So he was still alive, this failure of an assassin. Why hadn't the FSB taken care of this already? Technically, the man was their problem. Gretkov leaned back in the uncomfortable metal chair and frowned at the blurry picture. He might be in prison, but the reach of his arm was still long. And to have the authorities get hold of Kirill to have him testify in the running trial would do irreparable damage. So he would have to take care of this himself.
“Do you have a trail?” Gretkov took a deep drag of the cigarette.
“Yes, Sir.”
Gretkov tapped his finger on the man in the picture. “Send someone good. I want this problem solved once and for all.”
“Yes, Sir.”