“Let me take you to dinner tonight.”
“We can’t be seen in public together,” she pushed back.
“If I can pull something off, you won’t be seen. Let me see what I can do. How do I get in touch with you?”
“I left my personal phone at the hotel. I’ll be back to the room by six, latest.”
“How ‘bout I pick you up at seven for dinner?”
“I want to kiss you so badly,” she whispered.
“What’s stopping you?”
“I’m Minka. I shouldn’t even be with you. Evangeline gave me this SUV?—”
“It’s from the ALPHA fleet,” he said. “Do you want me to pick you up here?”
“No, I’ll grab a rideshare to the hotel.” After a beat, she said, “I had fun with you.”
“Me too.”
She left her SUV with Gabriel and crossed the street. After pulling up the hood of her coat, she walked the block to the embassy. Once there, she made her way to her office. After getting settled in, she went in search of the ambassador, finding him in his office on a call, his door open.
Knock-knock.
Bulgrov hung up. “Minka, after you check in with your team, meet me in the executive conference room.”
“Yes, sir. How many coffees can I bring?”
“Three. Four if you want one,” he replied. “When is your dinner with Bob Smith?”
Inwardly, she cringed. “I’ll set that up with him.”
He rose. “Thank you. It’s important we keep our comrades happy, no?”
“Of course,” she replied, her fingers twitching to take the thug out.
She spent the next thirty minutes with her translator team. There were multiple events, dinners, and meetings where interpreters were needed to bridge the communication gap. Once, she’d reviewed the schedule and made the necessary changes, she made her way toward Bulgrov’s executive conference room. One quick stop for coffee before she continued down the hall.
The door was shut, so she set down the tray, and knocked.
“Yes,” said the ambassador.
She opened the door, picked up the tray, and entered. Her attention was drawn to a map of the United States projected brightly on the back screen. Before she could tap her spy glasses, Bulgrov closed his laptop, plunging the room into darkness.
Why would they be looking at a map of the US?
“Another blackout,” said Natasha.
“Turn on the light, Minka,” Bulgrov commanded.
After setting down the tray, she flipped it on and eyed the attendees—Natasha, the embassy’s social director, and Dmitri Petrov, the Russian businessman.
She poured a coffee, served the ambassador. On a small plate, she placed one sugar packet and a wooden stirrer, setting that beside his mug.
“Ms. Natasha, Mr. Petrov, may I serve you?”
Coffees for everyone.
