When he discovered the Russian mafia had put a price on his head, he changed his face and name. As a stockbroker, he uncovered a financial-cartel scheme in Ottawa and passed the evidence to the police chief.

Corrupt senators ordered him out of Canada and silenced the officer. But a businessman ruined by the scam found him. With Boris’s evidence, several businessmen, politicians, bankers, a judge, and the chief of police were arrested and imprisoned. The case became the biggest political scandal in Canadian history. Boris had made justice.

He stood six foot nine, strong and solid, with short blond hair, a square face, a wide thin mouth, brown eyes, thick eyebrows, and massive hands. His voice was deep, his English heavy with Russian accent.

He liked to detect discordant notes in history. I don’t read history. I spy on it, he often thought. From history, he had moved on to geopolitics, ethics, and philosophy. If there are different versions of a fact, someone is lying, he used to think. A fact could not be both itself and its opposite.

Serious like most Russians, but with an explosive laugh when amused, he knew every tactic of espionage, psychological warfare, and propaganda. He had killed seventeen people and feared none. Never married, he told his occasional girlfriends he was a photographer.
But his real mission was revenge, for Karl Dugin. Justice ran in his blood. Before killing Karl’s murderer, he tortured him until he confessed who had given the order. The name he spoke was Gambino.

For years, Boris searched every Gambino in the world until only five remained. The most likely was Franco Gambino, whom he had once met in fencing circles. It had to be him, but Boris needed conclusive evidence before striking.
Lenel paid for the coffees and left a generous tip.

“Merci, merci,” said the waiter, bowing.

The men stood. Through the microphone, Boris heard Franco speak in code: “When the sun is on the back of the swan, we will meet at the Tower.” Then Franco stopped, clicked his heels, raised his right fist to his chest, and lifted his chin in pride.

Lenel mirrored the same movements. They bowed, then descended the stairs.

Boris’s body tensed, like a lion ready to attack.