Alex stopped the bike, dismounted, and sighed. “Guess it’s time to dump Natasha too.”
“Don’t worry about her,” Linc said. “She’ll get recycled.”
“Is that a pun?”
“Sort of.”
She stripped out of her sniper cocoon, fur cap, and goggles, leaving her dressed in a blue-black Mountain Hardwear jacket, jeans, and boots. She found a garbage can that reeked of rotten fish and stuffed everything deep inside, including her sniper gloves—they’d be covered with gunfire residue. The she pulled a back pack from the Ural’s saddlebag, rummaged past her photography gear, slipped into a pair of girlie-pink woolen gloves and matching ski cap, whispered “Thanks” to Natasha, and walked.
“How’s my train timing?” she asked Linc as she clipped along the alleyway.
“Perfect. It’s just pulling in from Vladivostok. But those things can sit in the station for two hours or be gone in five minutes. Better hustle.”
Alex walked faster as the rear service door of the tavern loomed. She yanked it open and strode right through the steam-fogged kitchen, where a couple of Mongolian cooks stared at her. Then she pushed through the doors and into the tavern. It was long and dark, filled with roughhewn tables and benches, with a heavy wooden bar on the right. The place was packed with nothing but men, and in one corner, a balalaika musician strummed Russian folk songs. His half-in-the-bag audience sang along while their beers slopped over their tankards.
Alex walked up to the bar, where a huge man with a Santa Claus beard was just bringing a large shot of vodka to his lips. She snatched it out of his hand, threw her head back, and swigged the entire thing down. Then she grabbed his beard, kissed him wetly on his merry red cheek, and said, “Spaseebah!”
“Pajalstah!” The big man laughed. His belly jiggled as Alex marched right past his approving comrades and out the front door.
The train station was nothing—just one small stop on the Trans-Siberian’s 9,289-kilometer trip from Vladivostok to Moscow. There was only one small ticket building, closed for the night, but she already had her ticket. Her dad had told her long ago that you never went near an airport after a hit. Trains were much easier, and the conductors could be bought if you had to.
The Trans-Siberian was just pulling in to the platform. The locomotive was a hulking steel box with a blazing light up top, two glass windshields for eyes, three red stripes across its face, and a big red Soviet star for a nose. The follow-on cars were long and silver and lined with curtained windows. The first passenger car stopped in front of her, and its door slid open. Nobody got off, and there were no other passengers on the platform. A conductor leaned out, wearing a long green woolen coat and a fur hat. He looked like a Stalin relic.
“Passport,” he said in heavily accented English.
Alex smiled her college girl smile and handed it up, along with her ticket. He looked at them both, glanced at her backpack, and handed them back.
“Where you come from, young woman?” he asked.
“Vladivostok.”
“Um-hmm. And your profession?”
“I’m a funeral photographer.”
His thick eyebrows furrowed. “What is that?”
“It’s like a wedding photographer, except the groom doesn’t move.”
He cocked his head and smiled. “Welcome to Russia.”
She got on.
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Acknowledgments
I must thank my immensely talented team at Kensington Publishing Corp., who work tirelessly to help make my novels the best they can be and are there whenever I have questions or concerns. Thank you to Steve Zacharius, owner of Kensington Publishing Corp., who has made me part of the Kensington “family.” There are just not enough words to convey how fortunate I am to have Michaela Hamilton as my editor. Her patience and guidance have been invaluable—she is a very special person.
I want to express my appreciation to my literary agent, Doug Grad, as well as to Mayur Gudka, my webmaster and social media consultant. I also want to thank my partners in writing and creating my novels, Caio Camargo, Steven Hartov, and Richard Meyers. I am so fortunate that you are members of my creative team.
Last, I want to thank all of my very loyal fans whose support has helped grow the Dan Morgan series from one novel to seven and still writing...
Meet the Author
Leo J. Maloney is the author of the acclaimed Dan Morgan thriller series, which includes Termination Orders, Silent Assassin, Black Skies, Twelve Hours, Arch Enemy, and For Duty and Honor. He was born in Massachusetts, where he spent his childhood, and graduated from Northeastern University. He spent over thirty years in black ops, accepting highly secretive missions that would put him in the most dangerous hot spots in the world. Since leaving that career, he has had the opportunity to try his hand at acting in independent films and television commercials. He has seven movies to his credit, both as an actor and behind the camera as a producer, technical advisor, and assistant director. He lives in the Boston area and in Sarasota, Florida.
Visit him at www.leojmaloney.com or on Facebook or Twitter.
Photo by Kippy Goldfarb, Carolle Photography
