He knocks on the office door.
"Come in."
The place is slowly becoming familiar. The smell of cigar smoke and the sound of that deep Russian accent, like coffee grounds and black ice. He misses his home, but he doesn't dwell on it. No point. The only way to keep what he loves safe is to stay far, far away from it. He doesn't dwell on that, either. Life is a misery. Fold your feelings neatly, put them in your pocket, and get on with it.
Braginski looks up from paperwork, smiling around his cigar. "Ah, Mr. Oxenstierna. How was your flight?"
Berwald inclines his head slightly.
Braginski nods as if he has received a thought-provoking response. "Da. Good. I'm glad you have arrived on time. I have two jobs for you. Three, actually, if you wish to take on another so soon."
Berwald knows better than to take this as politeness. It's a test. If he shows that he would prefer not to do work, he will be punished. He's not sure if it will be direct—physical pain—or indirect—psychological torment—but he doesn't want either. He wants to work for Braginski until he has settled his debt, then go home and lead a peaceful life.
That is the plan. God only knows what will really happen, but inevitably it will be different than how Berwald wishes it to go. That is life. Fold your feelings neatly, etc.
"I will do what you tell me to do," he says. His voice does not roll like Ivan's, but it is deeper. Rougher. If the Russian is a lion, Berwald is a wolf. One may be stronger and bigger, but the other is more savage, more cunning.
Not forgetting, of course, that Berwald is just as tall as the huge Russian man he now works for.
Braginski nods again, puffing smoke. "Excellent. In that case." He pulls out a drawer, drops a stack of papers on the desk with a loud slap. "Those two are your priority. I want them both brought to me."
This is slightly unexpected. Hired as a hit man, but being told to abduct people? Well, no one has said the victims won't be slaughtered once they're brought in. Berwald picks up the papers, and despite himself, his brow furrows. He looks at Ivan, but says nothing.
The Russian nods a third time. "Da, he works for me. But he is no longer a good worker. He has become distracted by something. Lost interest in obeying me. I do not give people second chances. I gave one second chance, years ago, and it nearly cost me my life. I will not make that mistake again."
Berwald simply stares at him. He does not care about the justification of other people's actions. Whoever said it's the thought that counts was kidding themselves. It's the act that counts, and actions speak for themselves.
"Bring Gilbert Beilschmidt and Arthur Jones to me. Do not harm Arthur." Braginski inhales deeply on his cigar, looking at Berwald.
Berwald looks back.
The cigar burns.
The silence draws on long enough that Berwald eventually asks, "And Gilbert?"
Ivan smiles bitterly, clearly not pleased with the result of his minuscule powerplay. "So long as his heart still beats, I don't give a fuck what you do to Gilbert."
Berwald nods. "Yes, sir." As he walks out, he wonders if the Russian believes his own words. But he doesn't dwell on it.
Life is a misery, after all.