by Cap Daniels
As always, she rolled the towels and headed down the stairs, excited about the reunion to come. Special Agent Guinevere Davis met her at the bottom of the stairs, and the two shared a long hug.
Gwynn eyed her outfit. “Good, they fit. I heard all you had to wear was a set of stolen scrubs and a pair of clown shoes.”
Anya performed a pirouette. “Yes, they fit perfectly. Thank you. When I saw them in bathroom, I knew they were from you. Is nice to see you again.”
She reached out and took Gwynn’s hands in hers. “I did not have chance to thank you for what you did for me. I would not be alive if it were not for you. I will never forget this.”
Gwynn pulled Anya into another hug. “You never have to thank me. I know you would’ve done the same for me.”
“Of course I would. We are partners.”
“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Ray said as he turned the corner from the kitchen. “I thought you were going to sleep the day away.”
Anya groaned. “Is your fault. You did not give to me key for handcuffs. I spent precious time picking locks while I should have been sleeping.”
Gwynn glanced down at Anya’s wrists. “Handcuffs? Why were you in cuffs?” She spun to face her boss. “Why was she in handcuffs?”
Ray nodded toward the dining room. “Come on. Let’s eat. I think I’ll let Anya tell you why she was in cuffs.”
The three took their seats around the table and dug into the pancakes and bacon Ray made.
Anya said, “It was silly bet, and he tricked me. This is all.”
Ray pointed a syrupy fork at Anya. “You set the parameters of the bet. Not me. There was no prohibition against trickery.”
Gwynn swallowed a mouthful of bacon. “Let me guess. You bet him that he couldn’t handcuff you.”
“This is true, but not all of truth. I believed you would play fair, but I was wrong.”
Ray paused with a forkful between his plate and his mouth. “Is that what we’re doing now? Playing fair? That poor guy at the hospital last night probably doesn’t think you played fair.”
Anya ignored the jab. “These pancakes are delicious.”
Ray nodded in satisfaction. “That’s what I thought.”
Anya turned to Gwynn. “Do you have a diamond?”
She pulled back her hair to expose an earring. “These are about three-quarter carat each. My dad gave them to me for law school graduation.”
Anya leaned in, inspecting the solitaires. “They are beautiful. I do not have a diamond, but I think I would like one.”
“I’ll make a deal with you,” Ray said. “If you’ll include English articles at least fifty percent of the time for forty-eight hours, I’ll buy you one.”
The Russian placed a finger beside her mouth as if considering his bribe. “This is very nice offer, but is not necessary. I have Russian boyfriend named Viktor Volkov. He is in diamond business, and I can make him give me as many diamonds as I want. I can make him give me everything I want.”
“I like the confidence,” he said, “but I suspect your so-called boyfriend has no shortage of beautiful Russian women—and any other nationality he desires—hanging from his arm anytime he wants.”
Gwynn jumped in. “Yes, but those women aren’t Anya. I used to be the cutest girl in almost any room until”—she cast a thumb toward the Russian—“she showed up.”
Anya rolled her eyes. “That is kind of you to say, but you are beautiful woman. If I was man, I would fight for you.”
“Were,” Ray said.
Anya frowned. “Were what?”
“You said ‘If I was man.’ It should’ve been if I were a man. It’s one of those strange rules in English. I can’t remember exactly how it goes, but if you’re describing a situation that doesn’t exist, the verb is were, not was, regardless of singular or plural.”
“This is ridiculous arbitrary rule. There are too many of these in English language. Russian is simple language and does not have so many rules.”
Ray laughed through a mouthful of coffee. “Russian is anything but simple and has even more rules than English.”
Anya dismissed his argument. “Whatever you say. You are wrong, but you are in charge, so I will not quarrel with you.”
“You’re learning,” he said. “Quarreling with me is never a good idea . . . unless, of course, you want to be wrong.”
They finished breakfast without any more English lessons and moved to the living room.
