Free Cold Warriors by Rebecca Levene

eyes. Their hands were all over the hookers.
    "Natasha," one of the men said to a small dark-haired women.
    She shook her head and said, in accented English, "My name is Dita."
    The man's hand tightened on her arm until Morgan could see her wince. He half rose out of the water, but Dita smiled the smile of a woman who's been paid to look happy.
    "If I want it, you are Natasha," the man said.
    The water swirled against Morgan's legs as the thug sculled himself and the girl to the side and he suddenly had a clear view of the man in the centre of it all.
    He was huge, a beached white whale in this shallow pool, roll after roll of fat leaving the greying head on top of it looking too small, like a deformity. "You're Natasha," he said, pointing at one of the girls, and then to another, "And you're Natasha. You're all Natasha - saves us the trouble of telling you apart."
    Then he turned his face towards Morgan, and as soon as their eyes met Morgan knew him. This was their target - Karamov.
     
    Karamov's bodyguards actually made it easier to follow him. Tomas could hardly miss the great white lumpy body with the tight knot of men around it, glaring untrustingly at everyone they passed.
    Tomas ghosted after, far enough behind to give them no reason to notice him. The crowds allowed him anonymity. It was midday now, nearly lunchtime, and the winding, cobbled street they were following into the old quarter of Buda was crammed with tourists. Up ahead, Tomas could see them parting like a wave in front of Karamov, pushed aside or moving voluntarily when they saw the cold expression in the bodyguards' eyes.
    They walked very slowly a few hundred yards up a steep incline, Karamov panting like a dog in the heat, then they turned right. Tomas hurried to the turning himself, pulling out the small portable phone Morgan had given him. "Alagut Road," he said, ringing off before Morgan could answer. His partner was another hundred or so yards behind. Karamov and all his men had seen Morgan close-up in the thermal baths and they couldn't risk him being recognised.
    A couple more turnings, and the men seemed to have reached their destination, a basement restaurant in a narrow green-plastered house. Eight of Karamov's guards trooped in after him, leaving only two to scowl at the street outside. It seemed their handlers had been right - whatever business Karamov had here, it was important.
    Tomas slipped round the corner, out of sight, and called Morgan to join him.
    "I'll follow Karamov," Tomas told him, "see what he's up to."
    Morgan grimaced, sweat standing out on his smooth brown skin in the muggy air. "Eating," he suggested. "I'm guessing he does that a lot."
    Tomas smiled, but Morgan didn't see it because his eyes were very carefully avoiding him.
    "I may need to leave in a hurry," Tomas said. "Be ready."
    "Yeah," Morgan said dryly. "You never know what might happen."
    Tomas turned away without responding. When he walked down the steps into the restaurant he found a space that seemed pitch dark after the sunshine outside. The whole place smelled of roast pork and boiled cabbage. There was a small, crowded bar at one end, the optics catching stray splinters of light from the open door, and only ten tables. Karamov's party had taken five of them. Tomas kept them in the periphery of his vision as he went to the bar and ordered a Budwar.
    "Staying for food?" the barman asked.
    Tomas shook his head. "It's crowded already." He used the excuse to look round at Karamov. He was seated by himself, his bodyguards squashed onto the surrounding tables. A waiter approached the big Russian but he waved him away impatiently. He must be waiting for someone else to join him, probably the buyer for whatever he was selling. Tomas hadn't imagined the transaction would be taking place so soon, but if Karamov really did have one of the artefacts, he might be glad to offload it.
    Would he hand it over now, or arrange a price and a drop-off? Tomas slid to his knees by