Starobeshevskaya village—a short time later
Tolevi woke up on a cement floor in a dark basement. He knew he’d made a huge mistake—very possibly a fatal one.
Never be a wiseass. First rule of business.
He turned over to his chest. His hands and feet were free.
Good sign or bad? He had no idea.
Managing to sit, he looked around, eyes slowly adjusting to the dimness. The wall nearby was laid-up stone. There were pipes and a very dirty casement window across from him.
Two red eyes stared at him from a short distance away. A rat.
Lovely.
He stomped his foot. The eyes didn’t move.
“You’re a brave little thing, huh?”
Tolevi took several steps before it scooted to the far corner.
An overhead light flicked on before Tolevi could reach the window. He shielded his eyes as a pair of boots came down the steps. He turned toward them, unsure what to expect.
A man—dressed in black, one of the Russians—came about halfway down and leaned over the staircase.
“Who are you?” Tolevi asked.
The man turned and went back up without answering. The light flicked off; the door at the top closed with a slam.
“Let me out!” yelled Tolevi in Russian. He went to the stairs and started up, not sure exactly what he was going to do.
The door opened as he got to the second step. It was the bearded colonel.
“You want more, Tolevi?” he snarled. “You think because some jackass at SVR has use for you that you are free to do what you please? You are mafya shit.”
“What’s your name and rank?” Tolevi demanded.
“What difference would that make to you?” The Russian stepped back and called to someone. “Bring him up here. Watch it—he fights like a girl, dirty.”
You’re the one who kicked me, thought Tolevi, but he said nothing, not even when the Spetsnaz soldier grabbed his arm and yanked him up the stairs. He was led to the kitchen—they were in a small house still in Starobeshevskaya, on the opposite side of the village from the power plant and prison.
The Russian who had kicked him was talking on the phone. The soldier pushed him into a chair. Tolevi sat, trying to make out the conversation, but the Russian was mostly listening.
“What’s your rank?” asked Tolevi when the man hung up.
“Higher than yours.” The Russian laughed. “Donetsk is without corruption, unlike Kiev. They don’t need smugglers like you. And your friends in Moscow.”
Tolevi said nothing.
“The deputy mayor has been arrested,” added the Russian. “The prison is now under Russian control. Volunteer control.”
“You’re Spetsnaz. I know. So what’s your beef with SVR—with Moscow? We’ll cut a deal. I know how these things work.”
“You know many things. Do you know to keep your mouth shut?”
Tolevi glared at him.
“Good. You are learning. I would arrest you, but I’m sure your friends in Moscow would raise a stink. That is where they draw the line. So here is what I am going to do. I am going to send you back to them. And you know what you are going to do?”
Tolevi shook his head.
“You will tell them that the volunteers don’t need their interference here. We don’t like mobsters, especially ones who are working with the West. Do you understand that?”
“You can tell them that yourself.”
“You don’t take me seriously, do you?” The Russian’s face flushed. “I’ll fix that.”
One of the soldiers behind Tolevi grabbed his arms. As Tolevi struggled, the Russian took something from his side and lunged toward Tolevi. As Tolevi struggled to get away, he felt something sharp and cold against the side of his head. Pain followed, then weakness that hollowed the center of his stomach and made him collapse.
The Russian threw something down on the floor. It was the bottom third of his ear.
“Deliver that to your friends in Moscow.”