rogue criminals, who had acted with neither the support nor the knowledge of their respective governments. Fisher suspected in the end the crisis would be portrayed as a “fine example of a multi-national, cross-culture cooperative effort that defeated a massive terrorist plot.” From there, the media would do the rest, filling in the gaps and assuaging the public’s curiosity with a slew of books, movies, and documentaries.
Fisher couldn’t care less. He’d done his job and come out the other side. The rest was trivia.
Fisher glanced to his left and saw a man enter through an arch and stop beside the dwarfish figure dressed in Eastern Orthodox garb, one hand carrying a giant Bible, the other a bronze censer. Fisher had already read the figure’s biography. He was an “18th Century Saint.”
The man who had just entered stopped before the saint, studied him for a few seconds, then sat down on the bench before it. After a few minutes he got up and walked away, leaving behind his brochure. Fisher walked over and took the bench. The man’s brochure had been folded in half, with the upper left-hand corner turned down twice. If it had been folded any differently, it would have been the “wave off” signal for Fisher. Not safe; leave.
Whether the man was an agent or a CIA case officer Fisher didn’t know, but he’d done his job, which was all that mattered. Their target had been tailed and found clean of surveillance. Fisher unfolded the brochure. Written on the inside cover in block letters were two words: COSSACK ROOM.
Fisher saw her seated on a bench before what he assumed was a Cossack: knee-high leather boots, handlebar mustache, mouth frozen in mid-scream as he charged toward nothing.
Fisher walked up behind her and stopped. “If you ask me, he looks angry at being fed substandard
Elena turned in her seat. Her eyes went wide and her mouth worked several times, but nothing came out for a few seconds. “What…? What are you doing here?”
“Taking in the wax figures, what’s it look like?” He sat down next to her.
“I was told to meet my… friend here.”
“He couldn’t make it. Asked me to fill in for him.”
Elena’s brow furrowed with worry. “What’s happening? I don’t understand what’s happening.”
Fisher pulled an envelope from his pocket on the bench between them. “Open it.”
She did, and stared at the contents for a few moments, then said, “It’s a passport.”
“Not just any passport,” Fisher corrected. “
“Of course, but—”
“Our plane leaves in two hours.”
Elena frowned, then sighed. She laid the envelope back on the bench, hesitated for two beats, then snatched it up again. “I can’t just leave.”
“Why not?”
“I just… just… I don’t know.”
“It’s your choice, Elena. I have a few connections; I’m sure there’s a job somewhere in the government for a biologist slash
They sat in silence for five minutes, during most of which Elena seemed to be having a whispered argument with herself. Abruptly she turned to him and said, “Okay.”
“Yeah?”
She nodded firmly. “Okay.”
Fisher smiled. He extended his hand. “I’m Sam, by the way.”
“Not Fred.”
“No.”
Elena clasped his hand. “Nice to meet you, Sam.”
