His morning was heralded by the jangling of a telephone. Unimpeded by drunkenness, the Russian agent slid a slender female arm off his chest and reached for the interruption. Pleasantly exhausted and fully alert, he tugged the handset off the cradle. "Da?"
"Yevgeny." It was Nelson Yuan, his controller. Slippery American-born bastard. You never knew whose side Nelson was on, even when he was holding a briefcase of your money. Especially not then.
"I'm busy, Nelson," Kharkov said, slipping over to English. Yuan refused to speak Russian as a matter of principle, and Kharkov's Chinese was much better than he wanted any putative NSB listeners-in to have confirmation of. "Importance conference."
Pai-mei murmured something indistinct and licked his ear.
|Originally published at jlake.com.|