Maksim gets one of us, or all of us, killed.”
The big Russian mob hit man sniffed loudly. “As long as Moscow says Maksim is in charge, then that’s good enough for me.”
“In charge?” Sorokina snapped. “Has he been taking charge of late?”
Pervak turned from the view and squared his body off towards her. “I might have to tell our team leader that his third-in-command is attempting to undermine his authority.”
Inna laughed at this. “If you told him right now, while he’s slumped over a bar stool, I doubt he would hear you, and I am certain he wouldn’t care.”
Pervak shrugged again, but his attention was on the luggage in the living room now. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Gucci? Headquarters okayed that purchase?”
Sorokina unzipped the first bag. “Reproductions. Picked them up in New York when we were there. Seventy-five dollars, U.S.” From it she pulled a laptop and some cables, and she began setting it all up on the bar area in the kitchen, while Pervak opened the other bag and began removing cameras and listening devices.
There was another knock at the door a minute later; Semyon headed for it, but while doing so he reached into his jacket at the waistband and put his hand on the butt of his CZ P-01 Omega pistol. He looked through the peephole, just as Inna had done a minute before, and then he relaxed his gun arm and opened the door.
Anya Bolichova wore a yellow and red sundress, large-framed mirrored glasses on the top of her head, and wedge heels. She carried nothing other than a small handbag over her shoulder.
Her mood was not as sunny as her outfit, however.
“I couldn’t find Maksim. I guess he’s out on another bender.”
Pervak said, “I hope it’s German beer he’s drinking. Better that than the vodka.”
Bolichova looked past Pervak, at Sorokina. “Okay, Inna. We don’t need our shooter now, anyway. What can I do?”
Inna said, “Can you get into the hotel guest list?”
“Da. Of course. Don’t need to be in the building to do it.” She looked out the massive floor-to-ceiling window a moment, past the railing and down to Unter den Linden. “But it’s nice here, so I’m not complaining.”
“I want to look at all the names, all the companies who have reserved rooms here, run it all against known actors. I have a hard time believing Sirena is what she claims to be. Her cover is too thin; she should be hiding under a rock right now, not working for an intelligence firm in Western Europe. If we are lucky, we might find out she has confederates, and they might be staying here so they can watch out for her.”
Anya Bolichova got to work. She hacked into the hotel’s servers in a matter of minutes, which gave her access to all the cameras, the guest list, the employee schedules; she could even see reservations in the cafés and restaurants on the property.
As they had been told by their handlers in Moscow, a woman using Zakharova’s alias, Stephanie Arthur, was staying at the far end of the long hallway here in room 405.
Inna couldn’t help but wonder if she was only thirty meters from Sirena right now.
Bolichova did more digging into the other guests, running names against known intelligence officers kept in a database, she assumed, at Russian Foreign Intelligence, but processed through her handler in Moscow.
When she had all the data, she summarized to Inna and Semyon. “Over two dozen people from the intelligence services, representing nine different nations, are staying here at the hotel. But that’s to be expected. We are near many embassies and consulates, after all. And the Reichstag is only a couple kilometers away.”
Sorokina looked over the list. Evaluated what was known about each of these players her colleague had identified. Finally, she said, “This name at the bottom.”
“That’s Ric Ennis. American. He used to be a case officer with CIA, but now he works for Shrike Group, Zakharova’s firm, here in Berlin.”
“And he is staying in the hotel?”
“No, but he has a dinner reservation for two tonight at eight thirty. Downstairs in Lorenz.”
This wasn’t what Sorokina was looking for, but it was something. She said, “Semyon, you go to the bar at Lorenz at eight fifteen. Be in position. Let’s see if darling Zoya makes an appearance with Mr. Ennis.”
Semyon didn’t like Sorokina telling him what to do. He was technically over her. But she was the intelligence officer, and ultimately these were her calls to make.