her suite. She didn’t have a balcony, per se, but in her living room, just like in Court’s room, she had large floor-to-ceiling double windows that opened inward like doors, with a metal railing in front of them. He decided this would be the easiest place to enter, although it was also much farther away than the first access point he’d come to on the ledge, which, according to his research on the layout of the suite, would be the bedroom window.
Court knew Zoya’s senses would be on full alert, which didn’t really scare him once she knew he was the one in her hotel room, but he did worry about that moment when he passed in front of her window. Someone trained, someone who was already anticipating an assassination attempt, who saw a figure outside, might well shoot him off the ledge right through the glass.
There were other drawbacks to Court’s plan, as well, the main one being that he would have to execute this move on the fourth floor, which, in typical European fashion, meant it was five stories above the street. He would be in full view of anyone looking up from Unter den Linden, so he knew he’d have to be quick to avoid unwanted attention, and lucky to not catch any wandering eyes.
Still, scooting over to the next suite’s window beat standing under the hallway cameras when he already knew German intelligence was surveilling her.
He listened to the running shower through the wall and drummed his fingers on the bed. Brewer had said Zoya told her that her colleagues were to arrive at ten a.m., and it wasn’t even nine. He had time to get her out of here; he just needed to act.
Soon enough he climbed off the bed, threw his luggage on a table, and unzipped his roll-aboard. Seconds later he was changing out of his businessman clothes as he prepared to get down to his real business.
FORTY-FOUR
Bolichova hung up her call and turned to Sorokina, who sipped from a teacup while standing at the kitchen island. Anya said, “Suite 405’s room service is canceled.”
On cue, Maksim Akulov stepped out of the bedroom. He looked neat and healthy in his crisp white room service attendant’s uniform, his hair was slicked back with gel, and he had a confident, determined smile on his face.
He was fine now, because the excitement filled his bloodstream like a drug. It wasn’t the high he used to get from such endeavors—one needed more and more of a drug to have the same effects—but this was his best day, his best moment, in over six weeks.
The Russian carried three knives, a weighted throwing blade under his server’s coat on his left hip, a second throwing knife just behind it at the eight o’clock position, and another hooked blade, stowed centerline behind his belt buckle. It was his intention to use this weapon to slit Zakharova’s wrists after he got her into the bathtub.
In Maksim’s hand he held an unholstered CZ subcompact pistol, with an Anschutz suppressor screwed onto the barrel. The Anschutz had a unique design that made it look like a long, fat drill bit. Concealing the weapon on his person would have been difficult, especially to an eye as trained as Zakharova’s, so he slipped it under the linen draping the room service cart and adjusted the fabric to where the weapon did not reveal itself. Still, it would be easily accessible to him, and he’d have it out and in his target’s face as soon as she opened the door. The target had the training, as well as the heads-up from Inna the night before with the offer to surrender, to know that an assassination attempt would be coming, so she’d likely be armed herself. But despite Inna’s pleas for Maksim to respect Sirena’s abilities, he had no doubt in his mind that he could get his weapon trained on her long before she could get hers trained on him.
The Russians were banking on her assuming they wouldn’t dare make the attempt here in the hotel, since this wasn’t typical GRU or SVR assassination technique for work in a European capital.
But it had worked in D.C., and Maksim felt comfortable it would work here.
Semyon also had a CZ pistol, and it was suppressed, as well, but he clicked it into an open shoulder holster, with the silencer pointing straight down, and then he put on his jacket, hiding the weapon.
For the first time in days, Maksim