The Export J.K. Kelly (best way to read e books .TXT) 📖

or inspection under Article 27.3 of the Vienna Convention on Diplomatic Relations.” The suit smiled and opened Matt’s suitcase and inspected every article of clothing, the inside and heels of his hiking shoes and running shoes, and then checked them again but found nothing out of the ordinary, and seemed disappointed that he hadn’t.

“You must have bumped your head somewhere. Let me remind you,” the suit declared with a broad smile, “This is not Vienna.” He proceeded to open Matt’s backpack, removed all of the electronic charging devices, international adapters, his laptop, two paperback books, sunglasses in a case, reading glasses in a case, and two retractable walking sticks used for hiking. Again, finding nothing out of the ordinary.

“So no guns or knives, no large amounts of rubles, dollars, or euros, nothing illegal,” the suit said, the tone of his voice revealing an even higher level of frustration with this fruitless inspection. “You may put all of this back together while we talk a bit more, Mr. Christopher.”

Matt wasted no time in repacking everything. He even held up his dirty laundry bag.

“You missed this one,” he said, extending his arm to put it even closer to the Russian’s face.

The man knocked it away. “Don’t push your luck, not another, what do you say, another inch,” he snapped at Matt. “Just like in America and wherever you work in the world, you do understand that you could become the victim of an assault in one of the airport’s very busy toilets and never recover from your injuries, yes?”

“Point taken, my friend,” Matt replied. “Since you say we are in the same business, I was just hoping for some professional courtesy.”

The Russian laughed at Matt’s remark and gestured for Matt to continue repacking.

“You were at your late ambassador’s residence when he and his wife were killed by their son. A drug addict named Ray, yes?”

“I was,” Matt responded somberly. “It was a damn shame. The kid just went nuts, I guess.”

“The Moscow Police were surprised that with all the technology your country has that the CCTV in the room was not working. Very convenient, yes?”

“That was nuts too, I guess,” Matt said, shaking his head in disbelief.

“What is this ‘nuts’?” the Russian asked. Matt raised his hand to his temple and spun his forefinger. After a few seconds, the Russian nodded that he understood. Matt put his hand down and then shook his head that he had referred to any of them that way. Sarah hadn’t lost her mind; she’d just had enough.

“Last question, and then you can go. How do you know Anika Ivanov?”

The question surprised Matt, but he didn’t let on. “I don’t. I was told that she was a friend of the late ambassador, but I have never met her, never spoken with her.” Matt paused. “Why do you ask?”

The Russian stared at Matt for 30 seconds, but Matt didn’t flinch. He watched as his captor’s face slowly reddened.

“You pissed off that I wasn’t able to help you? Or worried about getting your ass chewed for not finding anything?”

The Russian didn’t answer.

Matt had known very well that there was a high probability he’d be stopped as he tried to leave the country so he had shipped anything that could get him in trouble, his cash, the weapons he had entered the country with, and the handful of various passports he used as needed, on the state department jet that had carried the Wilkersons home to the United States. The flight had already stopped at Dover AFB in Delaware and Dale had sent an agent to retrieve Matt’s property before the jet flew on to Texas.

The Russian handed Matt his passport, turned, and left the room without saying another word. The uniformed officer who had brought Matt’s suitcase took it from the table.

“I will return this to the baggage handlers, who will be sure it gets back on your flight to Zurich, Mr. Christopher. The two men outside will escort you directly to your gate.”

Matt thanked the man for his courtesy, spasiba, grabbed his backpack, and followed the other two officers back down the hall. He passed customs, bypassed the metal detectors, and they led him straight to the departure gate. With 10 minutes before boarding, Matt could have let out a sigh of relief but knew better. He wouldn’t do that for a few more hours until he had a beer in his hand and the flight tracker showed that the jet had left Russian airspace. Then, and only then, could he relax.

Once the plane reached cruising altitude and the first of many Heinekens were served to him, he peered out the window and thought of the photo he had seen back in Washington of this beauty named Anika. He had intended to track her down somehow. She was off the scale when it came to looks, but the unexpected and violent incident at the residence had demolished any curiosity he may have had for her on this trip.

Maybe next time, he thought to himself, there’s always a next time.

Hours later, in Zurich, he picked up the bright red BMW he had reserved and drove a few minutes to the nearby Hilton. It was now close to nine o’clock in the evening. He’d had dinner on board the plane, so once he checked in and dumped his bags in his room, he headed back down to the hotel bar for beer and decompression.

He was looking forward to a very good night’s sleep and then an exhilarating drive through the mountains in a vehicle that handled like a race car. Soon he’d be far away from his work and a mile high in the beautiful village of Zermatt.

After sleeping in and enjoying coffee, juice, French crepes, and croissants, he was behind the wheel and headed south. He had planned out three days of hiking, eating, sleeping, swimming, and more hiking. Perhaps he would find a Swiss Anika in Zermatt, the type who loved the mountains as much as he did.

Along