Free The Backup Asset by Leslie Wolfe

office and get an appointment. But we have to be prepared for anything.”
    “Sir?” Ivan seemed confused.
    “Our friend Abramovich has a reputation for impulsiveness and for destroying people. You’ll have to protect me, Ivan.”
    “Inside the Kremlin? Bozhe moi . . . ”
    The other two bodyguards shifted their weight from one foot to another, probably feeling uneasy at the thought of entering the Kremlin with guns in their hands.
    Myatlev looked Ivan in his eyes. “Yes, inside the Kremlin.”
    “But . . . How?”
    “You’ll form three teams of four men each, all Spetsnaz, all strong and gutsy, in full tactical gear, armed with silenced MP5s. Pay them well, and then pay them some more. You, three others, and I will take the limo, the armored Bentley. The other two teams will take the G-Wagens.”
    “But how do we enter the Kremlin armed like that?”
    “You won’t. If you do, it will look like we’re there to overthrow Abramovich.”
    “Huh?”
    “You won’t enter the Kremlin unless it’s strictly necessary.”
    “I . . . I don’t think I understand, Vitaliy Kirillovich.”
    “I’ll be wearing that,” Myatlev said, pointing at a new Breitling watch still sitting in its opened box. The yellow packaging resembled more of a toolkit than a watch case, and had Breitling Emergency Night Mission II branded on the lid and on the black shock-absorbing interior lining. The Breitling was a serious downgrade from Myatlev’s half-a-million dollar Patek Philippe, but it came with serious advantages.
    “And you’ll be carrying this,” Myatlev continued, handing Ivan a small device. “This watch has an emergency beacon built in. If I get in trouble, I’ll press the button and you and your Spetsnaz will barge in and get me.”
    “And I’ll see it on this?” Ivan gestured at the locator.
    “Yes, yes. If I press the button, you’ll see where I am. It works by satellite, just like GPS.”
    “Oh, good.”
    “But you have to move fast, Ivan. The moment you see the beacon, you storm the Kremlin, understood?”
    “Y–yes.”
    “You’ll be waiting outside, the Bentley in front of the entrance, and the G-Wagens around the corner, and wait for my signal. Are we clear?”
    “Y–yes,” Ivan replied, still hesitant.
    “What’s the problem?” Myatlev asked, impatiently. After all, it wasn’t so damn hard.
    “Are you saying you want us to shoot our way inside the Kremlin to get you out?”
    “In case the beacon goes off, yes. Bring lots of ammo. Do you have a problem with that?”
    “No, Vitaliy Kirillovich. Just making sure that’s what you want. You can count on me.”
    “Good. You have seven days to get everything ready. Then we go to Moscow.”

...13
...Monday, March 14, 7:19PM PDT (UTC-7:00 hours)
...Alex Hoffmann’s Residence
...San Diego, California
     
     
    The sun had set and twilight had faded away, leaving a moonless night in its place. Yet the window curtains pulled shut didn’t let a single hint of light be seen from outside, despite multiple powerful light bulbs flooding the blue room with a blinding light.
    The corkboard covered in images, Post-it notes, and pushpins tied together with colored yarn hadn’t changed much in the past few weeks, yet Alex studied it carefully, processing again every bit of information as if it was the first time she’d seen it.
    Curled up in her armchair, legs folded underneath her and leaning against one of the armrests, she went over every milestone in her timeline, looking for anything she might have missed. Nothing new . . . nothing, whatsoever.
    But there was a troublesome article in the newspaper she had just flipped through, a short entry about a near-miss incident involving a Russian military aircraft and a Canadian vessel in the Black Sea. Nothing had really happened, but Alex vaguely recalled a few of these incidents occurring in recent weeks, maybe even months.
    She made a mental note to research it a little and see if anything out of the ordinary