THE INTERROGATOR

Cole Brennan sat motionless in the hard metal chair, his gray eyes fixed on the man across the table. Six hours. That's how long he had been sitting here. That's how long Viktor Volkov had been talking. The room was small and windowless. Concrete walls. A single fluorescent light that buzzed overhead. The only furniture was the table between them and the two chairs. No cameras. No recording equipment. Cole insisted on that. Interrogations were about trust. Even false trust. Especially false trust. Viktor was sweating now. His thick fingers drummed against the table. His eyes darted to the door, then back to Cole. He had been a tough nut for the first four hours. Defensive. Angry. Threatening. But now, after six hours of silence from Cole, something had cracked. "You're not going to hurt me," Viktor said. Not a question. A desperate guess. Cole leaned back in his chair. "I don't need to hurt you, Viktor. You've already hurt yourself." "What does that mean?" "It means your body is telling me everything your mouth won't." Cole gestured vaguely toward Viktor's face. "You're rubbing your left thumb against your index finger. You've done it seventeen times in the last hour. That's a self-soothing gesture. You're scared." Viktor stopped rubbing his fingers. His jaw tightened. "Your breathing is shallow," Cole continued, his voice flat and calm. "You're taking small sips of air, not full breaths. That means you're in fight-or-flight mode. Your brain thinks you're in danger. But here's the thing, Viktor. I'm not the danger." Viktor swallowed hard. "Then who is?" Cole didn't answer. He just watched. The silence stretched between them. Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty. Cole had learned patience in the military, honed it in the CIA, perfected it in the years since. He could wait forever. He had nothing else to do. Nothing else to live for. Finally, Viktor broke. "There's a mole," he said. His voice was barely a whisper. "Inside the family. Someone feeding information to the Feds. I don't know who. I swear to God, I don't know who." Cole's expression didn't change. His heart rate didn't spike. But something inside him shifted. The mole. The Orlov family mole. The one that had been eluding Konstantin Orlov for months. "How long?" Cole asked. "Six months. Maybe longer. Someone's been leaking intel. The Feds raided two of our warehouses last month. They knew exactly what was inside. They even knew the guards' shift patterns." "Who else knows about the mole?" "Konstantin. Me. And now you." Viktor leaned forward, his voice dropping even lower. "But that's not the worst part." Cole waited. "Someone else knows about you, Brennan. Someone in the family. They know what you really are." Viktor's eyes were wide now. Genuine fear. The kind of fear that couldn't be faked. "They know you're not just some ex-Fed who's good at reading people. They know you're the real thing. The guy who can see through any lie. The guy the CIA used for their impossible cases." Cole felt a cold knot form in his stomach. He had been careful. Five years of careful. Five years of hiding, building his network, protecting his daughter from the shadows of his past. If someone knew who he was— "They want you to find the mole for them," Viktor continued. "Konstantin is going to offer you a job. He's going to tell you that you have three days to deliver the mole's name. And if you don't—" "I know the rest," Cole interrupted. "He threatens my daughter." Viktor nodded, his face pale. "It's not a threat, Brennan. It's a promise. The Orlovs don't bluff. You know that. I know you've done business with them before. You know exactly what they're capable of." Cole did know. He had spent years studying the Orlov family. Konstantin Orlov, the patriarch. A man who had risen from the gutters of Soviet-era Russia to control a criminal empire that spanned three continents. He ruled with a combination of intelligence and brutality that had kept him alive for thirty years. And now he wanted Cole's help. "What else?" Cole asked. Viktor hesitated. His eyes flicked to the door again. "There's more. Someone in the family—someone high up—they've been working with the mole. They're not just protecting them. They're running their own operation. A war is coming, Brennan. A war between the Orlovs and everyone who wants to take them down." "Who's running the operation?" "I don't know. I swear, I don't—" "Viktor." Cole's voice was sharp now. Cutting. "You know something. You wouldn't have brought it up if you didn't." Viktor's face crumpled. He looked like a man who had been carrying a weight for too long. A man who was about to break. "The other night," he said slowly. "I was at the Blue Door. Maksim's place. I saw someone. Someone I wasn't supposed to see." "Who?" "Sergei. Konstantin's oldest son. He was meeting with a woman. A Fed, I think. Or maybe CIA. I couldn't tell. But it didn't look like a friendly conversation. It looked like a deal. Sergei was giving her something. A file. I couldn't see what was in it." Cole filed this information away. Sergei Orlov. The ambitious son. The one who wanted to take over the family business. If Sergei was working with the Feds, it changed everything. But something didn't add up. "Why are you telling me this?" Cole asked. "You've spent six hours trying to avoid exactly this conversation. Why now?" Viktor's eyes met his. For the first time, Cole saw something other than fear. He saw resignation. The look of a man who knew he was already dead. "Because you're going to find the truth anyway," Viktor said. "That's what you do. That's what you've always done. I've heard the stories about you, Brennan. I've heard what you did to the people who tried to hide from you. I figured..