When his coffee was done he sat down slowly and laboriously on the sofa, pulled the iPad to him, and reached for his backpack. Rummaging through it for a while, he retrieved a cable. Unsure exactly how to proceed, he put in his earpiece and placed a call to the one number in his phone.

Fifteen seconds later a sleepy voice answered. “Brewer.”

“It’s me.”

She cleared her throat. “Haven’t heard from you for six hours.”

“I count the minutes between our chats, as well.”

Brewer ignored the sarcasm and fired back with her own. “Anthem hung up on me last night. It’s seven a.m. in London. I’m assuming she’s still with you, and you two shared a lovely night.”

Court touched his aching ribs absentmindedly. “It was a hell of a party.”

“What did she tell you about—”

Court interrupted. “I have a new-model iPad here that she took from Terry Cassidy’s safe. Can you get into it remotely?”

“Of course. You still have the phone we gave you?”

“Affirmative.”

“That’s odd,” she said with sarcasm. “It hasn’t been transmitting since it was handed to you.”

“I disabled it and tossed it in a Faraday cage. It will take me a minute to put it back together.”

“When you do, plug in the iPad and follow directions on the screen. It will upload to me, and you’ll be able to see what I see simultaneously on the device.”

“Roger.”

Court pulled the lead-lined bag designed to hide the phone’s signal, known as a Faraday cage, out of his backpack and put the phone back together. While he worked on this Zoya entered the living room wearing her black climbing pants and the gray T-shirt Court gave her the night before. They smiled at each other as she passed him to head towards the coffee, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

She said, “Nobody has woken me up with fresh coffee in a very long time.”

Court shrugged. “It’s just instant,” and then immediately regretted saying that. “But good instant.” It wasn’t much of a recovery, but Court wasn’t much of a Casanova.

She poured a cup and took a sip. “Better than at the safe house.” She sat next to him, and together they waited for over twenty minutes while Brewer and her night-shift technical team cracked into the iPad. Eventually, however, Court and Zoya had access to all the files.

There wasn’t much on the device out of the ordinary, but an Excel contact list had its own icon. Brewer opened this and began scrolling through, while the two in the basement flat in London looked on.

Brewer found a list of names of offshore corporations, along with country of registry, nominating agent, and other related material for each one. Brewer chose one of the companies, began clicking through links on the screen, and pulled up new windows of information. Court and Zoya watched while she did so. Finally, Brewer clicked a link, and the screen showed a name. Yuri Kuznetzov.

Court had moved Brewer to the speakerphone, so Zoya spoke to her aloud. “I know who this is. He’s from the mafia, runs the London Brigade of the Solntsevskaya Bratva, the largest organized crime group in Russia. He lives here. He’s Vory. I guess you know what that is.”

“Yeah,” Court said. “A made man.”

Brewer replied over the speaker. “If he is the owner of this offshore account and it was set up correctly, there would be no reason to ever see his name. That’s why criminals use offshores.”

Court said, “Cassidy is the middleman. I bet he’s established the ownership, and is keeping these files on his clients as a safeguard, in case he needs to use them.”

“Against the Russian mob?” Brewer asked.

“Why not?” Zoya answered.

Brewer clicked through more links. There were phone numbers, billing records, and other pieces of information attached. They found twenty-one names of individuals who owned the more than eighty offshores, and while the list was not long, the names did immediately tip all three of them off about something. Most of the names were Russian, most of the addresses were here in the UK—London and its environs specifically—and Court and Brewer recognized a few of the names instantly.

Zoya knew most all of them, including her father’s colleague and confidant from GRU, Vladimir Belyakov.

Zoya said, “We already knew Belyakov was associated with Cassidy. I say we just start searching for information about these other Russian actors, see who is just some rich asshole and who is some rich asshole with GRU or SVR ties. Those could be the guys who used Cassidy to hire that local crew for the Ternhill operation.”

All three agreed. Brewer said, “I’m leaving town later today, but I’ll run checks first and get back with you.”

Court said, “I know someone here I can talk to about this; he’s as dialed in to the fabric of criminals and spooks as one can possibly be.”

“And who is that?” Brewer asked.

“An old friend. I’ll leave it there. Get some rest, Brewer. Go through that list when you get up.”

He hung up the phone, then looked to Zoya. “You want to come with me?”

She shook her head. “No, I’m sorry. I can’t.”

“You have someplace to be?”

“Yes. I’ll meet you back here later.”

She seemed distracted to Court now, but he got the impression he wasn’t going to get an answer from her as to her plans, and he did not press. She kissed him, gently touched the bruising on his jaw, then rose and went into the bedroom to change. Court lay back on the couch, trying to muster the energy to get out the door himself.

* * *

• • •

Court left the flat thirty minutes later, walking stiffly but feeling somewhat better than he thought he had a right to, considering the beating he’d taken the night before. He had a man he needed to see, though he wasn’t sure where he’d find him. He’d spend the morning mining this old colleague’s known locations, using social engineering to get the man’s acquaintances to pass on information unwittingly, and then he would home in on his target, just like he always did.

* * *

• • •

Zoya Zakharova departed shortly after Court. She moved up the street with catlike precision and attention, because she was uninjured, unlike Court, and also because she had a plan now, a direction. Her father was here, in town; this she could feel. She knew he was looking for her, and this could only be because of her conversation with Belyakov.