We spend the rest of the day in the black Mercedes, traveling to Moscow. Anton drives, Richard is in the passenger seat, and Lara, Oxana and I are in the back. It's a perverse situation. My back hurts like hell, the slightest bump or vibration tearing at the stitches. Oxana gazes wordlessly out of the side window, Lara looks bored, and I sit between them, watching the flat, snow-blown landscape race past. Meanwhile, Oxana's Sig and my Glock are in Anton's pockets.

"… shoot Eve in the head."

…

…

…

 

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