The Russian's Greed

walkaway?”
Ray rearranged the saltand pepper shakers and picked at a damaged corner of the table. “It’snot what you do.”
“Is exactly what Ido.”
Ray drew his pistolfrom the shoulder rig beneath his jacket and slid it across thetable. “So, do it. There are seventeen rounds in the magazine andone in the chamber. By my count, there are three people other thanyou and me in the diner: the drunk passed out in the corner, thewaitress, and a cook. By my estimation, the drunk could sleep througha train wreck, and it’s likely that neither the cook nor waitressis armed.” He tapped his index finger to his forehead. “Put oneright here. It’ll make a mess in the booth behind me, but that’snone of your concern. I’ll be dead before the sound stops echoingoff the walls, and you can put a pair in each of the employees.They’d probably welcome anything that gets them out of theirmiserable day-after-day existence in this place. If you want to shootthe bum for fun, I guess you could, but I’m betting you won’t.”
Anya stared down at theGlock 17 and let Ray’s scenario play out in her head. He was right.She could kill them all and disappear into the night, never to beseen again, but that’s not all he was right about. She pulled anapkin from the dispenser beside the salt and pepper Ray hadcarefully arranged, and she laid it on top of the pistol. Withouttouching the weapon, she slid it back across the table with onefinger pressed into the napkin. “I do not need pistol. There ispiece of broken metal on my chair. I could have it pulled free inseconds and cut your throat with it. You have ink pen in pocket ofshirt and another in pocket inside jacket. With either of them, Icould make hole in your brain through eyeball. There is knife, fork,and spoon rolled inside paper napkin. All of these are sharp enoughto leave you bleeding to death on floor. Except for sounds you wouldmake, all of these ways I could kill you would be almost silent.”
He eyed the napkinsrolled around the silverware. “There’s no need for threats.”
“Is not threat. Isonly most convenient things I could use to kill you.”
Ray re-holstered hisgun. “Please don’t use the fork. I believe that would take thelongest and hurt the most. Don’t get me wrong . . . I’m notafraid of dying. It’s just the agony leading up to it that I’dlike to avoid.”
Anya stared into hissoul. “I believe coming of death will be greatest peace any of uswill have.”
Ray ignored thephilosophy lesson. “Okay, your point is taken. You couldkill me, but you won’t. At least not tonight. You’re slipping.”
“What does this mean,slipping?”
Ray subconsciously slidhis silverware, still wrapped in the paper napkin, away from Anya’shand. They were likely the deadliest hands he’d ever seen onlyinches from his own, yet they were still beautiful—like the handshe might see in the full-color jewelry ads folded inside Sunday’sWashington Times. “It means you let me predict when you’drun and what direction. You let me choose this diner and what youwould eat. Worst of all, you let Leo get the jump on you in Miami. IfGwynn hadn’t been there, this operation would’ve been over, andyou’d be rotting in a pine box somewhere. These aren’t the kindsof things SVR Captain Anastasia Burinkova would allow to happen.”
The accusation stungalmost as badly as the reminder of her days as one of the Rodina’smost feared assassins. “I am not this person anymore. I am Americannow.”
“You’re American bychoice and by the mercy of the American government, but”—hepointed toward her chest—“Captain Burinkova still lives in there.The skills, the mindset, the fearsome beast . . . They’re still inthere.”
The waitress reappearedand slid two pieces of pie, a plastic cup of water, and a mug ofcoffee onto the table. “Will there be anything else?”
Ray White didn’t takehis eyes off Anya. “No, that’s all. Thank you.”
Anya looked up andsmiled. “I think I would also like coffee, please.” As she spoke,she slipped the toe of her right foot behind the waitress’s leftheel.
The woman sighed.“Sure, one more coffee coming up. Cream or sugar?”
“No, thank you. Justcoffee.”
As the woman turned toleave, she stumbled across Anya’s borrowed shoe and caught herselfagainst one of the swiveling stools mounted in front of the raisedcounter behind her.
As Boy Scout Ray Whitelurched to help the waitress, Captain Burinkova slipped thesaltshaker from the table and onto her lap and then quickly spun offthe top. She filled the palm of her right hand with a tablespoon ofsalt, and as the commotion came to an end, she slid the shaker backinto place and reached for Ray’s plate and mug that had beendisplaced when he lunged for the falling waitress. With a sleight ofhand any magician would envy, she emptied the contents of her palminto his coffee and repositioned the plate and mug.
Anya offered the smileshe’d been taught that could melt the coldest of hearts. “Wasnice of you to try to help lady. You are gentleman, even if sometimescruel.”
He set his jaw. “Anya,I’m sorry for the things I’m forced to say to you, but—”
“Are you sorry onlyfor lies, or also for truth?”
“I’ve never lied toyou,” he insisted. “It’s true that I’ve skirted around thetruth, but I have a job to do, and that job is to make sure you areat the top of your game and that you stay in the operation until theend.”
“When is end ofoperation, Special Agent White?”
He let his eyes fallclosed and exhaled a long breath. “I don’t know.”
“But is youroperation. You are in command. Is your responsibility to know whenoperation will come to end.”
He shook his head. “No,that’s not how it works at Justice.”
Anya raised a finger.“This word, justice. I think it does not mean what youthink.”
Ray smiled in spite ofthe gut-punch Anya delivered. “Have you ever seen the movie ThePrincess Bride?”
“I do not watchmovies.”
Ray chuckled. “There’sa line in the movie. One of the characters, Inigo, a Spanishswordsman, says . . .” Ray paused. “Never mind. Maybe we’llwatch it together sometime.”
The waitress returnedand slid a second mug onto the table.
Ray looked up. “Areyou okay?