Vorovskoy Mir
Vadim had called him a week ago and given him the mission, top priority, something he absolutely could not fuck up. Normally it wouldn't have been an issue, would have been something easily accomplished - but his last partner, Adrian, had been gunned down in the streets of Caracas last fall, and he hadn't bothered finding a replacement. And this, this was a two-man job, no doubt about it. However much he disliked working with others, he knew it was necessary, and wouldn't say a word against it. Diell was a man who did whatever it took to get the job done as efficiently as possible, and if that meant working with a group of a dozen men, he would damn well do it.
He hadn't wasted any time in grabbing histories, looking through masses of files of every contract killer they'd used in the past six years, quickly dwindling down the stack to a dozen possibilities. A dozen men, all with top-notch qualifications and reliable histories. Some Diell rejected on principle, men whose nationalities he would never trust - three Polish men and a Sicilian woman were lost that way. Too much muddy water with them, he'd always be watching his back. The others came down to skill alone - clicks, and military history. With weaker men weeded out there, he was left with four possibilities, which was manageable. Those, he would test: join them in the field and watch them work, putting them on a trial period, see how well they could handle low-level hits before letting them work up the ladder, as he had.
Which brought him here, weaving through traffic en route to LaGuardia airport, rapidly getting more frustrated as things all but slowed to a crawl.
Fine, let him wait. If he stays around, he wants the job.
He was half an hour past the scheduled arrival time when he finally pulled his Bentley continental up, tossing the keys to a valet and heading inside, thick coat pulled tight around him in an effort to ward off the snow. He had a quick smoke outside, which did little to calm the steady level of frustration radiating out of him - he hated airports, hated all the crowds and the idiotic security fronts, there was a reason he used a private jet - before he headed in, sharp eyes scanning the crowds.
It didn't take long to find Drazen; he stood apart from the crowd and looked distinctively different from the usual New Yorkers, a serene, resolute expression plastered on his face. Gritting his teeth, he edged his way through the crowd, resisting the urge to shove people out of the way, an urge he had to work quite hard to curb.
"Alexis? Diell Loughty. Car's out front, if your shit has already gone through security." He was blunt and to the point, as ever. No formal introductions, no instructions, no 'how was the flight' would be gotten from him. All part of the routine - see if the guy asked questions, see if he asked the right questions, or see if he was too cowed by Diell's almost overwhelming demeanor to say a damn thing.
There was a reason Diell had gotten to the top. He was the best in everything he did, and he would accept no less of a new long-term partner.