Brass Monkey: A James Acton Thriller Book #2 by J Robert Kennedy Page A

never to be seen again. This one will be tough to crack.
    Dymovsky left the observation room and paused before the door to the interrogation room. He raised his hand, took a deep breath, then dropped it on the handle, yanking the door open quickly. If he had hoped to startle Yakovski, it hadn’t worked. In fact, Yakovski didn’t budge, giving no outward sign he was even aware Dymovsky had entered.
    Dymovsky walked around the table and laid out his files deliberately, taking his time, saying nothing. Finally done, he sat down across from Yakovski, leaned back in his chair, folded his arms, and stared.
    This continued for ten straight minutes. Dymovsky didn’t move, didn’t say anything. Yakovski, who was slowly sobering up, fidgeted, using the nail of one thumb to pick those on his opposite hand clean.
    Dymovsky leaned forward and flipped open one of the files. “Boris Yakovski, born September 23, 1958, in Morshansk, Russia. Parents Mikhail and Devora, both deceased. Only child. Joined the Soviet Army on September 23, 1974, you’re sixteenth birthday I see, Service Number 3-741187, served with distinction in Afghanistan, Angola and Ethiopia until disappearing August 21, 1991.” Dymovsky glanced up from the file. “Interesting date that. Not happy with Mr. Yeltsin?”
    No reaction.
    “I have here a mission report,” continued Dymovsky as he opened another file and placed it in front of him. “This is from July 23, 1985, filed by Colonel Grigori Trubitsin, Major at the time. Would you like me to read it?”
    The fidgeting had stopped. Yakovski shrugged his shoulders.
    Got you!
    “Very well, I won’t. There’s no need. Both you and I know it’s a fabrication.”
    Yakovski was now still.
    “Well, perhaps not a complete fabrication. You did successfully spoof the TACAN as they call it, shoot down a US Air Force FB-111A fighter bomber, kill the crew when they tried to resist, and recovered invaluable technology for Mother Russia. Do you deny this?”
    A slight smile flashed for a brief instant on Yakovski’s face.
    “I see you don’t.” Dymovsky closed the file and placed it back in the stack he had taken it from. He picked up another file, and placed it in front of him, but didn’t open it. “The problem with this report, is that it is incomplete.”
    No smile this time. Is that vein in his neck throbbing harder than it was a minute ago? “We both know that you recovered a nuclear weapon and didn’t report it.”
    It looked like the vein would burst through the skin at any moment.
    “You recovered this missile, failed to report it, and just recently, acquired the arming code.”
    Yakovski sat perfectly still, the only movement the vein.
    “You orchestrated the theft of this code, and knowing the Americans were closing in, deliberately betrayed one of our spy networks in the United States, in order to have the code transported back without trying to transmit it electronically where it might be detected and blocked.”
    Yakovski glanced up, briefly making eye contact, then stared at the door.
    This last part Dymovsky had made up, but it was a likely guess. The Americans said the code was stolen, and Yakovski was seen exiting a hotel Anya Kushchenko had entered minutes before. Dymovsky didn’t believe in coincidences.
    Yakovski tilted his head toward him, revealing the long scar occupying much of the left side of his face. “When do I get my phone call?” he snarled.
    Dymovsky laughed. “You watch too many American TV shows.” Dymovsky pushed his chair out, stood, then left the room. He quickly headed back to the observation room where several watched.
    Dymovsky looked through the window. Yakovski had resumed staring at the floor, giving no indication anything from the last few minutes bothered him.
    “Thoughts?” asked Dymovsky as he stared at his adversary.
    “I don’t think you’ll break him, sir. He’s not the type.”
    “Da. He’s ex-army. A sergeant. They are the toughest of the