Anya asked. “You have for me nice apartment in New York, just like Miami, yes?”
Ray said, “I’ve not seen it, but I’m sure there’s no ocean view. We have an apartment near Times Square. It’s a two bedroom because I knew you’d insist on having Gwynn come along.”
“I cannot wait to see it,” Anya said.
“That’s good, because you don’t have to wait long. All we need to do is outfit you with a new wardrobe and get you on a plane to New York.”
“I do not need airplane ride. I have Porsche.”
Ray lowered his chin. “It isn’t your Porsche. It belongs to the federal government.”
She scowled. “Because you tricked me with handcuffs, I also belong to federal government until mission is completed. This means the Porsche and I belong together. You will get it for me.”
“It’s not that simple, I’m afraid. Besides, nobody has a car in New York. The streets are too congested.”
“This makes no sense. If no one has car, why are streets congested?”
Gwynn laid her hand on Anya’s forearm. “Don’t listen to him. He hates the city, but he’s probably right. A car service is a lot better up there. The Porsche would get banged up, and it’s way too sexy for that.”
Anya turned to Ray. “This makes sense, but you will keep Porsche for me so Gwynn and I will have it for next assignment, yes?”
Gwynn shot a look toward Ray. “Next assignment?”
Ray pulled at the stitching on the arm of his recliner. “Yeah . . . about that. I should’ve told you, but you’ve been officially assigned to Operation Avenging Angel as a participating field agent.”
Gwynn’s eyes lit up like fireworks on the Fourth of July, and she grabbed Anya’s hand. “Did you hear that? I’m officially assigned as a participating field agent with you.”
“What does this mean?”
Ray started to answer, but Gwynn cut him off. “It means I’m going with you to New York City, and we’re going to paint the Big Apple red!”
Confusion consumed Anya’s face. “Uh, I do not understand this painting apple.”
Gwynn giggled. “In the roaring twenties, there were more horseracing venues in New York than anywhere in the country, so everybody went to the races. The winning horses were always given the biggest, juiciest apples after the race, so a newspaper reporter referred to New York City as the Big Apple, meaning the best prize. The name stuck, and in nineteen seventy-one, the mayor signed a proclamation officially giving the city the nickname of the Big Apple. At least that’s what they taught us in school.”
Anya still wore the confusion like a veil. “But why would we paint it?”
“It’s just a figure of speech, girl. It means we’re going to have a good time in the city.”
“In that case,” Anya said, “we are painters of city of New York. When do we leave?”
Ray chewed his bottom lip. “That’s the thing. You leave this afternoon as long as we get everything done in time.”
“Is perfect for me, but I do not have clothes or knives.”
Ray held up a finger and stood. “Wait here.”
He returned with a heavy canvas bag and handed it to Anya.
She set the bag on her lap and slid back the zipper. Inside rested her collection of custom-made knives Bernard Claiborne had created for her at the CIA technical services lab. She pulled out a pair of throwing knives and caressed them as if they were her own precious children. Next, a fighting knife came out of the bag, and a huge smile came over her face. “This on
e is my favorite. Is perfect knife, and I want more. You can do this for me, no?”
Ray eyed the glistening blade. “I’ll see what I can do, but no promises.”
“This means you will get for me more just like this one.”
Ray sighed. “Does anyone ever get away with telling you no?”
“Sometimes, yes, but not so many. I know this operation is important for you—and also for your career—so you will give to Gwynn and me everything we need.”
“I’ll never understand how women do it, but you always get what you want, and there’s nothing the men of the world can do about it.”
Anya narrowed her eyes. “I want to go home, but I cannot because of you.”
Ray closed his eyes and spent a few seconds imagining his name above the door on some prestigious law firm somewhere nice and quiet. If I had only listened . . . Two decades practicing law surely would’ve been better than twenty years in D.C. as a lawyer with a badge and gun.
