The drive took us the better part of the hour before we hit the Moscow city limits. The car windows were treated and tinted enough that, even without the snow, I had nothing to worry about. I spent a good part of the journey staring out the window, watching as the countryside gradually dissolved into the grayness of urban sprawl. As we passed a large wooded area, Quinn spoke. “That’s Kuzminsky Park over there.”

“You’ve been here before?” I asked.

“Sure.” He shrugged. “Back in the bad ole days ‘fore they brought the wall down.”

“You want to narrow that down?” Casey drawled. “That does cover nearly half a century.”

“There was some trouble here in ’74.” Quinn said, with an annoyed look at Casey. “Some rogue asshole holed up somewhere in there, pickin’ people off, leavin’ bodies. Y’know, typical shit.”

Casey nodded. “Sounds like it. So why’d they bring you in?”

“Ah wasn’t sure at first.” Quinn shook his head. “Turns out this particular shitbird was more of a paid troublemaker.  Object was t’make House Grozny look bad.”

“Kurgan.” Casey said it as a statement, not a question, but Quinn nodded in agreement.

“Enough bad blood there t’fuel a coupla decent sized wars. Problem was, same troublemaker had managed t’make some friends in some pretty influential places, an’ these was people that Lord Feodorenko had t’keep sweet, if y’get what Ah mean?”

“Anyways, Lord Feodorenko needs the guy gone but he can’t be takin’ the guy out hisself; not without pissin’ some heavy hitters off. But yer dad; well, him an’ Feodorenko is tight, so he decides to help out by puttin’ me after the fucker.”

“Couldn’t have been easy getting into Moscow, not for anyone, least of all you.” I said.

“Money worked just as well back then.” Quinn grinned. “Maybe better. Slippin’ some cash to the right people got me from Athens to Istanbul, ‘nother payout got me from Istanbul to Sevastopol. Aster that, it was a coupla days goin’ cross-country t’Moscow. Coupla days camped out in the Park, keepin’ an eye out fer the basterd.” He grinned suddenly. “Met me this sweet lil’ Georgian gurl…” He tailed off, still grinning until Casey’s cough brought him back. “Anyways, a coupla days dodgin’ local Militia types, since even though the Commititat or whatever the fuck says they got a goddamn worker’s paradise goin’ on, they ain’t any happier ’bout the bodies bein’ dropped than Feodorenko was. Jus’ waitin’ fer the fucker to stick his head out so’s Ah kin take him off at the neck.”

“You got him?”  I asked.

“Ah’m like the Mounties, kid.” He grinned again. “Did him like he’d been in the habit of doin’ his, left them Militia boys t’do the tidyin’ up an’ got the hell back across the curtain.”