Orlov fidgeted beneath the table. He glanced sideways towards the other men in the room. They each sat transfixed, staring at the screen. Dr. Popov stood at the front of the room with the video playing behind him.

 

“As you can see, the newly recruited Assets arrive at the operating room sedated.”

 

P&K’s monthly Executive Meetings could be quite dull, but you could always count on Dr. Popov to titillate the audience. Today he was tasked with giving an overview of the latest NIRA implantation procedures.

 

“Their clothes are promptly removed upon arrival. The drug we place in their drink is usually potent enough to keep the Assets unconscious while they are stripped.”

 

Popov may be pompous but he’s not dumb. Orlov doubted any of these men were actually listening to the doctor’s words; instead, their eyes were glued to the screen.

 

Orlov didn’t blame them. He recognized the girl on the screen, of course. She was a petite brunette, dressed in a white blouse and black pencil skirt. The camera briefly zoomed in on her face. Her full lips were slightly parted in her sleeping state. And, although her eyes were closed, Orlov knew there were deep brown irises underneath those lids. Yes, he remembered Sofia Stevenson’s interview quite well.

 

The camera slowly panned down, hovering over Sofia’s chest, watching it expand and contract as she breathed in her sleep. The camera panned down further. The men in the room could see where her white blouse was tucked into her pencil skirt, they could follow the outline of her hips and waist as the camera moved down towards her thighs. The hem of Sofia’s skirt stopped just above her knees, revealing tanned calves. Finally, the camera paused at her feet, just in time to capture one of the twins removing her black high heels.

 

This is rather gratuitous, Orlov thought. Wasn’t the point to explain the actual NIRA procedure? Orlov glanced at the executive sitting next to him. He sat upright, but his jaw was almost on the table. No, Orlov concluded, this is more entertainment than it is education.

 

The faceless hands slowly removed Sofia’s heels, revealing dainty tanned feet. Her toenails were painted white; it had been summer when she was recruited. One of the twin’s voices announced that her shoe size was 6.5.

 

The camera panned back up to her chest, just in time to catch another man’s hands unbuttoning her blouse. After all the buttons were slowly undone, the blouse was tossed open, revealing a plain white bra which stood out in bright contrast to her tanned skin. Her shapely breasts filled her bra well. The camera watched them rise and fall slowly as she inhaled and exhaled.

 

Her arms were removed from her sleeves and then she was delicately turned over to lay on her stomach. One of the twins removed her blouse and bagged it while the other gradually unzipped the back of her pencil skirt. When it was all the way unzipped, two hands grabbed the hem of the skirt and pulled gently, slowly revealing her tight tan ass. As the skirt inched downwards, the camera revealed that Sofia was wearing a bright pink thong. As her ass came into full view, the camera zoomed in on the waistband of her thong, capturing the “Veronica’s Whispers” logo. The camera quickly panned up to show the other twin quickly unclasping her white bra.

 

The camera panned back down to her ass as two hands grabbed the waistband of her pink thong and delicately pulled it over her ass, down her thighs and calves and off of her tiny ankles. The thong was placed in a bag and the twins rolled Sofia back onto her back.

 

Her arms were snaked through the straps of her bra before it was finally pulled off, releasing her tan breasts which jiggled as they sprung free. Her small brown nipples were hard, brought to life by the cold air of the operating room.

 

Orlov heard the door behind him open quietly. He looked back over his shoulder to see Irina walk in carrying a pitcher of coffee. Most of the lights in the boardroom were turned off so that the executives could better see the video. He felt her hand on his right shoulder.

 

“More coffee, sir?” she whispered.

 

“Yes, please.”

 

She leaned over and poured the black liquid into Orlov’s mug. For a second, he thought it was going to overflow. He quickly glanced up at Irina, who in turn was staring at the screen. The twins were lifting Sofia off of her gurney and onto the operating table, her nudity in full view. Orlov glanced back down towards his mug. Luckily, Irina had stopped pouring just short of the brim. She quietly turned around and walked out of the boardroom, softly shutting the door behind her.

 

“We then place the IV as any remaining important metrics are gathered. The operating table has a built-in scale which measures the Asset’s weight and sends it to one of the overhead monitors.”

 

The camera panned to Nurse Nadya who began palpating Sofia’s inner elbow, looking for a vein. One of the twin’s voices could be heard announcing that Sofia is 5’4”, or 163 centimeters. Dr. Popov reads out her weight as 120 pounds, or 54 kilograms.

