The concierge called, and Bykov answered. “Yes?”
“Mr. Olsen and an associate are here to see you, sir. Shall I send them up?”
“Please do.”
A couple of minutes later the two operators from Brighton Beach showed up, and after identifying them through the peephole, Bykov let them in.
Anosov was short, lean, and dark, originally from the south in Uzbekistan, and Panov was much larger, with a barrel chest and the look of a Far Easterner, either from Mongolia or Siberia. Both of them were dressed in laborer’s clothes—jeans and loose-fitting khaki shirts, the tails out to conceal pistols.
Anosov and Bykov hugged. “Good to see you again, my old friend. Life is treating you well?” Anosov said.
“Tolerable.”
Anosov introduced Panov, and Bykov introduced his team members, and after they’d all shaken hands and sat down at the dining room table, Anosov went immediately to business.
“Are we late?” he asked.
“No,” Bykov said. He spread out the photographs of Cassy. “This is your target. She works for an investment firm, so she shouldn’t give you any trouble.”
Anosov studied the photographs and showed them one at a time to his partner. “Good-looking woman. What’s the problem, is she stealing from the company or something?”
“She may be carrying a flash drive that contains information the company wants returned to them.”
“Why don’t they just ask her for it?”
“They want her to disappear. Permanently, I’m assuming, because the information they want is on a flash drive, but it’s also inside her head.”
“Why don’t you handle it yourself?” Anosov asked. “You have the muscle.”
“We have a second op.”
Anosov took a photograph of Cassy peering over her shoulder from what looked like a workstation with several computer monitors. People were standing at similar stations on either side of her.
“Where is this place?”
“Burnham Pike; it’s on Nassau Street, not far from here.”
Anosov looked up, a faint smile on his narrow lips, almost as if he were getting ready to enjoy a nice meal. “We will have a free hand?”
“I want the flash drive today as soon as you’ve secured the woman. Send one of your people over with it. How you proceed after that is your business.”
Anosov started to say something, but Bykov held him off. “Our deal stands as it is, Leonid. We’re old friends, don’t fuck with me.”