Her Debt

VANCE

The text on the glass was three lines of stripped-down command from the old bastard in Saint Petersburg: *Nadia is dead. You will be here when we bury her. Do not fail me this time, Vance.*

I drew in a long pull of smoke, watching the vapor dissolve into the gray drizzle clinging to the tarmac while the charter's turbine began its low whine. Every gutter-crawler in the motherland was alrea