 

As Nurse Nadya places the IV, the camera pans up towards Sofia’s face. She’s starting to stir. Slowly, her big brown eyes open.

 

“This is usually when the Assets begin to regain consciousness. Fortunately, since the IV is already placed, we can quickly and efficiently sedate them again.”

 

The camera catches Sofia as she tries to raise her head. She blinks several times as her eyes adjust to the bright overhead lights. Nurse Nadya quickly begins positioning both of Sofia’s arms on the armpads, which are held out at 45-degree angles. Once her arms are in position, Nurse Nadya ties them down with black leather straps.

 

This seems to wake Sofia up even more. She begins to struggle against the straps. She starts to speak, although the camera doesn’t quite pick up what she’s saying. The camera pans to her left elbow, where Nurse Nadya inserts a small syringe into Sofia’s IV.

 

“The midazolam quickly relaxes the Asset prior to administering the propofol. A muscle relaxant is administered at this time.”

 

Indeed, the camera captures the tension slowly leaving Sofia’s body. Her furrowed brow relaxes, her arms rest limply on the pads.

 

The camera pans over to Nurse Nadya, who retrieves a larger syringe filled with a milky substance.

 

“The bolus dose of propofol quickly induces unconsciousness.”

 

The camera zooms in on Nurse Nadya’s hand as she gently presses the plunger. The camera then pans to Sofia’s face just in time to see her eyelids droop and her mouth fall open. Even though the camera is held directly in front of her eyes, it’s obvious she can’t see it anymore. She’s out.

 

Dr. Popov lifts both of her eyelids, shining a small light in each. He pulls her mouth open a few times, testing the effects of the muscle relaxant.

 

“Once the muscle relaxant has fully taken effect, the patient is intubated.”

 

Dr. Popov stretches Sofia’s mouth open as a wide as it will go before inserting the laryngeal mask, pushing it down into her throat. Once the tube is in place, Dr. Popov connects it to the anesthesia cart.

 

“The anesthesia cart will continuously pump sevoflurane into the Asset’s lungs, keeping her unconscious and comfortable for the remainder of the procedure. Now, the patient is repositioned for the implantation.”

 

Dr. Popov and Nurse Nadya flip Sofia over onto her stomach. Her ass is then raised up, the bottom half of the table folds under and two leg rests swing out from underneath the table. Dr. Popov grabs Sofia’s ankles one at a time, stretching her legs out into position and tying them down with black leather straps.

 

“A quick pelvic exam is performed to confirm the Asset’s health. While the pelvic exam is ongoing, the cervical implantation can begin.”

 

The camera watches Dr. Popov lube up his gloved fingers before panning over to Nurse Nadya, who is brushing Sofia’s brown hair away from the back of her neck. Nurse Nadya produces a small electric razor and begins shaving a small area of Sofia’s hair. Then the camera pans back to Dr. Popov as he slowly inserts his gloved fingers into Sofia’s vagina.

 

Orlov scanned the dark boardroom, trying to get a good glimpse of the other men’s faces. While it was difficult to see, he could tell they were all focused on the video. This is going to be a tough act to follow, he thought. It would be made even tougher by the fact that Orlov didn’t have good news to share. And he certainly didn’t have a video like this to distract them.

 

Dr. Popov continued to narrate the rest of the procedure to his captive audience, their eyes transfixed by the posterior implantation procedure. Irina came into the room once more to fill Orlov’s coffee, coming in and out without another soul recognizing her brief presence.

 

Finally, Dr. Popov turned the lights on as the video faded to black.

 

“And that, gentlemen, is our most up-to-date procedure for NIRA implantation.”

 

As Orlov’s eye adjusted to the light, he could finally get a good look at the other men’s faces. Most of them were flush. A few of them coughed and pulled at their collars. Some took the opportunity to take large gulps of water from the glasses they had previously been ignoring.

 

“With that, I turn it over to Asset Management,” said Dr. Popov, taking a seat at the table.

 

The men swiveled in their chairs to face Orlov. He cleared his throat and stood up.

 

“Yes, well, thank you, Dr. Popov, for that very… detailed presentation,” said Orlov as he walked to the front of the room. “I’m afraid I don’t have such interesting visuals to accompany my own.”