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "I figured if I gave you something, you might help me. You might get me out before the Orlovs figure out I've been talking." Cole studied him for a long moment. The man was still lying. Not about everything, but about something. Cole could see it in the way Viktor's eyes kept drifting to the left. The way he kept touching his neck. The signs of active deception. "What are you hiding?" Cole asked softly. Viktor froze. "Nothing. I told you everything—" "Your eyes. Left and up. That's visual construction. You're making something up. What is it?" Viktor opened his mouth to respond, but before the words could come out, the door behind Cole opened with a sharp click. Cole didn't turn. He didn't need to. He knew the footsteps. Heavy. Deliberate. The sound of a man who wanted to be heard. "Viktor," a voice said. "I think you've said enough." Cole finally turned. Standing in the doorway was Ivan Tarasov. The man was tall and gaunt, his shaved head gleaming under the fluorescent light. Prison tattoos covered his neck and hands, telling a story of violence and survival. His eyes were dark, lifeless. The eyes of a man who had killed without remorse for decades. Ivan was Konstantin's right hand. The family's enforcer. And Viktor's older brother. "What are you doing here, Ivan?" Cole asked, his voice neutral. "I came to collect my brother." Ivan stepped into the room, his gaze never leaving Viktor. "The boss wants to see you, Viktor. Now." Viktor's face went white. "No. No, I can't—" "Get up." "Please, Ivan. I told him what he needed to know. I gave him everything—" Ivan moved faster than a man his age had any right to. He crossed the room in three steps and grabbed Viktor by the collar, lifting him out of his chair. "The boss doesn't care what you told him. The boss wants to know what you told everyone else." "I told no one! I swear to God—" Ivan's hand tightened on Viktor's throat. Viktor's eyes bulged. His fingers clawed at Ivan's grip, but it was useless. Ivan was too strong. Too merciless. Cole stood up slowly. He didn't reach for his weapon. He didn't need to. He had studied Ivan Tarasov for weeks before coming here. He knew that violence was Ivan's language. His currency. His only way of communicating. "Ivan," Cole said calmly. "Let him go." Ivan's head snapped toward him. The enforcer's eyes narrowed. "This doesn't concern you, interrogator." "It concerns me because he was talking to me. You can't question him if you kill him first. And I have a feeling the boss wants answers." Ivan hesitated. For a moment, Cole thought he might push the issue. Might try to assert his dominance in the only way he knew how. But then Ivan's grip loosened. Viktor dropped to the floor, gasping and choking. "This isn't over," Ivan said, pointing at Cole. "I know what you're doing here. I know you're playing games with the family. And I'll be watching you, Brennan. Every second of every day." "I'd expect nothing less," Cole replied. Ivan hauled Viktor to his feet and dragged him out of the room. The door slammed shut behind them. Cole stood alone in the interrogation room, listening to the footsteps fade down the concrete hallway. He had been in Red City for three weeks. Three weeks of gathering information, building contacts, preparing for exactly this moment. He had known the Orlovs would eventually come looking for him. He had known they needed someone with his skills. He had been waiting for the invitation. But Viktor's words had changed everything. Someone in the Orlov family was running their own operation. Someone who was connected to the CIA. Someone who knew who Cole really was. And that meant one thing. The conspiracy that had killed Cole's wife was still active. The people who had framed him for her murder were still watching. Still waiting. Cole reached into his pocket and pulled out a small photograph. A woman with dark hair and warm eyes. A woman who had laughed without fear and loved without reservation. A woman who had been taken from him five years ago. "Three days," he whispered to himself. "Three days to find a mole. Three days to protect my daughter. Three days to expose a conspiracy that goes deeper than anything I imagined." He tucked the photograph back into his pocket and walked toward the door. The game had begun. And Cole Brennan was ready to play.