Friday, 3:51 a.m.; Moscow, Russia
Hardy and Natasha had spent more than six hours driving to the two locations General Denikin had provided, talking with the two Russian Mafia crime bosses. Though neither man was particularly pleased to be cooperating with an FSB agent, let alone an American agent, each man pledged to do what he could to find out if any of their girls had seen Popovich. The actual meeting with the crime bosses lasted less than ten minutes. Frustrated and tired from driving, Hardy and Natasha drove back to the safe house, stopping once to fill the SUV’s gas tank and grab some food and drinks.
Arriving at the safe house, Natasha backed the SUV next to the closed garage door. Lights were on in the main living area of the house. She had no doubt Mika and Romana had been working ceaselessly, only taking breaks to get coffee and to use the facilities.
When they were not working, Mika and Romana were two of the most fun-loving people to be around when you wanted to relax and unwind. Romana was quick-witted and talkative. She loved to laugh and had a sharp tongue she used to poke fun at people, good-naturedly. No one was safe from her teasing. Conversely, Mika was more reserved, almost shy. She spoke very little, except when she was around people she knew and trusted. Having a wild side to her personality, however, once she relaxed and let her guard down, she was electrifying. The things she said and did were usually over the top and very dramatic. In fact, if both Romana and Mika were ‘on’ at the same time, everyone else usually sat back and enjoyed the show.
When they were working, however, they threw themselves into the assignment and their focus never wavered. Natasha loved that quality about them. They had the ability to go from serious to relaxed, in a heartbeat. Secretly, she wished she possessed that quality, too.
Hardy and Natasha got out of the vehicle and entered the garage through a side door. In the living room, they were greeted with the look of a small command center. Mika and Romana had emptied Hardy’s Storm Cases and put the computer equipment on the table, adding a couple of internet-based desk phones, which made their cell phones available for other uses. Mika was talking on one of the desk phones and Romana was sitting in the rocking chair by the fireplace, staring at a laptop computer.
Not looking away from the screen, Romana pointed toward the end table to the right of the couch. “Coffee,” she said. She had seen the backup lights from Natasha’s SUV and poured two cups.
Hardy and Natasha took off their coats and threw them over the back of the couch. He handed one cup to her before taking several small sips from the other one—hot and delicious. The only good quality about the coffee they had bought on the way was that it kept them awake.
Natasha took a drink. “Romana, you’re an angel.”
Mika finished her call and stood, facing the two newcomers. She had changed out of her dress and boots and was wearing blue jeans, a Moscow State University sweatshirt and black, chunky one-inch high heels. She spied the coffee cups and looked at Romana, who was engrossed in her work. She raised her hands. “Where’s mine?”
Natasha held out her mug. “Did we get anything, yet?”
Mika received the cup with both hands and took a drink. “No,” she shook her head, “There was a couple of promising tips, but after speaking with the police officers and the women, the stories fell apart.” She took another sip and handed the brew to Natasha. “How’d your trip go?”
“All I can say…” Trying to hold back a yawn, Natasha finally succumbed to it.
Hardy held out his hands, palm up. “We came up empty. The men said they would do their best to get Popovich’s picture in front of their girls.” He walked around the end table—setting his cup on it as he passed—and sat, letting out a long sigh. “I’m beginning to think this plan of enlisting the help of the Russian Mafia is going to be a bust.” He tilted his head back and rested it on the couch, rubbing his face as if he was washing it in the bathroom sink.
Mika went from one to the other. They were acting like zombies. “Why don’t you two get some rest?” She gestured toward the second level. “There are a couple of beds upstairs.”
Natasha shook her head, no.
Mika knew Natasha, as the leader, felt the need to stay awake and continue working. Only a couple of months older than Mika, Natasha had always been someone Mika admired. When they were kids, Natasha had protected Mika at school, defending her from bigger girls, even a couple of boys, who thought they could have their way with her. Natasha had been a leader back then, just as she was now; however, even leaders had limits to what they could endure. At those moments, the people around them had to step forward and take control.
“Come on,” Mika put a hand on Natasha’s shoulder, gently spinning her around and taking the coffee cup. “You need to get some sleep, in case anything happens and we need to move fast.” Natasha protested, but Mika cut her off. “Trust me, if something develops, I’ll come get you.”
Natasha studied her friend. She’s right. I’m no good to anyone like this. “All right, all right,” she held up a hand, “I’ll lie down and rest for a few minutes.” Natasha ascended the stairs with Mika in tow. “The second,” she twisted her torso and pointed, “you hear anything; I want to know about it.”
Mika nodded, “You got it,” and coaxed Natasha up the steps.
Romana had heard the conversations. To her, it was background noise. She was too focused on her laptop to join the talk. She had been reviewing the case files on the first assassination attempt on the Premier’s life, trying to find anything that may help in the search for Popovich. Her eyes were burned. She massaged them for almost a full minute before noticing she was alone with Hardy. In the dim light from the fire, she thought he was staring at the flames. Leaning to her left, she saw his eyes were closed and his chest was rhythmically rising and falling. She smiled, set the laptop beside the rocking chair and stood. Picking up a hand-crocheted blanket from the arm of the couch, she unfolded the afghan and grinned. He’ll love seeing that when he wakes up. She covered him with the blanket, emblazoned with the emblem of the Russian Federation. She grabbed her phone, her fun-loving and playful side wanting to snap a picture. Holding up the mobile—her thumb hovering over the red icon—she adjusted his frame on the screen. After pausing a few moments, she stowed the cell, without taking the shot. I don’t know him well enough, yet. Spying the coffee cup to his right, she grabbed it, took a sip and made her way to the bathroom.