 

He heard a few men laugh. I’ll take it. He stood behind the podium, leaning on it with both hands.

 

“I’m also sorry to say that I have to report a… minor hiccup to our operations.”

 

This statement seemed to snap the executives out of whatever haze they previously had been in. Many began to lean forward in their chairs, their eyes fixed on him.

 

“Yesterday, we had an agent from the MBI pay our warehouse a visit.”

 

The men shifted in their seats. Several exchanged worried glances. No one spoke.

 

“This agent said she was tipped off anonymously.”

 

“Tipped off about what?”

 

Orlov looked up, searching for the source of the rough voice. He recognized it, of course.

 

“Mr. Kvass, yes… well… the agent didn’t tell me what exactly the tip said.”

 

“So we do not know what they know.”

 

Orlov tried to steady himself as he maintained eye contact with his boss. Mikhail Kvass was an intimidating man, bald with a red scar that ran from his right eyebrow down across to his left cheek.

 

“There is no reason to believe this agent knows anything about our operations.”

 

Another voice spoke up: “The question remains—who tipped off the MBI?”

 

Orlov recognized the softer voice immediately: Victor Zakharov, Director of Technology.

 

“Yes, Dr. Zakharov, I had the same question. So, I looked into our Assets currently in the field. We sent out quick blasts to their NIRAs, ordering each Asset to send back their assigned codes. Only one Asset failed to respond.”

 

“Impossible!” Popov blurted out. “No Assets should be able to resist such a command.”

 

“He’s right,” Zakharov confirmed.

 

Orlov shrugged. “I can’t speak to that. What I can tell you is that this Asset is currently unresponsive. It appears her NIRA is malfunctioning.”

 

Silence fell over the room. Popov exchanged a nervous glance with Zakharov.

 

Orlov went on, “This is Asset 225, currently a student at the University of Monroe. One… Daria Jones.”

 

The name didn’t seem to ring any bells. After another awkward silence, Zakharov cleared his throat.

 

“And surely you attempted to restart this Asset’s NIRA?”

 

Orlov nodded, “I tried, but the remote restart function doesn’t seem to be working.”

 

Zakharov stared at Orlov, then glanced back at Popov.

 

Orlov decided to press on. “The clear next step is to bring the Asset in and manually restart her NIRA.”

 

A few voices muttered quiet sounds of agreement.

 

Mr. Kvass coughed, then said, “Zakharov, do you agree with this plan?”

 

Zakharov turned to face Mr. Kvass, but did not look him in the eyes. “Yes… if she is truly unresponsive… we must bring her in and conduct tests on her NIRA.”

 

“And this Asset could be the source of the anonymous tip?” asked Mr. Kvass.

 

“This is unprecedented… she very well could be… I do not—"

 

“Damn it!” shouted Kvass, pounding his fist on the table. Several of the men jumped.

 

“I need a straight answer out of you, Zak!”

 

“Yes, sir!” said Zakharov, sitting up so straight that he began to resemble a mannequin. “If the Asset’s NIRA is malfunctioning… she could indeed be lucid enough… to the point that she remembers sensitive information about our operations.”

 

“Then she must be brought in immediately,” said Mr. Kvass, leaning back in his chair. He crossed his arms over his large belly. “See that it’s done quickly and quietly, Orlov.”

 

“Yes, sir,” said Orlov meekly. “And there’s one other thing, sir, if I may—”

 

“What is it?” Mr. Kvass hissed.

 

“This MBI agent… we don’t know what she knows. She presents a huge potential risk.”

 

“And what do you suggest we do about that?”

 

Orlov gulped. “It seems logical that we should… bring her in as well.”

 

Mr. Kvass let out a deep, loud laugh. The other men in the room exchanged glances before quickly following suit.

 

“Let me get this straight,” said Mr. Kvass, wiping the tears from his eyes, “You want to abduct an agent of the Monroe Bureau of Investigation? On a whim?”

 

Orlov felt his face grow warm. “She—she could know too much—”

 

“Out of the question.”

 

“But sir!”

 

“I will not have the full weight of the MBI come down on us, Orlov,” said Mr. Kvass. “You need a better plan.”

 

I prepared for this. Orlov cleared his throat. “Fine. There is another… less direct way.”

 

“Good. You’re using your head now. Let’s hear it.”

