“When will the Russians know he’s missing?” Megan asked.
“Good question,” Edric said. “We can assume they have him under some sort of surveillance—probably digital—while he’s at home, and he probably has some kind of tracking device for when he runs his errands. Koslov probably knows about all of that, and he can help us disable it. Anything he doesn’t know about will be trickier, which is why I want to pull him on his way to work. His home is likely wired with all kinds of bugs and detection devices, but it’s highly unlikely that the Russians are tasking somebody to follow him to work, so that will be our point of opportunity. Once we nab him, we’re looking at half an hour before the Russians know.”
Kevin whistled again. “We can’t get out of Moscow in half an hour. No way. And once we clear the city, there will be roadblocks. Checkpoints. It’s a helluva long way to the Belarusian border.”
“About two hundred eighty-five miles, to be exact,” Edric said.
“Sheesh,” Wolfgang muttered. “It would be easier to break him out of Gitmo. What’s your play?”
Edric puckered his lips. “I’ve got some ideas. Let’s meet with Sparrow, first. In the meantime, you guys should sleep. We land in eight hours.”
Edric disappeared into the aft cabin, leaving the group huddled around the table, exchanging dubious looks.
“Be easier with some gear,” Lyle muttered.
“Be easier with some weapons,” Kevin added.
Megan rolled her eyes. “Be easier with a battalion of tanks, but we don’t have that, do we? You’re all a bunch of pussies.”
Kevin and Lyle waved her off, then found their way to the minibar, still muttering to themselves.
Wolfgang watched them go, then leaned across the little table between himself and Megan. “They’re right, you know. Edric doesn’t seem to have much of a plan on this one. And the stakes are higher than usual.”
“He’s got a plan,” Megan said. “You really think he’s sleeping back there?”
Megan dug into her carry-on and produced a small stack of books and folded maps. It was her custom to study up on their destination during their flight. Wolfgang had witnessed her doing it on the way to both Paris and Cairo, and both times, her trivia knowledge had proven useful.
She waved her hand dismissively as she spread a map across the table. “Give me some room. I’ve got my own work to do.”
Wolfgang looked down at the map, then slid closer to the table. “Mind if I join you?”
She glanced up, raising one eyebrow. “Is this another lame attempt at a pickup? Because it isn’t gonna work.”
“In Cairo you said I should know more about the cities we operate in. I think you’re right. Surely, you can’t object to a study partner.” He gave her a wink, matched with his most innocent smile.
She stared him down a moment, then a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Okay, boy wonder. Just stay on your side of the table. And find a pen. You’re gonna need to take notes.”
The G550 touched down exactly eight hours later, around eleven p.m. local time, its thick tires squealing against cold Russian tarmac. Wolfgang sat next to the window, peering out at the city lights as the plane circled twice, then made its final approach. Moscow was nothing short of massive—nine hundred seventy square miles in size, with a population of over twelve million, according to Megan’s study material, making it every bit as large as New York City.
Snow encased the city like a blanket, piled high next to the airstrip as the plane rolled toward a hangar. Wolfgang couldn’t see people, but the lights from downtown Moscow were so bright, they reflected off the low-hanging cloud cover and shone over the airstrip, almost like ballpark lights.
“Wolfgang, let’s go!”
Edric appeared from his bunk room, dressed in a premium business suit, matched with leather shoes and gold cufflinks. Lyle was similarly dressed. But when Wolfgang stood, he saw Megan appear from the bunk room, and the breath caught in his throat. She wore a conservative women’s pantsuit with a white blouse and no jewelry, yet somehow, the fitted garment made her look more glamorous than a ball gown would have. She’d pulled her hair up into a bun and applied only a little makeup, all to downplay her appearance, he figured.
It wasn’t working. At least, not with him.
“Carry the bags,” Edric said, motioning to the stack of suitcases near the door. They contained clothes for appearance but housed Lyle’s laptops and the communications equipment they would need. If the Russians searched the bags and found anything, it could be dismissed as equipment for Wolfgang and Kevin—the banker’s security detail.
“How’s it feel doing the grunt work?” Kevin asked as he and Wolfgang scooped up bags.
During their last two missions, Wolfgang had assumed primary roles alongside Megan, leaving Kevin to perform backup functions. Kevin wasn’t pleased with the arrangement and wasn’t shy about saying so.
“Oh, you know me, Kev. Happy to save the world in any capacity.”
The airlock on the door hissed, then swung open, and the automatic staircase descended toward the tarmac.
Wolfgang stumbled back, the air frozen in his lungs as a gust of Russian wind tore into the plane. It wasn’t just cold—it was hard and sharp, like a baseball bat being rammed down his throat and smacked against his lungs. He gasped for air and swallowed, then watched as Edric ducked through the door and stepped down the stairs as if he were disembarking onto a Caribbean island.
“Holy cow,” Wolfgang
