Page 29 of Prior Claim
Sevastyan checked the uppermost button on his coat and strode forward to the familiar door.
It opened a few moments after his knock. Anton stood on the other side. He wore a house coat and slippers. His gray hair was long, as if he’d missed a hair cut or two, and his face had the frown lines of someone who rarely smiled and whose skin had given up on being firm in his despondency.
“Come in, come in.”
Sevastyan grunted. He motioned Rei to enter first.
Anton stepped back, scowling. “You brought him?”
“I’m seeing Alexi in Berlin.” Sevastyan met his father’s look with one of sincere disinterest. Let the man protest.
Anton switched from Russian to German. “You know I don’t like you bringing him around.”
You might be able to hide from what we do, but I can’t. Sevastyan shot his father a disgusted look.
Anton grunted, displeased, and shuffled back. Rei moved forward on Sevastyan’s almost invisible signal, and Anton locked the door behind them. He edged around Rei, careful to not brush up against him in the narrow entry, then led the way up a steep staircase to a living area on the second floor.
It was even less clean than it had been the last time Sevastyan had visited. The space smelled vaguely of pipe tobacco, upholstered chairs that needed airing out, and old papers. There was a spinet piano in the corner piled high with books and more than one abandoned cup of tea. Most of the books were on chemistry. If nothing else, Anton was keeping up with his cover as a science professor. Or rather, keeping up with his chemistry assignments from the Merchari.
Sevastyan waited until Anton took his seat in his regular comfy chair. The seat itself and the area around it looked like he had been living in it more than not. Sevastyan lowered himself carefully to the couch, putting himself in line of sight of the door, his father, and the window. He gestured to the floor for Rei. Lint roller after this, Sevastyan made a mental note. The floor was sorely in need of a vacuum.
Rei folded himself down into a kneel beside Sevastyan, on the opposite side from the door. If Sevastyan needed to reach the exit with celerity, he wouldn’t have to move past him.
Anton switched to English. “How’s things?” He still spoke it with an American accent, as if he couldn’t shake the years of training that had made him a deep plant in California decades before. He’d left for that assignment when Sevastyan had still been in diapers, and then made a whole new family there to solidify his cover.
For all that Anton had been an embedded agent, that family he’d made was still more important to him than Sevastyan had ever been. Sevastyan glanced around. More of his unease around Anton solidified as he took in the dingy room and careless housekeeping. This wasn’t the space of a man still trying to fulfill a mission. This was the den of a man who was unconsciously giving up. Sevastyan studied Anton’s face. “I’ve been assigned to Chicago, routing there through Berlin. It could be a long assignment. Wanted to check in.”
Anton narrowed his eyes. “I thought we agreed we were both staying away from Chicago.”
“You and I did. Not the directors. Orders are from the Yadro. In person.” Sevastyan dropped against the back of the couch and spread his arms, shrugging. “Don’t see a way out of this one.”
“Then stay far away from anything Reevesworth or Collin.” Anton reached for a bottle of Ararat brandy from Armenia and set out two tumblers on the edge of the table in front of him.
Collin. The golden son. The blameless one. The boy who’d gotten to have a mother and father and a childhood for twelve years instead of twelve minutes. Sevastyan carefully didn’t look at his father. There was no way he could follow his father’s demands. Collin was the lover of Richard Reevesworth. Gang Junseo was sharing a roof with Collin, if not a bed. There were rumors that Damian Sathers was involved intimately with Richard Reevesworth and his husband. There was no reason he might not also be involved with Reevesworth’s lover. And Reevesworth had already taken an interest in Gang Junseo. They could be all in together, the five of them. Only time would reveal the depth of their connections.
Sevastyan tapped one of the tumblers as if impatient for the older man to pour.
Anton grunted and splashed out generous shots into both glasses.
Sevastyan swirled the brandy and sipped. “That’s going to be hard. I’m on the Gang Junseo case.”
“Fuck,” Anton hissed. He slammed the bottle down on the table, making clusters of debris rattle and bounce. “Get out of it. Make up an excuse. Don’t get near that.”
Sevastyan shook his head. “Too late.”
“Then why are you here? You know we have to keep a low profile since Mikhail was caught. What if they know you visited me right after getting this?”
Sevastyan raised one eyebrow. “Has anyone come asking about that? Mikhail took that job because of an old contact. That was his crew. He’s not even your father-in-law anymore. Neither of us has spoken to him in years. The only link between Mikhail and us is Collin, and Mikhail’s the one who involved him. You’re clear. I’m not even on the map. Mikhail wasn’t even properly Merchari. Contractor only.”
“Maybe for the directors. It’s plenty to make Raska start sniffing around.”
“Raska is playing with her new man-toy in Greece.”
“That won’t last long.” Anton drank deeply and poured himself a second round.
Sevastyan watched his father’s Adam’s apple bob up and down as he sucked down the alcohol. “Da, how long? This lying low. You never said how long would be needed.”
Anton shook his head, swirling the brandy in his glass. He was rocking slightly, elbows on his knees, hunched toward the table. “Don’t know. Maybe just lie low for a year or two. Wait for the heat to blow off. Let different names get in people’s mouths. We just need to be ready, for when they make a mistake. Then we’ll have everything we need—evidence, organizational map, names—everything.”