 

“I did some research into this agent. Her name is Laurel Lane. She’s 25-years old and lives in Maple Mews with her older sister, Kathryn Lane. If we can’t bring in the agent, let’s at least bring in her sister, turn her into an Asset and find out what Laurel Lane knows.”

 

Again, whispers filled the room. The men turned to Mr. Kvass and awaited his answer.

 

He stared at Orlov, rubbing his chin with his right hand.

 

Finally, he spoke: “Fine. Good.”

 

Orlov let out a sigh of relief. He could breathe again.

 

“Send out two teams. Pick up both Kathryn Lane and the unresponsive Asset and bring them back here.” Mr. Kvass stood up. The rest of the men stood up as well. He was by far the tallest man in the room. He turned to walk out the door. Mr. Kvass swung the door open, but paused before leaving. He turned back to face the room.

 

“Quick and clean. No mess, gentlemen,” he said, and walked out.

 

 

***

 

Maria Miller sat at the bar in Vino et Vita, a Collegeville wine bar. It was located right off Main Street above a coffee shop, and nearly every square inch of wall was covered with shelves that featured alternating bottles of red and white wine. Edison lightbulbs hanging from the ceiling managed to give the dimly lit bar a slightly industrial feel.

 

Vino et Vita was a classier establishment than Maria was used to patronizing. She was more at home in Badger Blitz Pub or School Spirits, but she tried to act natural regardless. She ordered a glass of New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc (she only liked white wine) and sipped it slowly.

 

She tried to look the part, too. She was wearing a black dress with a low neckline and a long slit on running up the length of her right side. She wore no tights underneath—a strategic decision if not a somewhat unwise choice, given the weather outside. She glanced out the window to her left. Yep, still snowing.

 

She took another sip from her glass. The wine was good—tropical and herbaceous. The more she drank, the warmer she felt. And so her glass quickly found itself empty and she waved the bartender over to order another.

 

Then she heard the male voice come in through her earpiece. “Be careful, 232. You need to keep your wits tonight.”

 

The flesh-colored earpiece was hidden behind Maria’s blonde hair. Even though she knew better, she couldn’t help but feel that the other bar patrons could hear Orlov’s voice too.

 

She turned away from the bartender and whispered into her left shoulder. “You want me to be outgoing, don’t you? The wine helps with that.”

 

“I want you to be outgoing and smart. I’m not sure wine helps with the latter.”

 

“Then you’ve never seen me drink.”

 

“This is your last glass before the target arrives. Savor it. Our intel says he’s on his way.”

 

Maria turned back to face the bartender. He was walking over her fresh glass of white wine. “Thank you,” she said, before sliding over a $10 bill. The young bartender nodded and gave her a smile before walking away. He reminded her of the bartender back in St. Petersburg, Konstantin. She thought back to that night in Marmeladov’s Tavern. Even though it had been less than a year since she had returned to the U.S., it felt like a lifetime ago.

 

She took another sip from her glass and thought back to her interview at Pirozhki & Kvass. She remembered her conversation with the friendly brunette, Irina. Her nerves when she walked into Orlov’s office. She remembered talking about Sofia and then handing him the pin… that special pin. Then her memory got fuzzy.

 

She racked her brain while taking another sip. What happened next?

 

Then it all came back to her in a flood of images and sounds. Orlov had stood up from his desk and exclaimed that he would love to have Maria join P&K. That her love of the motherland was clear and that he had no doubt that she would serve Russia well. That he already had an easy first mission planned for her: she just had to get to know some professor at her university, and she would even get to drink while doing it. Even better—P&K would reimburse her for her drinks!

 

Orlov had walked around his huge wooden desk to stand in front of Maria. She stood up too. They shook hands. Her blue eyes met his blue eye. “Welcome to Pirozhki & Kvass. I’ve got big plans for you.”

 

Why had that been so difficult to remember? It had been one of the most exciting moments in her life—her first real job! And she got it after her first interview, which had only seemed to last about ten minutes. Maybe it’s the wine. Maybe I should slow down.

 

Orlov’s voice came in through the earpiece once more, interrupting Maria’s thoughts. “He’s walking in now. Remember the plan.”

 

Maria took a final sip of her wine, set it to the side, and tried to remember her instructions. He’s in his late forties. He’s a computer science professor. He loves French reds. Maria kept her eye on the door.

