Page 7 of Tamed Enemy
“Fuck you,” I say, surprised by how difficult it is to keep my voice even.
“I sent you a message forty-eight hours ago,” he says. “And you did not have the courtesy to respond.”
“Fuck you,” I say again. “That’s my response.”
“Strong words,” Tarasov says. “For a man who holds none of the cards.”
“I’m not playing your game.”
“But you will,” he says with absolute certainty.
I start to hang up, but my computer chimes with an incoming message from the same 667 number. The text includes a link. Growling, I tap the button, automatically sending the new content to one of the screens on the wall across from my desk.
The video is shot in black and white. A timestamp runs in the corner, showing today’s date. The recording was made an hour ago.
I watch Linda Anderson tend the garden in the back yard of her brick suburban home. I know that vegetable patch well. I set the railroad ties that form the raised bed, and I lashed together the heavy wire trellis that supports the beans and squash.
Mrs. A is the closest thing I ever had to a real mother. Unlike Shannon, Mrs. A has worked hard to teach me right and wrong. She and her husband took me in once I was finally released from juvenile detention. If not for them, I probably would have been murdered years ago, after one con or another went bad.
The video ends with Mrs. A settling a fistful of green beans in her wicker basket. She’s completely defenseless, utterly unaware of being filmed.
I breathe through my teeth before I say, “Make one move against Linda or Evan Anderson, and our deal is off.”
“You,” Tarasov points out. “Are in no position to bargain. Besides, a broken heart can be nearly as deadly as one with a knife through it.”
“What the fuck?—”
“Excuse me, Linda Anderson.” Tarasov sounds like he’s reading from a script. “I will not take more than a few minutes of your time. These are routine questions to verify the security clearance for Cole Wolf. What can you tell me about how he made his first billion dollars?”
The Andersons think I’m a mid-level coder for a massive defense contractor. They believe I learned from all my youthful mistakes, and now I keep my head down and my record clean. They’d be astonished to hear my net worth. I’m fairly certain it would put them in their graves to know that I regularly do business with criminals like Nikolai Tarasov.
“Of course,” Tarasov says. “There are worse things than finding out the man you have invited into your home every Sunday for years is a liar. The man who recorded this video is one of my best soldiers—so long as he does not get bored. WhenKostya gets bored, he gets creative with his knife. And he has become quite an expert at keeping his toys alive while he plays with them.”
“If the Andersons so much asglimpseone of your men, I’m taking you to the feds.”
“You still do not understand, Wolf. You are not in control here. You do not get to set the rules.”
“Fuck y?—”
“Perhaps I should send one of my videos to your precious Andersons. What will they think when they see my Pyotr’s body carried out of your home?”
I don’t give him any further ammunition by responding out loud.
“The DC police will be interested in that one as well. As for the feds… My Pyotr left me so many files. The FBI will be very interested in the Red Cap Raiders, do you not think?”
That’s the hacking collective Kate led. The one Pyotr Tarasov infiltrated years ago.
Nikolai purrs: “How quickly will the FBI move when they find out that the infamous CyberGhost is none other than our little Katie Lynch?”
My silence is interrupted by an animal wail. Kate is standing in the doorway, hair wild, lips tight. “I’m not Katie!” she howls. “Your son ruined Katie! My. Fucking. Name. Is. Kate!”
3
KATE
“Lisichka!” Nikolai Tarasov’s voice echoes in Cole’s office, followed by his laugh. My stomach twists so hard, I have to grip the doorframe to keep from falling.
Pyotr called melisichka.He said it was his secret name for me—little fox, because my hair was red.
