Free Cold Warriors by Rebecca Levene Page A

the bar, as if he was tying a shoelace, and snapped a quick glance under the tables. It looked like Karamov had a small suitcase on his lap. That might be it but Tomas couldn't be sure. In all his years of searching, he'd never found out exactly what the Ragnarok artefacts were.
    One of the bodyguards said something to Karamov, leaning back on two legs of his chair. As Karamov twisted round to reply, Tomas caught a glint of silver at his wrist, snaking down to the handle of the suitcase. It must be chained to him, which meant whatever was in there was definitely the thing Karamov planned to trade.
    Tomas drained his beer in a couple of gulps. He intended to get out and report back to Morgan, but there was another flash of sunlight as the door opened, and someone new walked in. The newcomer paused a moment for his eyes to adjust to the gloom, then crossed to Karamov's table. He was a slight young man with a round, thick-lipped, wheedling face.
    The bodyguards slid their chairs away to make room. Almost too fast. Were they afraid of this man? Tomas turned back to the bar and ordered another beer, though he could feel the first swirling unpleasantly in his stomach, indigestible. While he was waiting for the drink to arrive he sidled between the tables towards the toilet, giving himself another chance to study Karamov's party without being obvious.
    The bodyguards were all ordering food, none watching their boss and his dinner companion. Either they trusted him, or they'd been told not to pay too much attention. The newcomer had a briefcase with him too, exactly the same size as Karamov's, though this one wasn't chained to his wrist. Tomas heard a faint chink over the clatter of cutlery as the young man put it down at his feet. Payment, probably, diamonds by the sound of it.
    That was a lot of money for such a small thing. Tomas felt the first stirrings of excitement. The best thing to do would be leave now and send Morgan to report back to headquarters while Tomas waited outside to trail Karamov's contact when he left.
    But there were too many variables in the equation, the solution dangerously in doubt. What if someone on the restaurant staff was in on it? The package could stay here and Tomas would never know. Or what if the deal went sour and the exchange never took place? Better to stay and watch the whole thing play out.
    He spent as short a time as he could get away with in the dingy toilet, glad there was no one else in there so he didn't have to make some awkward pretence of pissing. When he came back to the bar, Karamov and the young man were still at their table, an open bottle of red wine between them. Only Karamov was drinking it. As Tomas flicked a glance at him, he drained a full glass in one swallow and hurriedly refilled it, wine slopping over the edge to stain the tablecloth. Tomas wondered if his hand was trembling, and what exactly he had to be so nervous about, surrounded by all his men.
    He looked at the young man sitting opposite Karamov, but he seemed as nervous as the Russian, his foot tapping the floor, fingers drumming. His eyes refused to settle anywhere, dark and greedy, like flies hovering over spoiled meat. It was unlikely he was the end buyer - probably just a go-between who was scared of screwing up.
    As Tomas watched, the young man leaned forward and said something urgent to Karamov. The words were too faint to hear, but Tomas picked up the high, anxious tone of them. Karamov shrugged. The tempo of the young man's fingers increased, and the pitch of his voice went up. Karamov seemed to be only half-listening, waving a waiter over, maybe after more food, probably more wine. As soon as he'd caught the waiter's eye, Karamov reached inside his jacket pocket, then fiddled at his other wrist.
    He was unchaining the briefcase. That meant the handover was going to take place right now.
    The young man seemed to be alone. He'd come here with no protection, holding a case full of diamonds, and he was going