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made bearable by the comfortable cabin with its opaque bulletproof windows, the outside world held at bay by sound dampening and a custom-tuned suspension.
    The driver coasted to a stop in front of the Russian landmark, and Leo climbed from the car. He looked around the square and smiled to himself at how much the city had changed in just a few short years. A decade ago he’d have never thought to go out in a public area like Red Square without at least two armed bodyguards in tow, but now he felt no menace in the swarm of pedestrians around him, the social climate no longer the one of constant danger and lawlessness that had followed the collapse of the Soviet state.
    He moved along easily, his ear picking up at least four languages as he made his way to the bar, a popular after-work watering hole of the new money that Moscow was awash with. Neither he nor Rudolf would stand out in the packed lounge, the pair simply two more tired businessmen drowning their troubles in vodka.
    The Bosco Bar was abuzz with inebriated conversation when Leo pushed through the saloon-style doors. Hip young metrosexual men mingled with stunning examples of Russian femininity, and Leo felt momentarily old, his great wealth only partial consolation for his loss of that most precious of commodities: youth. The sentiment was fleeting, though, as a vixen who could have graced the cover of Vogue gave him a long, appraising glance and toasted him with her half-empty martini glass. Leo allowed himself a small smile as he scanned the room, and returned the woman’s invitation with a raised eyebrow before moving to where Rudolf sat in a corner, nursing a drink in a tall, sweating glass with chunks of green floating in it.
    Rudolf half stood when Leo arrived at the table and motioned for him to sit. Leo did and eyed Rudolf’s drink. Rudolf grinned and held the glass aloft.
    “Mojito. The only worthwhile contribution from our struggling brothers in Cuba,” he explained.
    “Ah. Of course.” A waiter appeared at his elbow and Leo ordered a pint of one of the German pilsners the proprietor imported each week.
    When his drink arrived, Leo took an appreciative sip and waited for Rudolf to tell him why he’d wanted to meet. Rudolf led with small talk as he studied Leo over the rim of his glass.
    “I saw that one young viper looking holes through you, my friend. Careful. Her bite looks like it might be lethal,” Rudolf said.
    “She probably mistook me for her father,” Leo parried.
    Rudolf took a long pull on his cocktail and set it down on the small circular table. “I have good news.”
    Leo nodded and remained silent.
    “The Americans contacted us.”
    “The Americans?”
    “Yes. It’s an odd world we live in. I put out feelers about our…project. They recognized the image I circulated.”
    “Who is she?”
    “They weren’t particularly forthcoming. My take is they don’t know, or they aren’t sure.”
    “Then how does that help us?”
    Rudolf shrugged. “Easy. They’re looking for her partner – a man. Apparently the two of them were spotted in Argentina. They know we have access to networks they don’t, so they proposed a deal.”
    “A deal,” Leo repeated.
    “Yes. We find them, they’ll help us take them, wherever they are in the world.”
    “What’s in it for the Americans?”
    “They get him. We get her.”
    Leo sighed and took another sip of his beer. “That’s wonderful for international cooperation, but unless I’m missing something, that still leaves us looking for her, empty-handed.”
    “True. Or rather, it would be if we hadn’t received a hit on the partner’s image.”
    Leo straightened. “The partner?”
    “Yes. There was a street protest in a downtown area, and he was apparently one of the bystanders who got caught in the congestion. The police filmed everyone involved and ran the faces through the system to see whether there were any suspect agitators. His got matched by our computers. It was pure,