That Time in Moscow, Logan Ryles [the best books to read .txt] 📗

as she stumbled past. She smiled back, her drunken eyes watery and distant, and Wolfgang couldn’t help but compare her to Megan. Certainly, the girl was pretty, and had she been in control of her own drool, she might have been beautiful. But there was a shallowness to her posture, a simplicity to her personality that was evident at first glance. It made him think of Megan and the way she laughed and how quickly her mind worked.

Wolfgang moved past the girl as she made a sloppy attempt of grinding on his leg, then glanced over his shoulder. Edric had moved to the pool and dropped three coins in it, then he removed his jacket and hooked it over his left arm before taking a seat at the far end of the club. He laid the jacket on the table, then set the beer down before unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt and leaning into the corner.

Those will be the activity signals. Now we see if Sparrow is for real.

Wolfgang settled into the shadows and winced as the first flash of a headache set in. The harsh cold, now replaced by the oppressive music, was too much for his tired, jet-lagged brain to handle. The first wave of pain passed but was then replaced by another more prominent pound.

The DJ jumped up onto his table, then planted his face near a mic and shouted a long stream of excited Russian. Everybody cheered, and the lights flashed, then the music grew even louder.

“Charlie Three, what have you got?” Megan said.

Wolfgang cupped a palm over his right ear, blocking out some of the noise as he tried not to shout his response. “Charlie Lead in position. All clear.”

“Any sign of target?”

“Negative.”

Wolfgang glanced around the room, searching for somebody who stuck out from the rest—maybe a white male in a trench coat with “CIA Spy” written across his back. His eyes landed on the girl from a few moments earlier, and he watched as she danced with a man twice her age, laughing and grinding against him. She stumbled, caught herself on the edge of the pool, then puked into the water.

I’ll bet that happens a dozen times a night.

He rubbed his lip and closed his eyes for just a moment, soothing the headache by blocking out the lights. It was a momentary reprieve, but it helped. When he opened his eyes again, somebody sat at the table across from Edric.

“Charlie One, I have the target with Charlie Lead,” Wolfgang said. He moved a few feet to the right, keeping close to one of the fake palm trees as he gazed across the crowd to where Edric sat across the table from a woman.

Of course, Sparrow could be a woman. Why not?

Wolfgang hadn’t considered this possibility, and for a second he wondered if the woman was another drunk girl hitting on Edric. But no, the body language was all wrong for that. They both sat casually, neither looking the other in the eye as their lips moved.

The woman brushed her hair behind her ear and took a sip from a beer. She was tall and skinny to the point of looking malnourished, with raven hair and pale European skin. She set her hand on the table, palm down, and when she lifted it, Wolfgang caught sight of something small on the table—a flash drive, maybe. She covered the item with a cocktail napkin and passed it to Edric without a word. Edric accepted it and nodded once.

“They’re wrapping up,” Wolfgang whispered. He glanced around the room, his instincts kicking in as he remembered that Edric needed surveillance.

“Is Sparrow still there? Has he said anything?” Megan asked.

“Sparrow is a she. They’re talking now. I think—” Wolfgang froze, the blood turning to ice in his veins as his gaze passed over then ratcheted back to a big, dark-haired man on the other side of the room. His black eyes were as penetrating as spotlights, and his enormous nose twisted to one side.

Twisted by being broken. Broken by being smashed with a toilet lid.

Wolfgang recognized him. In fact, Wolfgang was responsible for his broken nose—a parting gift he’d left the Russian during the Paris mission. He’d nicknamed the man Ivan, and the two of them had engaged in a knock-down, drag-out that almost killed them both.

Wolfgang’s mind froze as he struggled for his next move. Run? Signal Edric? Hide?

It was too late. Ivan’s sweeping gaze passed across the room, sliding past Wolfgang and then ratcheting back, just as Wolfgang’s had. Their eyes met, and momentary confusion passed across Ivan’s face—the confusion a person feels when they see somebody familiar but in the wrong context.

A wolfish grin spread across Ivan’s face, and he lifted a finger. “Yemu!”

Almost immediately, everything went to hell. Three more Russians, all of them as big and butt-ugly as Ivan, surfaced from the crowd. Two of them turned toward Ivan, then followed his pointing finger, but the third pointed toward Sparrow and let out another shout. “Zhenshchina!”

At that call, the first two turned back toward Sparrow, and Wolfgang saw the panic cross through Edric’s eyes.

“All channels, abort!” Edric snapped, then he flicked at his ear, and Wolfgang saw the earpiece drop out. Edric ground his shoe over it, obliterating it, then rushed for the nearest door.

“What’s going on?” Megan shouted. “Charlie Three, what do you have?”

Wolfgang didn’t have time to respond. Ivan was bolting through the crowd like a running back, plowing people out of his way as he crashed toward Wolfgang. “Hello, Amerikos!” His voice boomed like a loudspeaker as the gap between them melted away.

Wolfgang dove to the ground, just missing Ivan’s clutching hands as he skidded to the floor, sliding toward the pool over puddles of spilled drinks. People screamed, and high-heels stabbed at the floor on all sides while the music continued to pound. Wolfgang heard a gunshot, then rolled to his left just in time to miss a stampede of drunks surging toward the door. He