and found no flash drive. It means her pal has it. But they said they didn’t see him. They’re lying.”
“She could have dumped it somewhere,” Bykov said.
“Not likely,” Hardy shot back. “Get me the flash drive, or we’ll want our money back. All our money.”
Bykov wasn’t impressed. Hardy was nothing more than a little man in a job that was way out of his league. “Maybe we’ll just leave.”
“You won’t walk away, because I could ruin your fucking reputation, and that’s the only thing that keeps people like you employed,” Hardy said. “We paid for the flash drive. Get it.” He hung up.