Scoundrel's Honor (Russian Connection 3)

“Do you speak English? Russian?” Dimitri’s fingers tightened on the man’s throat, grimacing at the sour stench of fear that clung to him. Whoever he was, he most certainly was not a hardened criminal. “Answer me or I will crush your throat.”

“I can discover the truth.” Josef prowled forward, bending downward to uncover the knife strapped to the man’s ankle. Then, with an evil grin that emphasized his scar, he pressed the tip of the knife to man’s groin. “Answer the question.”

“Bastards,” the man spat in a thickly accented English.

“Who are you?” Dimitri asked.

“Fawzi.”

“Well, Fawzi, perhaps you would not mind explaining what you are doing in this room?”

Fawzi shuddered, his breath a heavy rasp and his heart thumping so hard that Dimitri could actually feel its pounding beat.

“Please.”

Sensing the fool was about to become hysterical, Dimitri glanced down at his servant.

“Josef, I believe our companion is prepared to be reasonable.”

“Yes, yes.” Waiting until Josef had removed the knife from his most tender parts, Fawzi swallowed heavily. “It is nothing more than an unfortunate mistake.”

“I will agree with unfortunate, but it was no mistake,” Dimitri mocked.

“No, no. A big mistake. I thought I heard a noise and I entered to make certain you were not ill.”

“How very considerate.”

“The pasha was insistent you be comfortable during your stay at the citadel.”

With a sudden movement, Dimitri shoved the man until he was turned to face him, pointing the pistol at his heart. He needed to see a man’s face to know when he lied.

“Then perhaps we should join the pasha,” he suggested. “He will be pleased to know how dedicated you have been to my welfare.”

Fawzi licked his lips, his eyes darting toward the distant door.

“He will be in his bed.”

“I do not mind awakening him.”

Beneath his bronzed skin the man paled. “No.”

A hard smile curved his lips. He was at least reassured that the nefarious plot to see him dead had not come from the pasha.

“Josef, would you discreetly discover what has happened to our guards?”

With a silence few men could match, Josef glided across the room and after a covert peek into the hallway, he disappeared through the door. A handful of minutes passed before he returned, his expression unreadable.

“They are both on the ground.”

“Dead?”

“Drugged.”

Dimitri returned his attention to Fawzi, his finger tightening on the trigger.

“It would be a simple matter to drug the dinner sent from the kitchens.” His gaze bore into the man’s wide eyes. Fawzi was terrified at being caught, but Dimitri sensed a desperate cunning beneath his fear. He was like a rat, all the more dangerous for being cornered. “Especially if the tray was delivered by a fellow guard.”

“Yes, I think we really must wake the pasha.”