GURJEV, KAZAKHSTAN
Guns waited in the front of the basement cafe near the center of town while Massette called Corrine to update her. The server’s Russian had an accent Guns wasn’t familiar with, but he’d nonetheless managed to order tea and sandwiches. He wasn’t exactly sure what was between the bread, but was so hungry it didn’t matter. By the time Massette came back Guns had already cleared his own plate and was eying Massette’s food.
Gurjev was a large crossroads in western Kazakhstan on the Caspian Sea. They’d driven nearly four hundred miles without finding a trace of their quarry.
“Mon ami,” said Massette, pulling back the chair.
“They got something?”
“No. But Alston is very stubborn,” Massette said. “She wants us to keep looking.”
“Yeah. She’s almost as bad as Ferg.”
“Stubbornness is overrated as a personality trait,” said Massette, taking his sandwich.