 

Within a few seconds, a man wearing a brown tweed blazer entered the bar. He was about 5’8” and had thinning brown hair. He was in his early fifties and wore a loose-fitting blue button down under his blazer. As he walked over to the bar, he cast a quick glance towards Maria and, seeing that she was also looking at him, darted his eyes away immediately.

 

He took a seat about six chairs away to Maria’s right. It was just the two of them at the bar.

 

Maria turned her head to the left and whispered into her shoulder. “The target is at the bar.”

 

“Good,” Orlov’s voice came in over the static. “You know what to do next.”

 

As the man perused the wine selection, Maria ushered the bartender over. As he grew closer, she leaned in and whispered, “I’d like to buy that gentleman a glass of wine.” Then she took a moment to remember the right words. Come on, you’ve practiced this like 20 times.

 

The bartender raised an eyebrow as he waited for Maria’s order. Then she continued, with her best French pronunciation: “Chateauneuf-du-Pape, Domaine du Vieux Telegraphe, 2012.”

 

The bartender smiled. “Excellent choice.” He turned around and started looking for the bottle.

 

“Good job, 232,” said Orlov over the static.

 

Maria watched as the bartender poured the dark red liquid into a wine glass and brought it over to the professor. She saw him glance over as the bartender gestured in her direction. He smiled at her. She smiled back.

 

With the glass of wine in his hand, the professor stood up and walked over towards her. “Anyone sitting here?” He pointed to the chair on her right.

 

“I’m afraid I’ve been stood up,” Maria smiled. “It’s all yours.”

 

The man sat down with a grin. Maria leaned over and held her hand out. “I’m Maria, by the way.”

 

“Clark,” he said, taking her hand and giving it a firm shake. “Thank you for the wine. You have excellent taste.”

 

“You can’t beat a good red from the Rhone,” she said, trying her best to remember her lines and the correct pronunciation. I wish Russia was more well known for its wine. I’d be set.

 

“I couldn’t agree more,” said Clark, lifting the glass up to his nose. “Ahh, muted nose. Sous-bois. Sweet candied fruit. Anise. Cherry.” He put the glass down and spun it briefly, the red liquid swirling around the glass like a whirlpool. Then he held it up to his nose once again. “Prune… allspice… lilac.”

 

“I always get hints of strawberry and raspberry,” Maria repeated the line she’d practiced. In reality, she hadn’t drunk a red wine since her freshman year.

 

“Interesting… yes, I think I do get a bit of strawberry.” He held the glass up to his lips and took a small sip, swirling the liquid around in his mouth. “Fresher fruit on the palate—merely ripe rather than over ripe. There’s a mahogany richness to it. Yes… cardamom, caraway, and dark chocolate. Medium to high acidity. Strong integrated tannins. There’s a rugged edge to it. A round and enveloping body.”

 

Maria did her best to look impressed. “Wow, you get that all from a single sip?”

 

 “I love French reds,” Clark grinned. “This isn’t my first. Not by a long shot.” He took another sip and closed his eyes.

 

Maria took the opportunity to look out the window again. The snow was coming down harder now.

 

When she turned back, she was surprised to find Clark staring at her.

 

“You said you were stood up? I find that hard to believe.”

 

Maria shrugged. “This is why I hate younger men. They’re so immature. They don’t know what they want. Older men have their shit together.”

 

This seemed to make Clark perk up. “You go to UMon, I presume?”

 

“Yes, I’m a senior. Russian major.”

 

“I actually teach at the university,” Clark took another sip. “Computer Science.”

 

“Really?” Maria acted surprised. “You look too young to be a professor.”

 

“I’ve been here ten years, actually. I’m up for tenure this year.”

 

 Maria leaned in closer, “You need a good review?”

 

Clark laughed. “I don’t think a good review from a Russian major would do much for me. You don’t happen to understand quantum computing, do you?”

 

“Quantum computing? What’s that?”

 

Clark placed his glass back on the bar. “I’ll try my best to dumb it down. Okay, imagine you have a toy box with lots and lots of toys. Normally, when you want to play with one toy, you have to take it out of the box, play with it, and then put it back before you can take out another one. That's how our regular, everyday computers work—they do one thing at a time.