He opened his eyes. “I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”
Anya nodded silently. Her bitter reminder that she was no one’s partner, but an indentured servant, sucked the air out of the room until Gwynn said, “The best thing about New York City is the shopping, and I think the Justice Department owes you a brand-new wardrobe.”
Ray drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “When will you be ready to go, Gwynn?”
She directed her gaze away from him as if he’d caught her stealing cookies from the jar. “Well, to tell the truth, I was sort of hoping I’d be going along, so I’m already packed.”
“Of course you are,” he said. “When we collected your knives from Miami, we brought back your clothes, too, but I don’t think they’re exactly right for The City. Perhaps we should make a run back to the FBI’s bargain basement.”
Gwynn met Anya’s eyes and turned to her boss. “If it’s all the same to you, New York clothes should be bought in New York.”
“Fine, but we don’t have much time to waste. Volkov is a creature of habit. His business trips to wherever he goes always last less than a week, and he’s always back in The City in time for Friday night dinner at Matryoshka.”
Anya asked. “What time does he have dinner?”
“Usually about nine.”
She stood. “Good. You will make for us reservations at Matryoshka at nine thirty tomorrow night. I have plan to make Yuvelir come to us, but we will need also Johnny-Mac and fake diamond ring.”
5
TSELYY NOVYY MIR
(A WHOLE NEW WORLD)
The three-and-a-half-hour train ride from Washington’s Union Station to Penn Station in Manhattan put Anya and Gwynn in New York City just before 3:30 that afternoon. The FBI courier delivered their clothes and personal belongings and had them neatly stored in their new apartment, just off Times Square, before the duo stepped from the Yellow Cab and into the assignment that was everything their previous mission in Miami was not.
The first difference between the two operations greeted them as they climbed the five steps from the sidewalk and into the lobby of their new temporary home. “Good afternoon, ladies. I am Patrick, one of your doormen.”
The sixty-something Irishman dressed in tails and white gloves held the ornate door for them, and the DOJ special agent said, “Thank you, Patrick. I’m Gwynn, and this is Anya. We’re in seventeen-oh-one.”
Patrick tipped his hat. “Yes, ma’am. I’m aware. Three gentlemen were here earlier to drop off a few of your things.”
“Oh, good. We look forward to seeing the apartment. Arrangements were made sight unseen, so we certainly hope it lives up to the pictures.”
Patrick situated his black hat back on his head. “I’m certain you’ll not be disappointed.” He offered each of them a card. “You’ll find all of our numbers on there. If there’s anything we can do for you at any hour, never hesitate to ring.”
Anya spoke for the first time. “You can get for us car service, yes?”
“Of course. If you’ll only give us half an hour notice when you can, we’ll be Johnny-on-the-spot for you. It usually takes less than a quarter hour, but this is the city. That accent of yours . . . Might that be Georgian?”
Anya showed a look of surprise. “That is excellent guess. I am from Georgia.”
“I thought so. Me brother’s wife is Georgian . . . from Kutaisi, if memory serves me. Whereabouts would you be from?”
“Kutaisi is long way from my home. I live in city of Athens, about eighty kilometers east of Atlanta.”
Patrick hesitated and then gave her a Santa Claus belly laugh. “You’re a sharp one, ain’t you?”
He was still laughing when the elevator doors closed on the Fed and the Georgian.
On the ride to the seventeenth floor, Gwynn said, “That was funny.”
Anya gave one satisfied nod. “It was American humor. They say you have mastered new language when you understand jokes.”
Gwynn smiled. “Yes, they do say that. Patrick was nice, don’t you think?”
“Yes, he was nice, but he is not handsome man like Michael, the doorman in Miami.”
Gwynn raised her eyebrows. “I’ll give you that. He’s more like somebody’s grandfather, but I like him.”
The doors of the elevator opened into a wide foyer with a long, marble-top table against one wall and a gilded mirror hanging above it.
“Push and hold button to keep door open.”
Gwynn did as Anya instructed, but she didn’t know why. The Russian moved slowly through the elevator car, inspecting the mirror from every angle.
