Page 67 of Emerald

“It’s just . . . there’s some dark shit in here,” she says.

She turns the screen so I can see.

It’s true.

Some of the evidence involves crimes that even I would consider beyond the pale. For instance, it appears that the governor made his money in a chemical plant that’s been leeching chemicals into the soil of a nearby town, causing cancer rates to skyrocket. And the commissioner seems to have a penchant for underage girls.

It’s no wonder they’re at Remizov’s beck and call.

He’s blackmailing them.

“Who did you get this drive from?” I ask Sloane.

“From Yozhin, the Minister of the Admiralteysky District. Remizov brought it to him at the club. Yozhin was supposed to deliver it to someone else. But I killed him first.”

She pauses, glancing over at Zima.

“Who hired me to kill Yozhin?” she asks him.

“That was Boyko Honchar,” Zima says, promptly. When Sloane and I look at each other blankly, Zima says, “He’s run against Yozhin three times for Admiralteysky. Guess he didn’t want to lose a fourth time.”

“So Yozhin was killed for a petty political rivalry,” Sloane says, thinking out loud. “And I stole the flash drive, which was probably supposed to go to the governor or some other politician. As proof of what Remizov has over them.”

“Remizov figured out that you took it,” I say. “He probably has his own copy. So, to keep his leverage, he has to get the drive back. Or kill us. Or both.”

“Unless we get him first,” Sloane says.

We’ve pulled up to the compound once more.

I let Zima out, with instructions to Andrei to feed him, keep an eye on him, and not let him near any computers.

Back in the van with Sloane, we sit quietly for a moment, both thinking.

I know that neither of us likes what we saw on that drive. The idea of using that information for our own blackmail campaign is hardly appetizing.

Besides, blackmail becomes less effective with the more people that have the information. If Remizov and I both try to twist the governor’s arm in opposite directions, using the same leverage, we’ll essentially cancel each other out.

There’s another way to use the flash drive. One that sticks the knife in Remizov instead. And doesn’t turn my stomach quite so much . . .

“What are you thinking?” Sloane says to me, her face as troubled as my own. “What do you want to do with the drive?”

“I think we should give it away,” I tell her.

* * *

19

Sloane

Ifind myself traveling to Moscow after all, via the Sapsan train. It only takes about four hours, but I book a sleeper compartment so I can get a little rest on the journey. It’s twenty-five hundred rubles for first class—less than forty dollars American.

I lie in the bunk, too keyed up to actually sleep despite the soothing rocking motion of the train.

I don’t disagree with Ivan’s plan. But I’m suspicious of his insistence that I have to deliver the flash drive by hand. I’m wondering if he’s just trying to get me out of St. Petersburg.

He knows the release of this information will be explosive. I think he’s afraid that I’ll be caught up in the wave of retaliation that follows.

I don’t want to be treated as fragile. I like Ivan because he sees me as an equal. A partner. I don’t want him to try to manipulate me, to send me away for my own safety.

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