Countdown In Rhodes

The raindrops pounding against the window air conditioner had finally ceased. Valery Vasiliev rose and peered through the blinds, but an airshaft obstructed his view. The tall Russian emerged from the bedroom, hurrying down the dark hallway into the spacious living room, and immediately opened the curtains. Rays of sunlight flowed in from the large picture windows, striking his piercing blue eyes and causing him to wince. Satisfied, he nodded approval and then turned to his host, Andrei Kozlov, who immediately put a cup of tea in his hand. Valery Ivanovich Vasiliev was not a man to keep waiting. Not for his morning tea or an appointment, which was now two days overdue because of the weather.

Vasiliev sat at the dark oak table, smoking his first Dunhill of the day and reading the morning paper. Shafts of light darted in and out from the dining room window as the sun played tag with the remaining clouds. The sound of children on their way to school drifted up to the apartment. Kozlov placed a soft-boiled egg and two slices of dry toast in front of his guest and asked in Russian if he had slept well. The response was an icy stare and the admonishment to speak English only.

Valery Vasiliev had hoped to conclude his business in New York before now, but he was a cautious and suspicious man and chose to change the original meeting arrangements. He wanted to avoid meeting in a high-rise office building as planned and, at the last moment, switched the time and place. His intuition and unwillingness to trust anyone had served him well over the years. Vasiliev had chosen a location out in the open with a good view of those approaching and a possible escape route should that possibility arise. The foul weather delayed his rendezvous, but today, there were opportunities. The Russian sent Koslov into the street with a pre-paid phone to make the call and set up a meeting.

Andrei Andreyevich Kozlov walked briskly up East End Avenue towards Charles Schultz Park. He had emigrated from Russia fifteen years ago, first to France and then to the United States. Trained at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris, Andrei immediately found work and eventually opened a popular bar and restaurant by the United Nations. The place became a favorite of diplomats and politicians who liked making deals or planning trysts over lamb chops with cognac Dijon cream sauce or the eatery's signature Coq Au Vin.

Andrei Andreyevich was no simple restaurateur but an agent in the Foreign Intelligence Service of the Russian Federation. His masters provided for his schooling in Paris, the New York restaurant, and his East Side apartment. The covert American operation was very good at collecting information from envoys who had too much to drink and wanted to impress their guests. He worked hard to build social contacts and supplied Moscow with a continuing flow of intelligence.

Kozlov had never met Valery Vasiliev before the man arrived at his apartment. But he had heard rumors about the Russian's brutality and ability to kill swiftly. And sometimes not so swiftly. The restaurateur knew that Vasiliev was a close friend of Russian President Vladimir Putin. As punishment for the invasion of Ukraine, the United States government declared Vasiliev persona non grata. His official title is Vice President of Operations for the state-owned Rusoil, one of Russia's largest oil and exploration companies. But in reality, served as a senior official in the intelligence service and one of Putin's henchmen.

Kozlov had little warning that Vasiliev was arriving. Four days ago, a note slipped into his morning newspaper ordered him to make himself available to the visitor and to follow instructions without question. Vasiliev arrived the next day. The man is cold as a Siberian winter, the restaurateur thought as he hurried toward the park. There were no conversations between the two men, just orders.

Kozlov did not know what Vasiliev was doing in the country and thought it wise to keep it that way. However, he wondered why the Russian wanted to talk with Harrison Pinthon, a banker whose business was representing countries, not individuals. He thought it highly dangerous, as Vasiliev was in the country illegally.

The park benches were still damp from the rain, and a chill came off the river. Kozlov wished he had worn a warmer coat and sought cover from the wind under the pedestrian bridge to make his call. Pulling out his phone, he punched in the banker's private number. A man on the other end immediately answered, "Yes?"

Kozlov relayed the directions and waited for questions or at least an acknowledgment.

"In one hour?" the man on the other end seemed surprised, then the line went dead.

Back at the apartment, Kozlov reported to Vasiliev. "In one hour?" the man on the other end seemed surprised, then the line went dead. Back at the apartment, Kozlov reported to Vasiliev.

"Any response?" asked the Russian.

"The person seemed annoyed then but made no other comment."

Vasiliev chuckled to himself.

"Is there anything else you require of me?" Koslov asked, hoping his involvement would now come to an end.

"Yes, you will accompany me, Andrei Andreyevich. Do you have a weapon?"

Kozlov nodded in the affirmative.

"With a suppressor?"

A sick feeling came over the restaurateur. "Will that be necessary?"

"I'll give you your instructions on the way."

Vasiliev retired to his room to dress while Kozlov went to his bedroom. In the closet, underneath a fake tile, was a floor safe. The restaurateur quickly went through the combination and opened the hatch. A Russian PB pistol and a suppressor were under the stacks of dollars, euros, Swiss francs, rubles, and a half dozen passports from different countries with aliases.

Going straight to his refrigerator, Koslov took a bottle of Jewel vodka out of the freezer, its black label covered with frost and poured himself a shot. The restaurateur nervously stared at the gun he hadn't fired in fifteen years. The thought of carrying a weapon to murder someone scared him. Still, as he drained his second drink, Valery Ivanovich terrified him even more.

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