Chapter 1
It was a stark and dreary night. A crescent moon blew in among the clouds and a fog lay over Toronto. Three men stood within the mazy depths of a cemetery, huddled around a gravestone in the shape of a Russian Orthodox cross. One man held up an umbrella, guarding all three of them from a heavy spring shower. It was just about midnight, the witching hour, and they were there to discuss a matter of business. Though it struck much closer to home than that.
They were alone. The grass was recently shorn, and the air misted fresh and cool. A weak light shone from the mausoleum in the distance, but the men were cloaked in shadows. They could not see each other’s faces but knew each other by voice and mien. Two of the men wore black leather jackets. The third man, the tallest of the three, wore a long trench coat. Three dots of orange light stood out in the blue darkness between them as they smoked to the raindrops’ rat-tat-tat. Ripples of smoke wafted toward the sky, while somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted.
Anton took the cigarette out of his mouth and spoke plainly. “As you know, I pride myself on my sense of discretion. Most of my meetings I conduct in my office or over lunch. This place and this night are different. You should have guessed by now that information of top confidentiality is about to be revealed.” He slowly moved his head one way, and then turned it in the other. “My contacts have assured me that this cemetery is free of surveillance. And I thought it appropriate that we meet here. In a city of dead souls, so to speak.”
“Indeed,” said Konstantin, and crossed himself in the Russian Orthodox manner.
“Yes . . .” Anton said, and put the cigarette back between his lips.
Sergei let out a loud breath. “Anton, I mean you no disrespect, but I must point out that we have been standing here for almost an hour, and still the contact has not arrived.”
Anton puffed on his cigarette and spoke slowly. “You were always the impatient type, Serge. It is good to have a man like you around when everything goes to shit and it’s time to fight. But tonight, I ask you to wait a little longer. And quell your impulses. The message and its messenger will arrive soon.”
“Anton is a wise man. You should be so lucky he treats your insubordination so calmly. If I were in charge, I’d have you taken out and shot this instant,” Konstantin said in a huff. The umbrella shook in his hand for an angry moment.
Sergei eyed him levelly, but said nothing further.
Anton, putting a hand on Konstantin’s arm, the other on Sergei’s, spoke with his cigarette in the corner of his mouth. “Now, now, gentlemen, no one is being shot . . .” He paused and looked up at the moon, then passed his gaze over the rows of tombstones stretching out in front of them. “Any minute now,” he said. He pulled his hands away from the men’s shoulders. Then, he put out his cigarette on the wet lawn, crunching it underfoot.
The men stood in silence and waited. From behind the shadow of a chestnut tree, they saw a slim figure emerge and move toward them, like a ghost in the night. Sergei drew his gun.
Anton placed a warning hand again on Sergei’s arm. “Sergei. What the fuck did I just say to you?”
There was a shuffling sound as Sergei put his gun back in its holster.
The figure drew closer until it took on the curves of a woman. And the arc of an umbrella. Konstantin hiccupped.
“Gentlemen,” the woman said silkily. She shook hands with Anton, Sergei, and Konstantin in turn.
Konstantin made to kiss her cheek, but she pulled away before he had a chance to do so.
“Strictly business, if ya please,” she said, and held out an envelope wrapped in plastic toward Anton. Even in the blue dark, she knew who he was and where he stood.
“Alexandria,” Anton said, “can I offer you a cigarette? I know you had a long trip.” He slipped the envelope into his coat pocket and pulled out a pack of Pall Malls.
“Thank you, Tonik,” she said to him, with a smile that could be heard in her voice as it rose out of the night. “I really can’t stay. Ya have what ya need. If there’s any more, I’ll get it to ya.” She let out a sprightly whistle and strode away, melting into the darkness from which she had come.
“This, gentlemen”—Anton patted his pocket—“is what we’re here for.”
The umbrella trembled again in Konstantin’s hand. “For the love of the saints, Anton, show us already.”
“Yeah,” Sergei chimed in, “holy shit, but we thirst for blood.”
Anton chuckled and cracked a smile. “You are good men. Born ready.” After a long moment, he pulled out the envelope and the two other men leaned in toward it. “Sergei—light.”
With a grunt, Sergei pulled out a pocket flashlight and clicked it lit.
In the yellow beam, they could see the white envelope in Anton’s hands. Carefully, Anton pulled it out of its plastic covering, pulled the flap open, and took out several folded pages and a photograph. The light shone in a glowing circle on the picture.
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