The Domino Game by Greg Wilson

back to the department and turn it in and see what happens.”
    Nikolai regarded him. “We’d have to take it straight to the top. To Tsekhanov.”
    “Exactly,” Vari agreed. “And we’d have to pray to God that Tsekhanov is as straight as you think he is, that he’s got a direct line to someone above Stephasin who’s also straight, and that neither of them will be intimidated by the fact that we’ve accidentally nailed the Deputy Director of the FSB and the Deputy Minister of the Economy – not to mention Christ knows who else – in a major financial conspiracy. You want to take that chance, little brother?”
    Redundant question. Nikolai’s expression acknowledged it. “Any other options?”
    Vari rocked slowly in his seat. “There’s a third.”
    Nikolai glanced up at him. “Then I guess you’d better tell me what the fuck it is.”
    For the five long minutes Vari was away Nikolai waited alone, wedged into the corner of the booth, trying to comprehend how swiftly, violently and completely his life had been thrown off course. From where he sat he had a clear line of sight to the stairway, an unimpeded aspect of the couples, groups and individuals coming and going from the level below.
    A clear line of sight but no longer a clear view.
    A week ago – even a day ago – it would have been possible for him to sit here and watch distractedly, without the slightest second guess as to who these people really were. But now every stranger had somehow become a possible threat. Not just to himself but to Natalia, the woman he loved so much, and Larisa – the child they had once already come so close to losing, and now both lived for.
    How, he wondered, could the world have altered so abruptly?
    By the time Vari returned from making his call Nikolai’s empty coffee cup lay peeled like a polystyrene lemon on the table’s surface.
    Vari nestled back into his seat and gave him a single tight nod. “It’s done.” He leaned towards Nikolai, his voice low but exact. “You meet him at the Rossiya Hotel, two hours from now. His room will be booked in the name of Mikhail Tarkovsky. You’re to call reception from your cell when you get there, ask for his room and he’ll give you the number.”
    Nikolai was overcome by a surge of disequilibrium, as if his world had just been knocked from its axis. Was he really doing this? He searched for something to say.
    “Why the Rossiya?”
    The shadow of a smile crossed Vari’s face. “I wondered that myself. A message, maybe? When he and I first met fifteen years back the Rossiya was our turf: we used to call her the KGB dining room. Now she’s just like most of the ladies – she belongs to whoever has the money.” The smile faded and he gave a shrug. “I expect they have someone on the payroll who can arrange things the way they like them, and the place is so big it’s easy to disappear. All you have to do is make it to the elevators and after that no one will ever find you. Don’t worry, Niko. He knows what he’s doing: he’s been around the game a long time.”
    Vari leaned in close across the table, his dark eyes measuring Nikolai’s resolve. “You’re sure you want to do this, little brother? It’s a big step. The biggest. And you always have the other options.”
    Nikolai rubbed his brow. “No I don’t,” he murmured. “Not really. Gilmanov and his wife lost their lives over this. I got him into it. If I sell out now then what he did has no meaning.” His expression had become bleak. “And that’s only part of it. If I don’t act on this, Ivankov will own my soul!”
    Vari nodded and glanced aside. “And the second alternative?” he looked back at the younger man. “Taking it up the ladder? You’re sure that’s out as well?”
    Nikolai forced a grim smile. “I think you made your point on that one earlier.” He shook his head; sighed. “No. It goes too high. We only have two tapes and they’ve already given us one of the Government’s most