beard, and glasses. He looked to all of them like some sort of plain businessman.
“Check open source,” Inna commanded, and Bolichova searched for the man’s LinkedIn listing. She found it, and saw that he was a food and beverage consultant. He had an Instagram page, as well, with lots of pictures of restaurants, food, and spirits. Interspersed were just a few pictures of himself with a family, and a few more that showed images of camping and fishing.
Bolichova said, “Either he’s legit, or his cover is very well backstopped.”
Inna thought it over a moment. “Okay. We can’t discount him as a threat, even though it looks like he checks out. Semyon will go right behind Maksim, run rear security just inside the doorway to the suite. Anya and I will watch the cameras for any movement at all in the hall.”
She looked to Maksim, expecting some pushback, but instead he just nodded his assent and headed back into the bedroom.
* * *
• • •
Zoya returned to her suite at eight twenty, energized from her swim and her workout in the health club. Before she even showered she placed an order with room service for enough food and coffee for herself, Moises, and Yanis: a cheese omelet for her, and two baskets of croissants, jelly, and butter for the men. She added a large flask of both orange and apple juice and a full pot of coffee.
At eight thirty-five a.m. she stepped into the shower, taking her SIG pistol with her and placing it on the soap ledge.
Even when she didn’t know, without question, that hit men had tracked her down, she still kept a firearm in or near her shower when she bathed. She’d been trained to never be caught without a weapon, and though that concept was an ideal and not totally realistic, she did everything she could to be certain she kept a firearm or two within reach.
* * *
• • •
The new guest in room 407 sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes fixed on the wall in front of him, his mind on what lay beyond it.
He could hear the shower running, and he could picture Zoya Zakharova. The image simultaneously filled him with love, lust, and terror.
There were powerful emotions running through Court Gentry’s mind, but for now he didn’t act; he only sat there and took long, slow breaths. There was also medication running through him that made him more alert, more focused, and gave him energy, and for this he was thankful right now.
He’d used a CIA-backstopped passport to reserve the room, but he found this to be an acceptable risk. He knew the Agency could easily monitor guests here at the hotel; sitting right next to the U.S. embassy, it would be the height of malfeasance not to, but the legend wasn’t tied to Court personally, since Hanley had it made for someone else and then gave it to Court.
The face on the passport looked something like Court, but the passport photo showed a bearded man, while Court was now clean-shaven. But it was not actually Court’s photo, nor were the images on social media of Court, either.
He had decided, without doubt, to make contact with Zoya the evening before while he was at Dr. Kaya’s getting treatment. He couldn’t trust Brewer to run Zoya safely, and he couldn’t trust Brewer or Hanley to tell him about the danger she might be in. The moment he worked out that this operation was more important to Hanley than Zoya’s life, he told himself that it was up to him to be certain both goals were accomplished. And then, when he found out that the men from Venezuela had somehow tracked him here, he thought his proximity to Zoya might only put her in further danger.
He wanted to get her out of here. After that, he would stay and do whatever Hanley wanted of him.
He also knew he needed to make contact with her today without anyone from Shrike Group, anyone from Russia, anyone from the CIA, or anyone from German intelligence realizing he was doing so. Knocking on her door was out. He had to assume that someone would be monitoring the hallway cameras for visitors.
This left the window. Climbing along the outside of the building might have been the surest way to avoid surveillance, but it was certainly not the safest. He’d have to shimmy out his window, move laterally along a narrow ledge, and then somehow make entry to