Taylor

Vintazh occupied the ground floor of a pale stone building on a street that looked like every other street in this part of Minsk, tram wires overhead, and a bakery two doors down already doing steady business. The sign above the door was hand-painted in a script that tried to look older than the building, […]

Chepliev came back through the front door with the phone still in his hand, sliding it into his jacket as he stepped over the shoved coffee table. “An inspector named Belsky will come to see you,” he said. “There’s a café across… [See More on Patreon]

“How long did you work with Kerrigan?” Taylor asked the man in front of him. This was the eleventh interview, and the last one of the set Grissom had arranged for them with the people who knew Kerrigan the best. Steve Sherman was in his forties with… [See More on Patreon]

The assistant who came down to meet them in the lobby was maybe twenty-five and polite but otherwise forgettable. “Mr. Taylor, Mr. Lopez, Mr. King is ready… [See More on Patreon]

The office closed at six, and Daniel Kerrigan was ready to get out of there. He did like his job. He’d been in Minsk for a little over nine months, and he found the city much better than living in D.C. His money went further, the nightlife was… [See More on Patreon]