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

the receiver and held it to his ear. “Da.”
    “We’ve been compromised.”
    Trubitsin’s heart thumped as adrenaline raced through his veins. “Da. Plan B.”
    He hung up the phone, quietly got out of bed and began to dress. Anya rolled over. “Who was that?”
    “Yakovski.”
    “Problem?”
    “Da. They found us.”
    She propped her pillow against the headboard and shuffled her body to a sitting position.
    “They probably followed me here.”
    “No doubt.” He looked around for his shirt.
    Anya pointed behind a nearby chair. “Over there, darling.”
    “Thanks.” He picked it up off the floor and shoved his arms in, then quickly buttoned it up. Finished, he slipped on his pants, socks and shoes, tossed his few belongings into a carry-on bag, then returned to the bed, climbing on with one knee and positioning himself in front of her. “It’s best if we aren’t seen together.” He kissed her then pushed himself up off the bed.
    “I understand. Where shall I meet you?”
    “Cyprus, as discussed.” He headed to the door.
    “Bye, darling, it’s been fun!”
    Trubitsin smiled at her, peered out the peephole and opened the door carefully. He glanced out into the hallway, and finding it empty, quickly made his way out a little used employee exit he had scouted months before.
     

 
     
     
    Southeast District Police Headquarters, Kashirskoye Street, Moscow
    Briefing Room A
     
    “Are you kidding me? It hasn’t even been an hour!”
    The men mumbled their apologies, their heads hung so low in shame they threatened to tumble to the floor they stared at. Dymovsky glared at one and then the other, not sure which one he was madder at. He shook his head then pointed to the one who was assaulted. “Get yourself checked out, make sure he didn’t damage any of the few remaining brain cells you have left. Judging by today’s quality of police work, I’d say he may just have cost you your last few.”
    “Yes, sir.” The man left, leaving his partner to take the heat for both.
    “And you!”
    The man snapped to attention; his eyes longingly followed his partner from the office, then turned to face Dymovsky. “Yes, sir!”
    “You and I, Ivan, will go pick up Anya Kushchenko. There’s no way that is a coincidence.”
    “Yes, sir!”
    Dymovsky headed for the door and pointed at three uniforms sitting at their desks. “Come with us.”
    They drove to the hotel in two cars, and mostly in silence. As they pulled up, Ivan cleared his throat as if he had something to say.
    “What is it?” asked Dymovsky.
    “Well, sir, should we be doing this? I mean, isn’t she FSB’s responsibility?”
    “And what if she is?”
    “Well, sir, won’t they be mad?”
    “Most likely.”
    Ivan gulped and with a hint of panic in his voice, almost whispered, “But you don’t want to piss those people off, sir! You’re liable to end up in Siberia!”
    Dymovsky brought the car to a halt and threw open the door. He glanced back at his scared underling. “My orders come from higher than you can possibly imagine.”
    Ivan’s eyes shot up at this, seeming to rid him of some of his fear. They climbed from the car and headed to the hotel entrance. Joined by the other three men, he ordered two to the back of the hotel, one to remain at the front, and he and Ivan entered the lobby. Dymovsky strode up to the desk clerk and flashed his badge. “Agent Alexey Dymovsky, Prosecutor-General’s Office. What room is she in?”
    The desk clerk stared at him, a look of terror that reminded Dymovsky of what the old days must have been like, and how much of their hard fought progress had been lost. “Wh-who do you mean?” he asked as his hands gripped the counter in front of him.
    Dymovsky leaned in. “You know who I mean.”
    The man nodded. “Three-fifteen.”
    Dymovsky nodded. “Spaseeba.”
    He ran to the elevator, Ivan following, and rode to the third floor, both silently anticipating what was to come. The bell chimed their arrival