The Ghost Pattern

…8

Myatlev ate seated at his massive desk. He took a couple of spoons of hot chicken soup, dressed with sour cream and feta cheese, and closed his eyes halfway in ecstasy. The soup had filled the room with its unmistakable aroma. Each spoonful took a little bit of his stomach pain away, and he mumbled his appreciation. This cook was good; he’d make sure he never leaves. He took another spoonful, savoring it, and a small bite from a slice of white bread toast with it.

Preceded by a quick tap on the door, Ivan walked in hurriedly.

He watched him walk in and frowned. Ivan needed to brush up on his skills. Myatlev hated to be interrupted from his meals, and his assistant knew better.

“Boss? Major Ignatiev wants to speak with you.”

Division Seven Major Ignatiev, one of the rising stars of the new KGB, was leading Myatlev’s operations in the Russian Far East.

He wiped his mouth and replied begrudgingly, “Put him through,” then picked up the phone as soon as it rang. “Da.”

“It’s Ignatiev, sir. Just letting you know we’re ready to receive them. I have everyone’s files, and the Challenger took off an hour ago.”

“Good,” Myatlev said. “Whatever you need, let me know. And keep that idiot, Bogdanov, in check.”

He hung up the phone, and let a cryptic smile flutter on his lips. He loved it when a plan came together, even if this particular one required him to use his own plane, and to push the envelope to unprecedented limits. Hopefully, President Abramovich would never find out.