 

“Now, think of a magical toy box that lets you play with all the toys at the same time. Quantum computers are a bit like that magical toy box. Instead of doing one thing after another, they can do lots of things all at once, which makes them really, really fast for certain special jobs. Kind of like how this wine can have multiple aromas or multiple flavors all at once. It's like having super-fast magic for solving puzzles and problems.”

 

“That’s really cool,” said Maria. “You must be really smart.”

 

Clark blushed. “Well, we’ll see if the tenure and promotion committee thinks so.”

 

Maria heard Orlov’s voice come in over the static once more. “Good job, 232. Now escalate.”

 

Maria had feared this next part was coming. She did her best to smile and leaned in again. “I bet you have quite the wine collection back at your place. I’d love to see it, if you have the time.”

 

Clark looked like he was about to choke on his wine. “Um—yes. Yes, I do. I’d be happy to… show you. If you really want to see it.”

 

Maria reached out and placed her hand on his leg. “I really do.”

 

He took a large gulp of wine and put the glass back down on the bar. “Well, yes, good. I’ll—let me go run to the little boy’s room and then we can go.”

 

Maria smiled. “I’ll be waiting.”

 

She watched Clark get up and walk to the restroom. When he was a safe distance away, she turned her head to the left and said, “He’s going to the bathroom, then we’re leaving.”

 

“Good. You’ve done very well so far.”

 

“You promised I won’t have to do anything… right?”

 

“Of course not,” Orlov assured her in his melodic voice. “We wouldn’t put you in that position. Just go back to his place, have another glass of wine, and make up an excuse to get out of there. Give him your number if you feel comfortable. That’s all we ask.”

 

“Okay.” Maria felt herself relax. “I can do that.”

 

She turned around just in time to see Clark exit the restroom. He smiled as he walked up to her. “Ready to go?”

 

“Yeah,” she said, standing up. “Let’s go.”

 

***

 

Orlov sat in the back of a non-descript black sedan. He watched Maria exit the building with Clark Campbell following close behind.

 

Orlov leaned forward. “Wait until they get in his car and drive off.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Oleg responded.

 

“If you don’t mind me asking, sir,” said Boris, who was sitting in the passenger seat, “should we be prepared to pick up 232 afterwards?”

 

“After what?”

 

Boris glanced over at his twin. “After she’s had her glass of wine?”

 

Orlov let out a deep laugh. “232 won’t need to be picked up tonight.”

 

Boris looked confused. “But you said—”

 

“Never mind what I said,” said Orlov, his voice dripping with venom. “Tell me, Mr. Gusev, do you believe every fairytale you hear? Do you cry for the little girl at the end of Morozko?”

 

“I’m not sure I—”

 

“You’ve been at P&K long enough to know how this works. We tell the Asset what she wants to hear. The longer into a mission that the Asset stays lucid and cooperative, the better. If we activate the NIRA too early, the target may get spooked.” Orlov leaned back into his seat. “That’s becoming less of a problem as more advanced versions of the NIRA are developed, but it remains a risk nonetheless.

 

“After our Cyber Penetration division hacked his computer, we learned that Professor Campbell is into far more than just French wine. In fact, he’s into some rather kinky shit, if you ask me. I mean—I don’t judge, of course—but we have to find ways to take advantage of such intel.

 

“We also know that Professor Campbell typically turns to escorts to satisfy his depraved perversions. But, as far as we can tell, none of those escorts are as young and as beautiful as 232. And none of them share his love of wine.

 

“Now, imagine Professor Campbell finds himself in the company of a sexy young woman that shares his interests both inside and outside of the bedroom. And he doesn’t even need to pay her! What might Professor Campbell reveal to this woman? What might he confide in her?

 

“I see!” Boris exclaimed. “So you told 232 to have sex with this professor guy?”

 

“You’re an imbecile,” Orlov groaned. In the driver seat, Oleg shook his head.

 

“We will let 232 progress into the night—voluntarily—as long as possible,” Orlov spoke as if he were talking to a toddler. “When Professor Campbell inevitably makes a move, we will activate her NIRA and order her to comply with his wishes. Afterwards, we will plant the false memory that she returned to campus after a single drink.”

 

“Sorry to interrupt, sir,” said Oleg. “But their car just pulled off.”

 

“Excellent,” said Orlov, rubbing his hands together. “Let’s follow the little lovebirds.”

 

Oleg peeled out of their parking spot and followed the car in front of them, their tail lights a welcome guide in the dark, snowy night.