Epilogue: Pawns and Rooks
the Korystnyj
"You know," Tsulygin said calmly to his mysterious guest, "I haven't had a political officer on my ship in many years."
The GRU man glared at the aging mercenary captain. "That is not my function. I was sent to ensure that you followed through on the order to locate the subject and bring him in." He paused. "I serve the best interests of... of many. Many in higher positions."
"Spoken like a true Party leftover from the eighties," Tsulygin mocked.
"GRU has been instrumental in ensuring that you and your crew are able to continue in your work without... interference from the Russian government," the agent said coldly. "It would be... tragic if this unpleasantness were to bring that assistance to a premature termination." He pounded his fist on the table in the captain's ready room. "We want this Phil Smith brought to us, alive and unharmed, if you and your crew wish to keep your positions... and your continued good health."
Tsulygin's eyes narrowed. "I spent thirty years of my life playing hide-and-seek with American nuclear-missile boats. They sneak one Ohio-class boat past our defenses, we slip one Typhoon-class past their sonar nets... always one wrong move, one false step from accidentally ending the world as we know it." He smirked at the GRU man. "What makes you think you or the impotent bureaucrats you work for can frighten me with your empty threats?"
The agent pulled out a silenced .22 pistol. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to do this," he said. "But if you will not bring Smith to me, then I suppose I will have to find someone who-"
His sentence was cut short by a nine-millimeter round from a silenced Beretta, which left most of the GRU agent's gray matter spread across the walnut paneling on Tsulygin's wall.
The captain sighed. "The astounding subtlety of the American. It is amazing that you managed to beat us after all those years."
"Many apologies for your upholstery, Captain," the visitor said quietly. "But thank you for not revealing anything compromising - not like he'll be talking to anyone any time soon."
Tsulygin shrugged. "I have no desire to hand a good man over to the old guard in the GRU." He looked down. "I am not very enthusiastic about helping your organization find him either... but I am left with few alternatives."
"We have no interest in harming Smith, Captain Tsulygin. I only want to speak with him. Please try to believe me."
Tsulygin frowned. "You just murdered a Russian intelligence officer in cold blood on a former Soviet nuclear submarine. What makes you think I should trust you?"
Agent Fisher shrugged. "As you said, you're left with few alternatives."
La Perdita
"I still find it hard to believe, that's all."
"I don't," Leslie countered as she sat down by Phil on the loveseat. "I've worked with them before. They're all business. The contract expired, and they didn't have to bring you in, so they didn't touch you."
The telepath shook his head. "It's just... really weird. It's been a little over a year since I came here, and in all that time, only once has someone from my past tried to make trouble for me. With all the high-profile jobs we've done, even with Strikeforce duping the world about what happened in Antarctica, plenty of people have to have figured out by now who I am and where to find me. I just can't believe more haven't tried."
The former bounty hunter shrugged. "I'm not particularly bothered by it. Maybe someone has finally decided to leave you alone and let you try to sort out your life." She smiled at him. "Which is part of why I'm here."
Phil's eyebrows went up. "To help me sort out my life?" He thought a moment. "What's the other part?"
Leslie grinned. "If you haven't figured that out by now," she replied, "there really is something wrong with you." She leaned over and kissed him.
Oh, well, Phil concluded. I suppose it's a problem for some other day...
