“You want me to take her out?”
“That would be against the rules. Then again,” he paused, “accidents do happen.”
Evan nodded. “They certainly do.”
4
The random, occasional times Adriana had visited Moscow were during the winter months when the brutal Russian weather was at its fiercest. Freezing temperatures, cutting wind, and more snow than she cared to deal with kept her travels there to a minimum that time of year. The summer, it turned out, wasn’t so bad. Leaving the airport, she was pleasantly surprised to discover warm sunshine, green trees and shrubs, flowers, and a gentle breeze that tickled her skin.
She’d opted to rent her own car rather than hire a driver. There was no way of knowing the quality of a hired wheel, and her experience told her that it was best to rely on the one person she knew she could trust: herself. In situations that required fast getaways, Russian drivers could sometimes be fickle, slow to react, or just downright drunk.
Finding the black Mercedes sedan in the rental lot took virtually no time. The luxury auto stood out like a dandelion in a field of grass. She opened the rear door and deposited her bags in the back seat, preferring to keep her weapons close by as opposed to in the trunk and out of reach.
She slid into the driver’s seat and closed the door. The smell of rich leather filled her nostrils, something she never got tired of. She opened the map on her phone and pinpointed the address of the woman she’d researched earlier. Zaragova lived on the edge of the city where the rolling Russian countryside met the expanding concrete sprawl. Traffic was relatively light at that time of day, though that still meant a good number of cars and pedestrians until she got farther from town.
After the fall of Communism, Russia experienced an extremely difficult transition. Unemployment was unspeakably high. Poverty was rampant. There wasn’t enough energy or fuel to keep citizens warm in the bitter cold of winter, and food was sparse. During the worst of times, many Russians called for a return to Communism. After all, while the people weren’t necessarily happy, they’d at least had work, food, and a warm bed.
Eventually things began to turn around. New businesses sprang up, unemployment declined, and while the Russian economy still struggled to gain a foothold, there was, at least, light on the horizon. New apartment buildings and skyscrapers sprang up from the cold ashes of the old city. Beautiful architecture began to replace the drab, faceless structures from the Cold War. A city initiative to bring in more plant life had given a greener look to a place that, for decades, only appeared industrial at best.
Adriana was impressed with the city’s progress, in spite of the country’s enigmatic leader and constant rumors of corruption. Russian was one of the languages Adriana didn’t know well, but she knew enough to ask a few key questions, order food, and find her way around.
Twenty minutes after leaving the airport, the city’s buildings gave way to thicker stands of trees, parks, and subdivisions. The home she was looking for was on a small farm. Fortunately, driving was made easier with GPS to guide her.
Following the directions, she exited the freeway and turned left onto a two-lane road. In another five minutes, Adriana found herself surrounded by dense forest with a lush green canopy blocking out the piercing sunlight. She double checked the screen on her phone to make sure she hadn’t missed the turn. It was coming up, but sometimes these devices had a habit of missing country roads and driveways. She’d often wondered how many man-hours it took to map every little nook-and-cranny address in the world. It was an undertaking Adriana respected but would rather not be a part of.
The Mercedes zipped by a gravel driveway with a post displaying the number of the home. The next one would be the one she was looking for. During the drive into the country, she’d been watching the rearview mirror closely, an act that had become second nature through the years. Now she didn’t even think about it. Experience had taught her to always watch for a tail, to never let anyone sneak up on her.
She laughed at the thought. On more than one occasion, Adriana had found herself checking out the cars behind her as she drove to a menial location like the grocery store or a coffee shop. Such was the habit she’d developed.
Better to be too careful, she thought. Another involuntary glance revealed what the previous ones had: the road behind was empty.
Another numbered post appeared up ahead, this one with a blue mailbox attached. Adriana slowed the sedan. Her eyes narrowed, making sure she had the right address. The numbers matched those on her GPS, so she turned the car onto the gravel driveway. The tires made a crunching sound on the packed rocks.
There was no home to be seen, not yet anyway. The driveway stretched out fifty yards, cutting into the forest and then curving left. The trees were so thick that if there were a home on the other side, it was obscured from view.
She kept the speed low and steered the car around the curve. The driveway straightened out for thirty yards then bent back to the right. Whoever had originally laid out the path must have had a thing for snake-like patterns. After another short straightaway, the gravel road started to incline. Once she reached the crest, a meadow opened up beyond the forest. A moderately sized, two-story home stood in the middle of a grassy field. Its brown walls were drab and looked like they needed some care and a good painting. Several tall trees dotted the front and backyards, providing shade in the hot summer sun. Beyond the home, around a hundred feet away, a matching brown barn stood in a field, surrounded by aged wooden fencing. Some of the fence rails had fallen down and never been repaired.
Adriana rapidly scanned the property, assessing points of entry to the home aside from the front door. A rickety wooden porch extended out from a pair of doors on the second floor, where she assumed the master bedroom was located.
A shadow passed over her car as she slowed to stop. She looked up and noticed a dark cloud drifting across the face of the sun. Several more like it lurked on the horizon.
There were no animals roaming around, though it appeared there probably had been at some point in the past. Weeds and tall grass sprang up around the acreage, a telling sign to the state of neglect and disrepair into which the farm had fallen.
The sole car on the property, a rusted-out old Škoda, sat near the front steps, though from its appearance, Adriana wondered how far the poorly cared for vehicle would get.
She got out and looked around. Birds chirped in the treetops, joining in nature’s symphony with the rustling of the breeze as it passed through the branches. Adriana could see why someone picked this spot. It was serene, relaxing, far away from the troubles and rat race of the city. She wondered why the current tenant didn’t do a better job of keeping up the place, but that was none of her business. It was likely because the woman was advancing in years and didn’t have the desire to put the time or money in anymore.
Halfway to the front steps, Adriana saw the front door open. A stout woman with thick gray hair tied up in a bun stood in the doorframe. She wore a purple robe over pink silk pajama pants. With a glass containing a clear liquid gripped tightly in her right hand, she peered at Adriana suspiciously.
“What do you want?” she asked in Russian.
Adriana responded with the limited words she knew, asking if the woman knew English or another language they could speak.
“You come to my home and ask me to talk in another tongue that is not my own?” Sonya Zaragova responded in perfect yet heavily accented English.
“I do apologize,” Adriana said, stopping at the bottom of the steps. “I speak several languages and can read many more, but Russian is one I’ve yet to master.”