Chapter Twenty-Two
Moscow, Russia
Placing his army jacket on a coat-hanger, Illarion stood by the window in his olive-green t-shirt and watched the traffic seep along the streets below. He’d been advised not to wander far from the hotel, which was a polite way of suggesting he was temporarily suspended from duty.
A knock at the door drew his attention. When he answered, he found a hotel attendant outside.
‘Your order,’ he said.
‘I—’ But before he could deny placing any such order, his commanding officer, Colonel Isakov, stepped into view, a finger on her lips.
Instead, he said, ‘Thank you,’ and accepted the bottle of Indian whisky. He walked back into the room and placed it on his bedside table, allowing the Colonel to enter alone behind him. She closed the door and opened her hand t
