That Time in Moscow Logan Ryles (book suggestions .txt) 📖

grey turned to black, Moscow was actually a beautiful place. Still not the winter wonderland he hoped for, but in a way, it was more striking than that. It was real, with old brick buildings burdened by snowcapped roofs and icicle-lined eaves, frozen streets with occasional cars rolling in and out of them, and a parking lot covered in ice now populated by kids on skates. Parents stood next to the lot, taking pictures and calling out encouragement to struggling youngsters, then hurrying to pick them up when they crashed down.

Wolfgang recalled Sting’s classic song about the Cold War, and it brought a whimsical smile to his face.

The Russians love their children, too.

He turned to face the front of the cab and drew a long breath. The Russians loved their children, and so did the Americans and the Parisians, and every parent scattered around this crazy world who wanted nothing more than to raise their offspring in peace and safety amid an ordered society—a society that these anarchists, by any means possible, wanted to rip down. Wolfgang closed his eyes, and for the first time in weeks, allowed himself to think of Collins—his bedridden sister back in New York. He saw her tiny body wracked with disease and the loneliness in her eyes as she clutched her teddy bear and watched Sponge Bob on loop, with nobody but tired nurses to talk to. He remembered his own cowardice standing in front of that facility and not having the courage to go upstairs—not having the courage to look his own sister in the eye.

Instead, he ran. He waited by the phone for Edric’s next assignment, even though the dust had barely settled over Cairo, and when that assignment didn’t come for months, Wolfgang went to Kansas City and bought a needlessly expensive car because the silence in his apartment and the guilt in his soul needed to be blocked by the loudest distraction he could find.

Are you sure about this?

The voice in his head pressed into his weary thoughts, and Wolfgang sank his fingers into the armrest, forcing himself to picture Collins again. Her beautiful, childish face, so full of life, and so crushed by the brokenness of her body.

Nobody cared about Collins. She was a disabled orphan girl. A forgotten inconvenience of society. Nobody cared about her dreams or her birthday or what her favorite color was. Nobody cared that she didn’t have friends at school and couldn’t remember her mother.

Nobody cared, but Wolfgang did, and he cursed himself for not being there. Yet, on the far side of the world, he was taking actions that were for Collins as much as any child who hoped to grow up in a peaceful, safe world. He may not be leaning next to her bed, but he was still there for her . . . wasn’t he?

“Are you sure about this?”

Wolfgang opened his eyes. This time, Megan’s voice rang through his earpiece. He looked out the window to see the cab pulling up in front of the headquarters of the Ministry of Defense, and the fear in his mind evaporated. Now, all he felt was anger and resolve.

“Copy that, Charlie One,” Wolfgang said. “Never been more sure.”

He paid the driver and stepped out of the cab, then looked down the sidewalk and up the steps toward the perimeter fence that encircled the giant block building directly ahead. Security cameras poked out from the top of the wall at regular intervals.

This is it.

“Okay, Charlie Team,” Wolfgang said. “Sunshine going offline. Don’t leave me hanging, guys.”

Wolfgang pretended to run his hand through his hair as he flicked the earpiece out of his ear. It landed on the sidewalk, and he crushed it with his heel, then turned toward the guardhouse. The camera and the GPS unit were risks enough—the Russians would find the earpiece immediately, and that would wreck his entire plan.

As Wolfgang turned off the sidewalk and followed the concrete path to the guardhouse, he saw the two guards straighten, then one of them stepped out and held up a hand. He carried an assault rifle, and his face featured the hard lines of a man who wasn’t in the mood for jokes.

“Ostanovka!”

Wolfgang offered his most disarming smile. “Good morning, gents. I’m here to see Ivan Sidorov. Can you tell him the Amerikos has arrived?”

8

Wolfgang wasn’t sure if the guard recognized the name of Ivan Sidorov, but he shouted something at his companion, then placed both hands on his rifle and pointed it at Wolfgang.

“Ruki vverkh!”

Wolfgang didn’t know what that meant but concluded that it was a safe bet to stick his hands up, so he did. The guard kept him at gunpoint while the second soldier made a phone call.

“Tell him it’s urgent, if that helps,” Wolfgang said. “And tell him I’m sorry about last night. I never go home with somebody on the second date, but I’ve reconsidered.”

The muzzle of the rifle twitched. Wolfgang took his cue and shut up. The second man slammed down the phone and burst out of the shack, shouting at his companion and brandishing his rifle.

“Opuskat'sya!” Both men shouted, taking several steps forward and jabbing with the rifles.

“So you do know him!” Wolfgang laughed, dropping to his knees and placing both hands behind his head. “I thought you might. By the way . . . he’s okay, right? No pneumonia or anything?”

Another chorus of shouts, then his hands were wrapped behind his back and cuffed in place. Five minutes later, he was blindfolded and being dragged through a side door into the massive building, one gun at his back and another jabbed into his side. Wolfgang stumbled along, trying to keep up with the bigger men as lights faded in and out through the blindfold and other footsteps rang around him.

Still got my shoes. Still got my shirt. Still got Lyle.

Wolfgang felt an elevator dropping beneath him, then he was yanked down a hallway that sounded like concrete beneath his shoes. A moment later, he was shoved into a sitting position