topped with a captain’s hat. The second man also carried a familiar tan bag. Jo thought the captain’s hat would be a perfect decoy. A common technique was to give someone of the same size a distinctive bag of the same variety, then hide his features with a cap and blazer, and send him on his way.
Jo studied him for a few paces, knowing she had a call to make. Picking one person meant abandoning all others. Captain had a gait that struck her as predatory, as if he was planning to pick a fight at the bar. That convinced her he was Michael, ninety percent anyway. Perhaps the wardrobe change wasn’t meant to throw off anyone behind him, but rather someone ahead. He wasn’t headed back to the Anzhelika .
She dropped deck to deck without letting him out of her sight, like a lifeguard dismounting a tower. Then she began to run, rolling her feet to muffle the noise. Jo continued at a jog until there was just thirty meters between them and then dropped her pace. She closed to twenty-five meters and then twenty. This was closer than her handlers at Langley would advise, but she was flexing with the circumstances.
She was armed with a slimline subcompact Glock and a directional microphone. If she could see it, she could shoot it and listen to its final breath, but not from thirty meters. She was pushing both her pistol marksmanship and her microphone’s capabilities at twenty.
“How’s it going?” Achilles asked.
“I’m on him. He changed into a captain’s hat and blazer. We’re still walking.”
“Interesting. He changed for a purpose, you can be sure of that. Something’s up.”
“I’m on it. What’s going on with you?”
“I happen to be changing as well. I’m down in the crew quarters, putting on a waiter’s uniform.”
“What will you do if someone asks you for something?”
“Do my best to be obsequious.”
“I meant that they’re likely to ask you in Russian.”
“I’m fluent. My mother was from Moscow. Speak of the devil, I gotta go. Be careful.”
As Achilles signed off, Michael turned right and stepped onto a yacht, the Daisy Mae . Jo pulled out her phone and pretended to type while watching him. He went up the back staircase to the level above, where a man’s head and shoulders popped into view as he stood to shake Michael’s hand. She glanced at the time on her screen. Exactly 9:00. Michael had an appointment with someone. She didn’t know who or why, but intuition told her that it was critical to the mission to find out.
Chapter 14
“WHO ARE YOU?”
“Agent Achilles, this is Director Rider, looking for a sitrep.”
The two incongruous questions hit me at the same time. The first, spoken in Russian, came from a large man in a waiter’s uniform identical to the one I’d just slipped on. I’d have to answer it first, which meant the head of the CIA was about to become confused while he waited for his situation report. Normally I’d switch my ear mike off to spare us both the confusion, but that movement would look peculiar, and at this moment I needed to appear anything but. “I’m Volodya’s replacement, Vanya. Pleased to meet you.”
The intruder’s expression changed. “Which Volodya?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Dubnov? Was it Dubnov?”
“I’m not sure. His last name wasn’t mentioned.”
“I hope not, but I wouldn’t put it past Stepashin. He’ll fire anyone for anything. You better hurry up. It’s crazy up there, and Mister Voskerchyan doesn’t like crazy.” His eyes appraised me, head to toe. Seeming to approve, he said, “Take my advice and work to appear calm and deferential at all times, no matter what these spoiled bastards say or do. By the way, I’m Pavel. Gotta run.”
“What the hell is going on?” Director Rider asked in my ear.
Pavel turned and began to exit but then stopped short. Two other guys walked past him into the room. Pavel turned back around. “This is Volodya Dubnov,” he said, pointing to a thick man with
Jo studied him for a few paces, knowing she had a call to make. Picking one person meant abandoning all others. Captain had a gait that struck her as predatory, as if he was planning to pick a fight at the bar. That convinced her he was Michael, ninety percent anyway. Perhaps the wardrobe change wasn’t meant to throw off anyone behind him, but rather someone ahead. He wasn’t headed back to the Anzhelika .
She dropped deck to deck without letting him out of her sight, like a lifeguard dismounting a tower. Then she began to run, rolling her feet to muffle the noise. Jo continued at a jog until there was just thirty meters between them and then dropped her pace. She closed to twenty-five meters and then twenty. This was closer than her handlers at Langley would advise, but she was flexing with the circumstances.
She was armed with a slimline subcompact Glock and a directional microphone. If she could see it, she could shoot it and listen to its final breath, but not from thirty meters. She was pushing both her pistol marksmanship and her microphone’s capabilities at twenty.
“How’s it going?” Achilles asked.
“I’m on him. He changed into a captain’s hat and blazer. We’re still walking.”
“Interesting. He changed for a purpose, you can be sure of that. Something’s up.”
“I’m on it. What’s going on with you?”
“I happen to be changing as well. I’m down in the crew quarters, putting on a waiter’s uniform.”
“What will you do if someone asks you for something?”
“Do my best to be obsequious.”
“I meant that they’re likely to ask you in Russian.”
“I’m fluent. My mother was from Moscow. Speak of the devil, I gotta go. Be careful.”
As Achilles signed off, Michael turned right and stepped onto a yacht, the Daisy Mae . Jo pulled out her phone and pretended to type while watching him. He went up the back staircase to the level above, where a man’s head and shoulders popped into view as he stood to shake Michael’s hand. She glanced at the time on her screen. Exactly 9:00. Michael had an appointment with someone. She didn’t know who or why, but intuition told her that it was critical to the mission to find out.
Chapter 14
“WHO ARE YOU?”
“Agent Achilles, this is Director Rider, looking for a sitrep.”
The two incongruous questions hit me at the same time. The first, spoken in Russian, came from a large man in a waiter’s uniform identical to the one I’d just slipped on. I’d have to answer it first, which meant the head of the CIA was about to become confused while he waited for his situation report. Normally I’d switch my ear mike off to spare us both the confusion, but that movement would look peculiar, and at this moment I needed to appear anything but. “I’m Volodya’s replacement, Vanya. Pleased to meet you.”
The intruder’s expression changed. “Which Volodya?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Dubnov? Was it Dubnov?”
“I’m not sure. His last name wasn’t mentioned.”
“I hope not, but I wouldn’t put it past Stepashin. He’ll fire anyone for anything. You better hurry up. It’s crazy up there, and Mister Voskerchyan doesn’t like crazy.” His eyes appraised me, head to toe. Seeming to approve, he said, “Take my advice and work to appear calm and deferential at all times, no matter what these spoiled bastards say or do. By the way, I’m Pavel. Gotta run.”
“What the hell is going on?” Director Rider asked in my ear.
Pavel turned and began to exit but then stopped short. Two other guys walked past him into the room. Pavel turned back around. “This is Volodya Dubnov,” he said, pointing to a thick man with
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