Death at Nuremberg (Clandestine Operations 4)

Serov stood up, smiled, and put out his hand.

“I heard what happened,” he said.

“I’ll bet you did,” Cronley said, taking the hand.

“I’m glad you’re all right, James,” Serov said.

“I’m fine.”

I’m not fine. If I were fine, my brain would be functioning on all four cylinders and I would be able to guess whether the sonofabitch is really glad to hear I’m all right, or whether he’s sorry the assassins—his assassins—failed.

“Sit down, have a little Johnnie Walker, and if you feel up to it, separate the facts from the rumors that are circulating through the Palast.”

Cronley sat down.

“I am glad you’re all right, Mr. Cronley,” Alekseevich said, and offered him his hand.

And if my brain were functioning, I’d be able to guess if ol’ Sergei means that, or is nearly as accomplished a liar as ol’ Ivan.

“Thank you,” Cronley said, as he took the hand.

Alekseevich stood up and walked to the bar.

“That’s a good idea, James,” Serov said, nodding toward the bodyguard. “One you should have thought of immediately when you lost your friend.”

“Actually, Ivan, the bodyguard is Justice Jackson’s idea. Our roles seem to be reversed.”

Serov chuckled.

“That trench coat doesn’t do much to conceal his weapon, does it?” Serov asked. “What is it, a Thompson?”

“The U.S. M1A1 Caliber .45 ACP submachine gun, commonly called ‘the Thompson’ or ‘the tommy gun,’ is a splendid weapon, Ivan. Our gangsters really love it. But it weighs about ninety pounds, kicks like a mule, and it is a bit difficult to hide under a trench coat.”

Serov laughed.

Alekseevich returned to the table holding three whisky-filled glasses with two hands.

He set them on the table. Serov picked up his.

“To assassins who miss,” he said.

“I’ll drink to that,” Cronley said, and touched his glass to Serov’s.

“Who do you think was responsible?”

As if you don’t know.

“Well, the first thing that came to mind was the NKGB.”

“James, if it was the NKGB, they would have consulted me first.”

I’ll be a sonofabitch! That sounded sincere.

Serov crossed himself and then raised his right.

“Before God, my friend, I swear on my mother’s grave, I know nothing about this!”

My brain is really upgefukt. I believe him.