The Backup Asset

…24

Evgheni Aleksandrovich Smolin wasn’t stressed at all, lining up for immigration documents control at Toronto Pearson International. He was good at his job and he knew it. His documents were all in order, prepared by one of the best support teams in the world. He wore the typical business travel attire for an eastern European: brown slacks; a sport jacket; and a white shirt, top button undone; all a little wrinkled. His blond, silvered beard and hair completed the image of a middle-aged business traveler, a little tired from too much time spent on a commercial jet.

Happy to deplane after the long flight from Zurich, he stretched his legs and walked in place, waiting his turn.

“Good evening,” he greeted the passport control officer as he approached the desk. The Canadian greeted him back with a nod and a professional smile and took his passport.

“Mr. Rudnitsky?” the officer probed.

“Yes,” Smolin answered.

“What is the purpose of your visit?”

“Mostly business, but some pleasure too, I hope,” Smolin answered unperturbed.

The officer scanned his visa under a reader.

“How is that?” the officer asked.

“I am here for a series of business meetings during the next couple of weeks. But I hope to make it to the CN Tower and see Niagara Falls,” Smolin answered with the candid smile of a naïve tourist.

“When are you planning to go back?”

“At the end of two weeks, on the twenty-second.”

“Are you flying back to Russia?” the officer questioned, looking him in the eye.

“No, back to Zurich, I’m afraid.”

“Why is that? You are Russian, right?”

“Yes, but my employer has business offices in Zurich, and that’s where I spend most of my time lately. Far from home, too far.” Smolin put just enough sadness in his tone to sound natural.

The officer typed something in his computer, scanned the passport again, then stamped it with a loud bang.

“Welcome to Canada, Mr. Rudnitsky; enjoy your stay,” he said, handing him his passport and customs declaration form.

“Thank you,” Smolin replied, and walked briskly in the direction indicated by large signs marked “Ground Transportation.”

He didn’t go straight to ground transportation. First, he went through customs and then entered the first men’s room he could find. He fidgeted with his luggage until the last remaining traveler left, then placed the “slippery when wet” sign outside in front of the door, and locked it from the inside.

He shaved his beard quickly and changed his clothes. The slacks, jacket, and shirt were replaced by worn-out jeans and a canary yellow T-shirt, marked “Le Tour De France.” He packed everything carefully, and extracted a new set of documents from the double bottom of his suitcase. As a finishing touch, he put on a baseball cap and Ray-Ban Aviator sunglasses before leaving the lavatory.

A few minutes later, a courteous car rental employee greeted him at the VIP counter.

“Welcome to Enterprise, Mr. Duncan, we have your car ready for you.”

Smolin smiled. With a little bit of luck and a few cups of Tim Hortons coffee, before breakfast he could be in Norfolk. He was ready.