The Shadowmen by David Hagberg

though I haven’t got that one figured out yet. The guy had no surviving relatives. He was a loner.”
    *   *   *
    Pete got back an hour later all excited about the Givenchy black, low-cut cocktail dress and matching shoes she’d found. McGarvey filled her in on the latest plan of action that he and Otto had hatched.
    â€œHe’d be stupid to show up this afternoon,” she said. “Baccarat I can understand, but not this.”
    â€œKallinger is young, probably late twenties. If he’s the Russian, it won’t matter if he’s smart; he’s probably rash.”
    â€œThe kid against the old man,” Pete said. “He’ll be certain that his agility will trump your experience. Could be interesting.”
    Using her satellite phone, she called Didenko. It was around four in the afternoon, Moscow time. She put it on speakerphone. “General, it’s Donna Graves. I’m in Monaco.”
    â€œYour call is unexpected,” the general said, but he was polite. “How may I help you?”
    â€œMcGarvey is here. The people at the casino said he was there last night, drunk.”
    â€œI find that hard to believe. But then perhaps he’ll be open to some of your questions.”
    â€œThere’s to be a fencing demonstration in a couple of hours at the casino atrium. McGarvey’s signed up for it.”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œI was wondering if you knew of any Russians who might be here now.”
    Didenko laughed. “Believe me, Ms. Graves, I have no vendetta against Mr. McGarvey, nor do I know of anyone specifically who might, though as I told you when you were here, the number must be a large one.”
    â€œThanks, anyway, sir,” Pete said. “I thought it might be worth a try.” She hung up. “The ball’s in his court. Let’s get you to the atrium and warmed up.”
    â€œDo you think I need it?”
    â€œOf course you do. You’re an old man, and Kallinger, if he shows up, is a kid, full of energy.”
    â€œJust the point,” McGarvey said. “But we have two hours before the demonstration starts, so there’s no point in rushing.”
    â€œGoddamn it, Kirk, if you’re not properly warmed up, he’ll eat you for toast.”
    â€œYes, he will,” McGarvey said. He called room service and ordered a cognac.
    While he waited for it to arrive, he changed into a pair of jeans, a white polo shirt, and boat shoes.
    Pete brought the drink into him. He took it to the bathroom, swizzled a fair amount of it in his mouth, and spit it out.
    *   *   *
    The atrium entrance at the casino had been set up with a single piste that was a conductive mat two meters wide and fourteen meters long, on which the fencers would face off. They were connected wirelessly to the mat, so any touches would be electronically registered. It was only up to the judge to determine if the touch was valid or if any rule had been broken.
    They were five minutes early, and the long, ornately laid-out and decorated hall was mostly full with spectators as were the balconies above.
    McGarvey was introducing himself to the club’s fencing master when Kurshin, already wearing his fencing garb, an épée held loosely in his left hand, and a mask under his right arm, came out of a room at the rear, which was used as the dressing area.
    The Russian raised the guard of his weapon to his lips and saluted.

17
    McGarvey signed in as a guest at the registration table, and the fencing master came over and offered his hand.
    â€œGood afternoon, M. Arouet,” he said. His attitude was cool.
    â€œThanks for allowing me to compete today.”
    â€œNo competition. This is merely a demonstration. And if you do not mind, I will introduce you as a senior.”
    â€œExperienced,” Mac said.
    The maestro smiled. “But your techniques perhaps are not up to modern standards. Modern Olympic