Free Brass Monkey: A James Acton Thriller Book #2 by J Robert Kennedy

something the Americans didn’t. They knew where New Slate was going to get the money to purchase the weapon.
    From the Hassassins themselves.
     

 
     
     
    Ochotny Riad Shopping Center, Red Square, Moscow
     
    Yakovski closed the change room door and quickly stripped naked. He sat down on the bench and pulled on a pair of black socks, then stood and removed all the tags from a pair of Levis, then pulled them on, sans underwear. Buttoning and zipping the fly, he cleaned a t-shirt of its tags, rolled it up and pulled it down over his neck. He stuffed his arms in the sleeves, pulled the cheap cotton-polyester blend over his torso, then shoved his feet in a pair of sneakers he had tried on moments before. He bundled up his clothes and placed them in a shopping bag, then deposited his watch, wallet and cigarettes including his prize lighter he had taken off an East German Colonel in a poker game in Dresden over 25 years ago. He left nothing to chance, knowing they could have planted a tracking device on anything. He fetched an FC Spartak Moskva ball cap from the bench and pulled it over the top of his head as he gazed in the mirror. He yanked it off, molded the brim with his hands into a gentle curve, then with one hand gripping the brim, the other the back, pulled it into place. He nodded in the mirror satisfied. Lady killer!
    He unlocked the change room door and opened it slightly. Then he waited. He was sure he was watched entering the store, and was quite certain only one of the two men tailing him had entered. And if he knew his quarry, they would be watching the change room door like a hawk. And an open door begged investigation. It would be irresistible. Is he still in there, did I miss him? Yakovski pictured what must be going through their minds. He stood, back to the wall behind the door, and waited. It only took a few minutes before the door moved slightly. Then a few more centimeters, and a hand appeared as it wrapped around the edge of the door.
    Yakovski reached forward with his right hand and seized the hand gripping the door. He yanked away and to the side, pulling his pursuer inside. With his knee, he pushed the door shut, then with his left arm placed the man into a chokehold, locking his left hand around his now freed right arm, pushing the man’s head into his left forearm with his right hand, cutting off the flow of blood. The man’s struggles soon became weak, and in less than a minute, he was unconscious.
    Yakovski tied the man’s hands and feet with his old pants and shirt, then stuffed his old socks into the man’s mouth. Peering out the door, he saw no one. He took up a position near the entrance, out of sight, and waited for the second tail to check on his partner. It took only five minutes before he saw a man casually stroll in with an anxious look on his face. Yakovski ducked behind a rack of women’s slacks, then as soon as the man had entered the changing room area, slipped out the front door of the shop, and into the throng of shoppers.

 
     
     
    Bulgakov Hotel, Moscow
     
    Trubitsin lay on the hotel bed, halfway through a cigarette and his morning coffee, feeling totally relaxed. He loved morning sex. Two bodies, barely awake, no kissing, none of the foreplay or intimacy two fully awake lovers demanded. This was basic. Primal. Instinctual. The rawness of it was a pleasure in itself. No tricks, no pressure, just plain old teenage style sex. Get in there, do your business, get out.
    He looked over at Anya, sleeping softly beside him, her naked body half covered by the sheet, her left leg draped over his. He ran his eyes over her body, and a little life sprang back into Grigori, Jr. He chuckled and turned, stubbing his cigarette out.
    Where the hell is Yakovski?
    As if on cue, the hotel phone rang. Anya stirred and rolled off him, turning away from the phone. He rolled his legs out of bed and grabbed the old, black, rotary style phone dating from Breshnev’s days as Chairman. He picked up