Edric sat forward. He interlaced his fingers and met each of their gazes, one at a time, before he spoke. “I can’t overstate the gravity of this mission. SPIRE’s entire reputation hangs in the balance. Not only that, but Moscow is one of the most dangerous places in the world to attempt this sort of operation. Spies, SVR informants, and national police are everywhere. One false move, and the success of the mission could be the least of our worries. You could die in Moscow, or worse, be responsible for a teammate dying. To add further complication, we’ll be limited in what we can bring with us. Even landing at a private airport, Russian Customs are likely to search the plane. That means no weapons and only limited tech gear. I’m setting operational protocols at Code Yellow.”
Code Yellow—the bottom tier of three tiers of operational parameters that Charlie Team worked within. Wolfgang couldn’t remember the exact limitations of Code Yellow, but the essence of it had already been explained. They were going in unarmed.
Wolfgang’s first two missions with SPIRE had been intense and certainly life-threatening, but the severity he felt from Edric now put a damper on everybody.
“What’s our cover?” Megan asked.
“The three of us are banking executives from New York, flying to meet with a Moscow-based investment firm,” Edric said, motioning to Megan and Lyle. “Wolfgang and Kevin are our private security team.”
Wolfgang processed the information, still a little stunned at the prospect of being unarmed someplace so potentially hostile. He recalled his last encounter with a Russian operative—the big man he nicknamed Ivan during their Paris operation. He and Ivan had engaged in a no-holds-barred brawl in the bathroom of a fancy Parisian hotel, and Wolfgang had come within an inch of losing his life. As had Ivan.
“Well,” Kevin grunted, “we better do it. Wolfgang’s gonna need spinners for his car.”
Everybody chuckled.
“Does everybody know about my car?”
“Bright yellow Mercedes in downtown Saint Louis?” Lyle said. “Dude, the mayor is probably scrambling to find out which Chinese business mogul is visiting.”
“What I don’t get”—Kevin leaned forward—“is why yellow? Don’t you think it’s a little, I don’t know . . . piss colored?”
“There might be something in that,” Megan said. “A nickname, maybe. You haven’t got a nickname yet, do you?”
“We can’t call him Piss. That’s just mean,” Lyle said, but he was laughing.
Wolfgang waved his hands and sat back. “Have your laughs. You’re all jealous, and you know it.”
“Sunshine,” Edric said. “It’s kind of a sunshine color, wouldn’t you say?”
“Sunshine Pierce!” Kevin slapped the table. “Let’s go to Moscow.”
3
SPIRE’s Gulfstream G550 boasted a range of almost eight thousand miles, putting Moscow well within range from Saint Louis, but they needed flight logs that showed Edric’s team of “banking executives” leaving New York, so Edric had the pilot land at LaGuardia, where they refueled and checked in and out of airport security. Kevin picked up a couple pizzas from an airport pizzeria, and ninety minutes later, they were in the air again and headed east.
This was only Wolfgang’s third trip inside the plane, headed out on a new mission, but it already felt a little like home. The plush leather seats and well-stocked snack bar made for a comfortable transition around the globe. Even so, he felt vaguely naked without the presence of his Berretta holstered beneath his jacket or any backup weaponry stowed in the cargo hold.
To his surprise, he also felt uneasy without the stacks of obscure crates that were usually packed around the tail of the plane, housing Lyle’s complicated array of high-tech gadgetry that had been instrumental in Charlie Team’s success in both Paris and Cairo.
Lyle looked just as nervous, sitting in the back and sifting through the three bags of electronics Edric had allowed him to bring.
Wolfgang stood up, sipping from a can of Sprite as he made his way to Lyle’s table, and sat down across from him. “You okay?”
Lyle looked up, then pushed his glasses up his nose. “Fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Wolfgang chuckled. “You’re beet red and sweating. What’s up?”
Lyle surveyed his small pile of equipment. “I don’t like being under-equipped. I’ve got two computers and some communications hardware. No surveillance gear. No tracking technology. I don’t even have the drone.”
Wolfgang recalled the giant drone Lyle had employed in Cairo and wasn’t altogether sure he missed it.
“You’re the wiz, Lyle. You’ll make it work. Plus, don’t forget the watch.”
Wolfgang tapped the smartwatch on his wrist, and Lyle nodded impatiently. The watch was far more than a timepiece—it boasted an array of detection sensors and a camera that fed video footage back to Lyle’s computers.
“Huddle up!” Edric called from the middle of the plane.
Wolfgang slid out from the table and took a seat in a captain’s chair, facing the middle of the plane.
Edric tapped on an iPad as the others gathered in. “We’ll land around midnight, local time. I’ve arranged for a limo to pick us up at the airport and transport us to the Hilton Moscow Leningradskaya, where we’ll be staying.”
“Isn’t that a bit . . . loud?” Wolfgang asked. “A limo, a fancy hotel. I thought we were flying under the radar.”
“We are, but the Russians are accustomed to international travelers behaving in a certain way—especially rich travelers like bankers. Calling a cab and staying at the DoubleTree would draw more suspicion than the limo and the Hilton. We’ll hide in plain sight.”
Kevin grinned. “Doesn’t bother me. Do they have a spa with a hot Russian masseuse?”
“I should ask,” Edric said. “I could use a massage while my security detail stands guard.”
Kevin rolled his eyes. “Funny, really. So, when do we meet Sparrow?”
“First thing in the morning. We’ll get the details of the meetup via secure email after we reach the hotel. Sparrow will supply us with Koslov’s immediate location and schedule over the next
