Chapter Ten
Moscow, Russia
‘Lieutenant Colonel Illarion Tsalikov, you have violated a lawful general regulation.’
Assistant Prosecutor Chistova had tightly pursed lips and a nose like an arrowhead. Unsurprisingly, he was half Illarion’s age. Even the wooden conference table between them was older.
On either side of the prosecutor sat two others, giving the proceedings the air of an inquisition. It probably didn’t help that Illarion had chosen the farthest chair. An audio recorder blinked on the table, one microphone now adjusted to point in his direction and another at them.
He only knew one of them well: Isakov. She was his superior, a no-nonsense Colonel with a few years on him, a crisp forest-green uniform and unwavering confidence.
The other was Kazmin. In his early forties, he h
