“Ten of them, all masked and armed to the teeth. They killed four OMON guards and my own steward.”
“They were looking for you.”
“Of course. I took your advice. I’m living inside the barracks. Who the hell were they? Bloody gangsters.”
“They weren’t gangsters. They were Black Guard.”
“Grishin’s thugs. Why?”
“I think because of those papers you confiscated. They are probably afraid you’ll prove there’s a link between the Dolgoruki mafia and the UPF.”
“Well, they don’t. They’re trash, mostly casino receipts.”
“Grishin doesn’t know that, General. He fears the worst. Have you heard about Uncle Kolya?”
“The tank general. What about him?”
“They got him. A similar killer squad. Last night.”
“Shit. Why?”
“He denounced Komarov. Remember?”
“Of course. But I never thought they’d go that far. Bastards. Thank God politicals aren’t my territory. I do gangsters.”
“I know. You have contacts in the Militia Collegium?”
“Of course.”
“Why not tell them? You got it from an underworld contact.”
Monk replaced the receiver and rang the Moskovsky Federal.
“Ilya. Mr. Bernstein’s personal assistant. Is he there?”
“One moment, caller.”
Ilya came on the line.
“Who’s that?”
“Let’s say you nearly put a bullet in my back the other day,” said Monk in English.
There was a low laugh.
‘‘Yes, I did.”
“Is the boss safe?”
“Miles away.”
“Advise him to stay there.”
“No problem. His private house was attacked last night.”
“Casualties?”
“Four of our people dead, two of theirs, we think. They ransacked the place.”