What little was left in the bottle burned on the way down, and Sofiya thought that maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing it was empty. Her endgame was drawing near, and she had better keep a clear head if she didn’t want to miss her exit.
Raising the bottle, she toasted the empty room. “To the price of freedom.”
FRIDAY, AUGUST 9, 1986.
Sometimes the best disguises can be the ones that attract all the attention. And today, a wavy redhead wig, a snug, low-cut leopard-print dress, and overdone makeup that was just the right side of vulgarity was exactly the right combination for the job at hand. Everything about Sofiya was designed to tell a story: the way she’d done her hair, the expensive clothes, and the golden jewellery she wore. People judged books by their covers and individuals by their looks, and Sofiya was dead set on selling the ‘rich, middle-aged, comfortable woman’ persona tonight.
The cab left her at the entrance to The Strand, a waterfront hotel situated in one of the city’s historic buildings. The thick red carpet that took her past the front door cushioned the steps of her tall high-heeled shoes. Sofiya took slow, measured steps, and swayed her hips from side to side as she aimed for the counter. When she reached it, she drummed her fake nails on the marble top until a young girl in an elegant costume, who was barely more than a teenager, turned her way.
“How can I help you, Madam?” she asked, with a practised, polite smile.
“Svetlana Alexeïeva,” she said, her Russian accent thick. “I booked a room.”
The young woman checked her register and offered her an even larger smile when she found her booking. She handed her a magnetic key card to one of the hotel’s finest suites.
“Do you have any bags, Madam?” the young clerk asked, ever so politely. “I can have someone take them upstairs for you if you’d like.”
“Niet,” she said. “One of my men will take care of that later. Are we done here?”
The young woman nodded, and Sofiya left without saying goodbye. Channelling someone as obnoxious and pompous as Minister-Counsellor Alexeïeva was an easy task; she only had to think she was better than everyone else in the room and let her looks do the rest.
Placing the key in her small designer-leather purse, Sofiya headed for the hotel bar rather than her room. Though she was certain the suite was of the finest quality with an astonishing view of Östermalm and Djurgården, she knew she would never set foot in it. She had another mission to accomplish here this evening, and if her intel proved correct, it started at the bar.
She easily found her destination and aimed straight for the counter once she got there. The bar wasn’t large. It had about half a dozen dark tables and a long rectangular backlit counter. But with its dim, moody lighting and mirrored walls, the room appeared larger than it actually was.
Sofiya turned quite a few heads on her way to the counter, and she smiled inwardly, even as she pretended not to notice. The crowd in attendance was mostly male, seated in small groups at the various tables with glasses of liquor in one hand and a smoke or a cigar in the other. By the looks of it, they were mostly businessmen. And none of them seemed averse to the idea of spending an hour or two with the ravishing creature that had just crossed the room.
Sofiya paid them no mind, as she ordered a gin and tonic from the young, dark-skinned bartender. She was a little disappointed that there was no music playing in the background to sway her hips to. She’d have expected such a feature in a place like this, but the owners must have thought the thick grey carpeting was enough to smother the ambient sounds.
Using the various mirrors present and the cascading reflections they provided, Sofiya discreetly studied her surroundings and every patron present. Her mark was seated near the back of the room, and he wasn’t alone. Two men sat at his table, and judging by their square shoulders, rigid posture, and the familiar bulging shape she could discern beneath their jackets, they were the hired help.
Serov had warned her this wouldn’t be an easy mission, but just for once, she could have done with a stroke of luck. By the looks of things, she’d have to play it the hard way once more. The good thing was, she wasn’t alone to complete the mission. The bad thing was, she’d have gone with a different kind of help, had she been given a choice.
One table removed from their mark sat a lonely Mikhaïl Serov in a dark-grey business suit, complete with a tie. He was nursing a half-empty glass of vodka on the rocks, looking like a man who needed to relax after a long hard day at the office. He, too, made no effort to hide his interest in the beautiful dame that had just stopped at the counter. When their gazes met in the mirror’s reflection, he gave Sofiya a small smirk before letting his gaze drop to appreciate everything that was put on display.
Sofiya cursed him inwardly but kept her attitude in check. Reaching for the drink that the barman had just placed in front of her, she turned to face the room at large. Placing an elbow on the counter, she pushed her shoulders back and used the twin advantages nature had given her to their full strength. In her head, she started counting to ten. She’d barely reached eight when a middle-aged man, who ought to spend more time at the gym and less drinking beer with his buddies, walked up to her.
“What’s a lovely thing like you doing in a place like this all by her lonesome?” he asked in an English that was tinged with an unmistakable American accent. The smell of whiskey was thick on his breath.
Sofiya smiled warmly as she turned to him. “Desperately waiting for some company,” she replied in the same language, but with a more eastern accent.
“Well, search no more, baby doll,” the man said with a smile that showed he couldn’t believe his luck. “You’ve just found it.”
Sofiya chuckled as she took his arm. When it became obvious that he intended to go back to his table, where his two buddies waited with matching incredulous looks, she steered him to the back of the room. “Let’s get our own table, shall we?”
Predictably, there was no protest, and Sofiya quickened her step so that she was soon ahead of the man. When she walked past Serov’s table, the Directorate K agent emptied his glass before standing up. Acting as if he were leaving the room, he followed the couple as they headed for the last table at the back of the room.
Just as she passed by the mark’s table, Sofiya turned on her heel and threw her glass at her date.
“What did you say?” she hollered, loud enough to be heard by everyone and anyone within walking distance. “I don’t know who you think I am, but I will not sleep with you for money.”
It was hard to tell what surprised the plump businessman more: the gin and tonic that was dripping from his face or the woman’s impromptu outburst. Raising both hands up in a placating gesture, he tried stammering an apology, but never got past a mix of ‘uh’ and ‘I’.
Sofiya gave him no time to become more coherent. Stepping back from him, she yelled, “Get your hands off me, you pervert!”
“Everything all right, Miss?” Serov asked as he came to her aid. Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed the poor man from behind. Acting as if he were trying to prevent him from assaulting his victim further, he got a good grasp on the Casanova wannabe.
That seemed to shake the man out of his stupor, and he bellowed, “Le’me go, you prick!” even as he tried fending off Serov. “I haven’t done anything.”
The Soviet agent may have been a good head shorter than this Casanova, but he was no amateur, and he’d knocked out men twice his size before without breaking a sweat. He gave as good as he got, elbowed the businessman in the guts, and sent him flying to the side.