“Slyushaiyu.” He rubbed a hand over his clean-shaven skin and winced at a raw spot. The clock hands inched toward eight-thirty. “You have some explaining to do, Shubnikov.” Comrade Major Mikhail Malenkov’s voice grated Vicktor’s already throbbing nerves. “Come again?” Vicktor folded his towel and hung it over a straight-backed chair. “Maxim. He’s supposed to be your partner. Yet you didn’t have the courtesy to call either him or me and let us know that one of your best informants is stone cold in the morgue?” “He was a friend, sir, and unless I missed a memo, my understanding was Maxim just shares my office space.” “Don’t get smart. You know he’s assigned to you.” Vicktor’s eyes narrowed as he surveyed his closet. His voice grew cold. “I was walking my dog. I found Evgeny by accident.” “Right. Next time call your own guys for backup. We don’t need the goats in the militia sniffing around our dela.” “Since when are local murders our business?”
