That Time in Moscow by Logan Ryles (summer reading list .TXT) 📕

the headquarters for the Ministry of Defense, a giant block building on the bank of the Moskva River in the Khamovniki District. There was very little data about the structure available on the internet, but you didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to know that it was probably one of the most secure structures in that part of the world. It was heavily guarded and littered with enough surveillance and security equipment to detect a mouse sneezing. Not ideal.

Megan leaned in next to him, lowering her voice. “Are you sure about this?”

“We can’t break inside. It’s impossible with the time and resources we have available. We have to be invited.”

“I don’t mean about the building. I mean the other thing . . . Ivan.”

“Not really,” Wolfgang said. “It’s still possible he’s a terrorist, or in league with the terrorists.”

“And if he is, you’ll never make it out. You understand that, right? You’ll die.”

Wolfgang met her gaze, surprised to see a new depth of honesty there. Her usual wall opened for a moment, exposing a glimpse of genuine concern.

“We can’t leave Moscow without exposing this plot,” He said. “Too many lives are at stake. This is our best shot.”

“Let me go with you, then,” Megan said. “You’ll need backup.”

Wolfgang shook his head. “No, Ivan will get spooked. I have to do it myself. If anything goes wrong, I need you on the outside to clean up and get in touch with the CIA.” He turned back to the map, tracing the outline of the streets leading away from the Ministry of Defense building. They were a complex maze of typical inner-city, two and four lanes, connected with roundabouts and traffic lights, with bridges leading across the river. It wouldn’t be easy to navigate them under an emergency situation, but without an emergency, it would be impossible.

“Wolfgang?” Megan played with the end of her sleeve, then licked her lips and looked away.

“Yes?” The world slowed around him, and he couldn’t hear Lyle’s incessant typing anymore. The only person on the planet sat right in front of him.

“I thought I should say . . .”

The front door of the hotel blew open, and Kevin burst in, carrying two oversized duffel bags in one hand and a sack of carryout food in the other. Both items hit the floor, and Megan sat up, folding her arms and turning away from Wolfgang.

“Food? Really?” Megan said, not even trying to disguise the disgust in her tone.

“I’m hungry. Besides, if this hairbrained plan of his ends like I think it will, I want a last meal.”

Wolfgang pointed to the bags. “You find what we need?”

Kevin kicked the nearest bag, and the flap fell open, exposing the contents. Two heavy-duty firemen’s uniforms, complete with helmets, boots, and face masks.

Wolfgang knelt and sifted through them, checking one jacket against his own torso. He nodded. “That’ll do.”

The sun broke over Moscow, bringing light but not much heat. A fresh snowfall had blanketed the city during the night, and snowplows ran up and down the streets, followed by salt trucks. Wolfgang’s shoes crunched on the frozen sidewalks as he departed the hotel and turned north. He sucked in a deep breath of icy air, and his stomach growled. He’d skipped breakfast and also passed on Kevin’s takeout. It was an uncomfortable decision, but probably best. Should things turn nasty, he didn’t want to puke under torture.

He walked four blocks from the hotel, then slid his replacement earpiece into his right ear and adjusted it until it was comfortable. “Com check. This is Sunshine.”

Lyle said, “Charlie Eye, I’ve got you, Sunshine.”

“Charlie One, online.”

“Charlie Two, live and ready.”

Wolfgang yawned twice, trying to clear the pressure in his ears. His heart thumped, and a strange tingling sensation ran up his fingers. Nervousness? Stress? Or a physiological warning that what he was doing equated to suicide? Probably the third option.

“What can you see, Charlie Eye?” Wolfgang asked.

“Your jacket,” Lyle said.

Wolfgang looked down, realizing that after leaving the hotel, he’d put on Edric’s coat, oblivious to the fact that it blocked the camera now built into the third button on his button-down shirt. The previous night, Lyle had removed the camera from Wolfgang’s watch and fit the compact electronic unit into the thick folds of the flannel shirt. The camera now blended into the middle of an oversized black button, pointed outward only a couple inches above Wolfgang’s belly button.

“Right,” Wolfgang said. He unbuttoned the jacket and opened it, shivering as a fresh blast of wind ripped him straight to the bone. “How about now?”

“All clear, Sunshine.”

Wolfgang steeled his mind against the next step. In his head, the night before, this seemed like such a good idea. Now it felt like volunteering to feed himself to a lion.

He stepped to the curb and held out his hand, waving down a cab. The car squealed to the curb, and Wolfgang ducked into the back seat, then produced a notecard from his pocket and passed it to the driver. Charlie Team had copied the address, in Cyrillic, off of the internet, but Wolfgang wasn’t sure how good his Russian penmanship was.

The cabby squinted at the card, then shot Wolfgang a look through the mirror that said he recognized the address. He rattled off a string of surprised Russian, but Wolfgang waved him down and pointed to the card. “Take me there. This address. Da. This address.”

The driver shrugged, then shifted into gear and took a sip from a thermos. Wolfgang caught a whiff of something that wasn’t coffee and rolled his eyes.

Starting out great.

“Charlie Eye, do you have me?” he whispered.

“Copy that, Sunshine. We have you en route.”

Lyle had implanted a GPS tracker into Wolfgang’s shoe, which would be helpful so long as he kept his shoes. He wasn’t sure what the protocol was in Russian prisons, but he was pretty sure that at some point, you lost your shoes.

Wolfgang couldn’t help but admire the Russian landscape under the blanket of fresh snow. Before the white turned to grey, and the