The Project 04 - Black Harvest

be inside.
    In his mind, Korov pictured how the room would be. The bed would be to the left or right, it made no difference. There would be a bathroom on the other side. The bed might have a curtain. If the curtain was open, no problem. If the curtain was closed, it could be a problem. It could slow him down.
    Korov eased the PSS from his holster and palmed it in his hand. In his other he held the false ID. He walked up to the cop, the ID displayed in front. As the cop read the ID Korov shot him in the chest. He slumped forward. The noise was no more than a gentle sneeze. In Korov's mind, a clock began ticking down.
    Arkady reached out and settled the corpse upright in the chair. Anyone looking down the hall would see a policemen sitting on duty. It would do for the next two minutes. That was all Arkady needed. If anyone raised an alarm, he had the Drotik.
    He opened the door of the room. There was a curtain. It was open. He held his ID out in his left hand. Two men stood by the bed where Bagrat Gelashvili lay. Their eyes went to the ID. Arkady extended his right arm and shot the first man in the head, then the second before he could react. The bodies hitting the floor made more sound than the shots.
    Gelashvili was awake. His right arm was in a cast, his left handcuffed to the bed. He stared at Korov and opened his mouth to shout. The next shot entered his right eye. It exploded with a soft pop. The wall behind turned red and gray with bits of brain tissue and blood. Korov fired again, into the left eye. Just to make sure.
    Orderlies could clean up the blood and mess. They were used to it.
    Korov put the PSS away and moved the Drotik to his gun hand, keeping it in his pocket. He stepped out of the room and closed the door. The dead policeman sat in his chair. Korov reentered the main corridor and walked casually to the stairway at the end. That was one of the good things about hospitals. There were plenty of exits. He opened the door and moved quickly down the stairs.
    Four dead. Korov checked his watch. Four minutes since he'd killed the guard, more than he'd allotted. He was slipping. Five minutes later, about the time a nurse discovered the dead guard and began screaming, Korov pulled out of the hospital parking lot and disappeared into the traffic of Thessaloniki.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

    Zviad Gelashvili was at his desk. One of his lieutenants came into the room. The desk was an antique, a glowing masterpiece of 18th Century craftsmanship. Its delicate beauty formed a curious contrast to Zviad's coarse bulk. It was the sort of thing that might have inspired a Japanese Zen master to write a poem.
    Behind Zviad two of his bodyguards stood against the wall. They were always present. They were always silent. They were not there to talk.
    The man was nervous. Zviad believed in instilling loyalty through rewards. It was profitable to work for Zviad, but there was a second part of the loyalty equation.
    Fear.
    Zviad had been known to kill the messenger. Looking at his man, he knew something bad had happened.
    "Boss..."
    "What is it, Iosif?" Zviad had never seen Iosif look nervous. The news must be very bad. He reached for a bottle of vodka and poured two large glasses.
    "Drink. Then tell me why you are here."
    Iosif gulped down the clear liquor. The words rushed out. "Boss, it's Bagrat. He's dead."
    Zviad paused with the glass halfway to his lips. He set it down, carefully. Now he knew why he hadn't heard from his brother. His first thought was disbelief. Bagrat. He was indestructible. His second thought was an odd memory of when they had been children, fighting in the rows of the vineyard. His third thought wasn't a thought. It was feeling that swept over him. Rage.
    "How?" His voice was quiet.
    "He was in a Greek hospital. Someone shot him. The shooter killed a guard in the hall. Then he went in Bagrat's room and shot a Greek cop and an Interpol agent. Then he shot Bagrat."
    "Why was Bagrat in a hospital?"
    "A woman put him there. An American. Bagrat tried to grab her. She fought back. Grigor is dead. Bagrat was badly injured, so they took him to the hospital."
    " A WOMAN? " His shout could be heard throughout the house. Outside the study, his wife listened.
    Zviad brought his huge fist down on the antique desk top. It split and sagged. He hit it again. The desk shattered into two parts. The vodka, papers, glasses fell to the floor. The bottle rolled away, gurgling vodka behind it.
    Iosif waited, afraid to move.
    Zviad