The Thought Pushers (Mind Dimensions #2)(56)

“Darren, over here!” I hear Mira call out from the table area, and I’m more than happy not to enter the room I was about to go into.

As I walk toward her, I see them. These guys stand out for a number of reasons. First, they are buffer and meaner-looking than the rest of the patrons. But the main reason I know we found what we’re looking for is that I see the guy who tried to shoot me yesterday. He must’ve managed to handle the car safely, even after I Guided him to leave fast and to keep on driving. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, since I didn’t command him to do anything truly suicidal.

He’s sitting there, a shot of vodka held halfway to his mouth. Vodka in a steam room? Really? Someone has a strong cardiovascular system, or a death wish.

“That’s the f*cker who tried to shoot me,” I tell Mira, pointing at the guy.

“Right, and that’s the man we came here to Read.” She gestures toward a particularly large specimen, who has tattoos of stars on his shoulders and a large silver cross hanging around his neck. His face is frozen in a scowl—probably his usual expression.

I approach and gingerly touch one of his meaty biceps. The muscle is so big, it looks like a strange tumor.

I focus momentarily, and I am in.



*



We’re jumping into the cold water of the special pool by the steam room. There are ice cubes floating in it, we notice with satisfaction. Instead of the shock of cold water, our body just feels tingly, and the dip is extremely refreshing. The resulting pins-and-needles sensation on our skin, combined with the buzz from the vodka, almost makes us forget the unfortunate fact that we’ll have to leave banya in a half hour and miss our massage, all because of that f*cking phone call.

I, Darren, disassociate.

Something is odd about this mind. Something I’ve never come across before, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.

I focus on the memories Arkady has about the phone call. I get vague images of it being from someone important, but someone outside the Russian organization.

Sounds a lot like our mystery Pusher, I decide.

Determined to investigate this, I almost instinctively feel lighter and rewind Arkady’s memories to that point.

“On the Brooklyn Bridge?” we ask, confused. “Why the f*ck would we meet there?”

“Because, I don’t trust you, Mr. Bogomolov.”

“That’s a f*cking joke, right? You don’t trust me? Out of the two of us, I have far more reasons not to trust you, Mr. Esau, much more than the other way around,” we say. “I’m still not convinced you’re not setting some kind of a trap for me and my people.”

“Well, you’re just proving my point for me then. That’s even more reason to meet in a public place, with lots of people around,” says Esau. His voice sounds unnaturally deep. We’re fairly sure he’s using a voice scrambler.

“How will I find you?” we ask. “What do you look like?”

“I’ll find you, so don’t worry,” says Esau.

“Oh, I’m not worried,” we say. “But if you don’t bring my money and the list, you should be worried. Very worried.”

Images of the torture we would inflict on Esau in that scenario flash in front of our eyes.

“You will get the cash and the list,” says Esau. Is that fear coming through the voice scrambler? “You’re actually going to get two lists. One will contain more business for you.”

Esau had ordered kills on and off from us for some time, but this is the first time he decided to put together a whole f*cking list of people.

“We don’t do bulk discounts,” we say sarcastically. “This isn’t f*cking Costco.”

“I wasn’t asking for a discount. The list is merely a way to make sure I keep these pleasant conversations with you to a minimum. Your usual rate applies.”

“Good,” we say with satisfaction. “And if we’re going to play this distrust game, then you better bring a downpayment for each name on this new list of yours.”

“Of course, half the usual for each target,” Esau says. “But, just as a heads up, since we’re going to be bringing so much money with us, the memory card that contains the lists is encrypted. We’re going to give it to you today, but will only provide the key to decrypt it once we’re safely away from our meeting.”

We’re both impressed and annoyed. This last precaution might well have saved the man’s life. Maybe. Depends on how well protected he’ll be. The passcode can be gotten out of him if enough skill is applied in questioning. We haven’t had anyone not talk before.

As if reading our mind, Esau says, “Furthermore, you should know that if something were to happen to me, I’ve made arrangements. The people on the list that you want, the ones in witness protection, will get a warning, and you wouldn’t want that.”

“Sounds like we have an understanding,” we say, wondering if Esau is bluffing about these arrangements. Even if he is, we can’t take the chance. Esau will survive today’s meeting—which is fine with us. This way, we get more money down the line and can off him later. “I’ll see you later today.”

“Four-thirty, sharp,” Esau says and hangs up.

We wonder if this could be a trap from the FBI or some other agency. Then we dismiss the thought. Those people wouldn’t order hits. They go as far as using drugs and things like that, but assassinations are a line they wouldn’t cross. Particularly the petty kinds of kills that this Esau guy had ordered—like the American kid Slava managed to screw up killing yesterday.