FORTY-ONE
He cursed himself for allowing his mind to wander. Cracks had appeared around the edges; too many years in the wilderness making him grow soft. Angry now, he peered keenly towards Simms who stood, hands on hips as if pondering what to do next.
At that moment, another car came around the corner.
Chaise saw it all as if in slow motion.
Simms, of course, was not prepared. Why would he be? When the car pulled up and the doors opened, four men got out, dressed in identical clothes; black balaclavas, leather jackets, combat trousers. Nevertheless, there could be no mistaking Mikhail. The man was a monster, making Simms seem like a schoolboy in comparison.
They circled Simms, gaggling away at him. He put up his hands, and that was his first mistake.
Mikhail punched him hard in the