“Stay here, and hold button.” Anya stepped from the car and turned the corner into the hallway. Moving left and right, she eyed the mirror carefully before returning to the elevator, then slid her finger onto the hold button. “Now, you do it.”
“Do what?” Gwynn asked.
“Look into mirror from every position inside elevator and remember what you see. After this, move to hallway and look back into mirror from many angles.”
Gwynn did as she instructed and returned to the elevator. “Okay, I did it, but why?”
Anya stepped into the foyer. “Mirror is bending of eyes to look around corners. Your brain has now picture of everything in mirror from every angle. I hope we do not need this knowledge, but it will give to us advantage if some person comes for us in building.”
Gwynn examined the foyer and hallway again. “What an amazing mind you have. I don’t know if I’ll ever think like you.”
Anya took Gwynn’s arm. “It is my hope for you that you do not have to think like me. World is dangerous place for people like me. It is better to live without such dangers in your life.”
Gwynn led the way to the apartment. “I think it was Sun Tzu who said, ‘The best way to guarantee peace is to always be prepared for war.’”
“This is a good philosophy, I think.”
By Gwynn’s count, the door to the apartment lay eleven strides from the foyer and offered no view of the mirror. The doorframe held no hairs, but the deadbolt made a scratching sound as she turned the key. The entrance hallway was seven feet long and opened into the living room with the kitchen on the left and a short hallway to the two bedrooms on the right.
Gwynn examined the space. “It’s a lot smaller than the Miami apartment, but it’s nice.”
Anya pulled the blinds aside and looked down on Times Square. “Is more than adequate, but there is no view of ocean.”
Gwynn joined her at the window. “You’re right. There’s no ocean, but it’s still kind of pretty. I wonder how it’ll look at night.”
They inventoried the apartment and discovered the FBI couriers had chosen bedrooms for each of them. Anya’s few clothes and knives were in the first bedroom, while Gwynn’s items were farther down the hallway. It was the arrangement Anya would’ve chosen, but she wondered if the couriers gave it any real thought.
Gwynn stepped into Anya’s room. “This is nice, and you’ve got a private bath.
Mine has a door from my room and the hallway.”
“If you like this one better, we can change, but for now, it is safer if I am closer to front door.”
Gwynn peeked out the window. “No, I’m fine the way it is, and honestly, I like you being between me and the front door.”
Anya sat on the edge of her bed. “You know the city, yes?”
Gwynn joined her on the bed. “Yeah. I went to college and law school at Columbia in Morningside Heights. That’s near Harlem at Broadway and Hundred and Sixteenth Street.”
“This is good school, Columbia?”
Gwynn chuckled. “Yeah, you could say that. I was really lucky to get in. Like I told you before, my dad was a teacher, and Mom was a paralegal, so they couldn’t afford to send me to Columbia. They could barely afford to send me to a community college, so I worked really hard in high school and earned a merit scholarship to Columbia for my undergrad.”
Anya thought about Gwynn’s story. “This is what they mean when they say American Dream, yes?”
Gwynn shrugged. “I guess so. I mean, I got a good education by working hard and taking my studies seriously. Now, I’ve got the coolest job in the world.”
Anya cocked her head. “You think being policeman is coolest job in the world?”
She took the Russian’s hand. “No, working with you is the coolest job in the world. Honestly, my job was pretty boring before you came along.”
Anya let her eyes explore the ceiling. “I think I would enjoy boring job inside office with telephone, typewriter, and a boss.”
Gwynn laughed. “Yeah, right. You wouldn’t last a week in an office. You’d stab your boss in the throat the first time he yelled at you.”
Anya smiled. “That would make office exciting for everyone else.”
“It certainly would. Speaking of exciting, how about we freshen up and go shopping?”
Patrick had the car waiting for them by the time they reached the lobby. Unlike their driver in Miami, the Town Car had an Indian gentleman in his thirties behind the wheel.
“Where would you like to go, ladies?”