Private Moscow

Chapter 93

Dinara Orlova pinned a stern, officious expression to her face as they entered SVR headquarters. The tall office block was one of the most secure places in Russia and, no matter how hard her heart pounded and her stomach churned, she was determined to look as though she belonged.

She and Jack passed through a metal detector without incident. They had nothing other than their SVR credentials, some money and the pistol Feo had given her, which was in the purse that was sliding into the X-ray machine. The CIA transceivers were constructed of a composite material that evaded the metal detector and the more thorough wand search performed by a guard. They were then waved on to a second uniformed guard, who conducted a fingertip physical search of them both.

“Your weapon will be stored until you leave,” said one of the guards staffing the X-ray machine.

He put the pistol in a nearby locker, and handed Dinara a token.

“Thanks,” Dinara replied in Russian, but as they walked away, she shared a look of concern with Jack. They’d lost their only weapon.

Erin Sebold had informed them Salko was located on the executive floor, and as they made their way to the elevators, Dinara chatted to Jack in Russian, and they both made an effort to appear at ease when they passed SVR personnel.

They took one of the cars to the twenty-first floor, and stepped into a quiet corridor. Dinara had been to SVR headquarters before, but she had never seen the executive floor. According to Erin’s information, Salko had a large office in the northwest corner of the building.

They started toward it, and walked past a line of offices, complete with outer cubicles where administrative assistants sat. They attracted a couple of inquiring looks as they passed, but most of the men and women were too busy with their work to pay them much attention.

“Hey!” a voice yelled behind them.

Dinara turned and saw a face she recognized. It was poking out of one of the offices they’d passed. It was Spiridon Fomin, a former colleague from the FSB. He must have transferred to the SVR.

“Dinara Orlova,” he said. “I thought that was you.”

His tone was not that of a man who knew she was a wanted criminal, and her initial flush of panic subsided.

“What are you doing here?” he asked as he approached. “You’re looking great.”

Spiro was a tanned, dark-haired former sprinter who exploited his good looks as often as he could. Despite his best efforts, Dinara had never succumbed to his charms.

“You’ve moved up in the world, Spiro,” she said.

He smiled and nodded. “Who’s your friend?” he asked.

Jack looked at the man and smiled blankly.

“I didn’t know you’d transferred,” Dinara said enthusiastically, trying to change the subject. It wouldn’t take him long to realize Jack couldn’t speak a word of Russian. “It’s so good to see you. We have a few minutes. Is there somewhere we can catch up?”

“Sure,” Spiro replied. “My office.”

He gestured for them to follow, and led Dinara and Jack past his administrative assistant into the large room that lay beyond.

“This is quite some place,” Dinara said, trading a conspiratorial glance with Jack. “You must be doing well.”

“Can I get you a drink?” Spiro asked, going to a console that took up an entire wall. He opened a cabinet to reveal an extensive liquor collection.

“I’ll have a martini,” Dinara said, closing the office door.

Spiro turned around to fix her drink. “And your friend?” he asked. “Sorry, I didn’t catch his—”

When Spiro had turned to the liquor cabinet, Jack had crossed the room silently, and Dinara watched him wrap his arms around Spiro’s neck, cutting him off mid-sentence. Spiro dropped the cocktail shaker onto the thick carpet, and made a rapid succession of choking sounds as he struggled against Jack’s relentless grasp. Finally, the fight left him, and he fell to the floor.

Jack checked his pulse. “He’s down, but not dead. Come on, we don’t have long.”