In a few minutes she would complete the transformation with a dark gray, Ralph Lauren sleeveless turtleneck dress that would cover the extensive abrasions and cuts from the piano wire that had nearly severed her carotid artery five days earlier. She had to hand it to the small group of stylists that took over her bedroom for several hours yesterday. They may have cost a fortune, but they didn't mess around. She felt "pretty" again.
Her cellphone rang from somewhere deeper in the house, most likely from the kitchen where she had prepared an espresso earlier. She had carried the phone around with her, hoping to hear from Daniel before he became too involved in his next job for Sanderson. She didn't have many details regarding his next operation in Germany, but he had made it sound like routine work. She was certain that there would be nothing routine about his day, but at least it wouldn't involve penetrating a "rabid zombie" infested city to retrieve a human head, or driving full speed into a Spetznaz crossfire. Whatever the mission, she knew it wasn't a good idea to distract him, but she needed more than a call every two or three days while he was away. Especially after what almost happened in their Buenos Aires high-rise. She needed to talk to him every hour if possible, but would settle for once a day.
She started to form the words to call her two unwilling manservants, Munoz and Melendez, but quickly remembered they had departed soon after she treated them to the most expensive dinner she could import into the safe house. It was the smallest token of gratitude she could offer the two men that had saved her from Srecko's beasts. The duo had even started to lighten up a little, which probably had less to do with her charming personality and everything to do with the availability of an exquisitely smooth Malbec vintage, and the dawning realization that they would be taking the next available private flight back to Sanderson's mountain hideaway. Either way, she enjoyed seeing them let their guard down just a little and finally relax. She owed them everything.
She had oddly come to terms with her own death at the apartment. On some level, she had felt relieved that her struggle was finally finished. At least she had convinced herself that she had accepted her death. All she had to do was relax her muscles and take a little weight off her tensed midsection. The thin piano wire would have cut a few more millimeters into her neck, effectively opening her carotid artery. It might have been a bad decision given the Celox Munoz had found in Josef Hadzic's torture kit, but she somehow doubted they could have kept her alive for more than a minute or two jamming hemostatic powder into her neck. What they had planned to do to her corpse afterward, on camera for their boss, hadn't mattered to her either, so she thought.
Ultimately, all of those thoughts proved false. When Melendez's bullet removed her captor's head, she sprang into action with no hesitation, leaving little doubt about her decision to live or die.
She put down the concealer stick and walked across the cool, gray marble tile to the kitchen. She hadn't expected to hear from Daniel until later in the afternoon. His group had an operation planned for the evening, which always shut him down externally. She read the caller ID, not recognizing the number, which could only mean one thing. The last person she really wanted to talk to right now. Three people had the number for this throw-away phone. Daniel, Munoz, and her least favorite person in the world. She accepted the call.
"Do I need to get a restraining order?" she said by way of greeting.
"I highly doubt that would be possible, since you officially no longer exist as an Argentinian citizen," General Sanderson said.
"That was fast. Can I pick up the new paperwork this morning? There's room on a flight leaving at 12:15," Jessica said.
"So now you're happy to hear from me? Your passport will be delivered within the hour by a trusted member of the U.S. Embassy. One of Karl Berg's friends. That might give you enough time to book that flight."
"I'm impressed," she said.
"I'll take that as a compliment, though I must admit that having a little leverage over the White House helps work wonders with the State Department. The passport has been issued in the name Jessica Petrovich and will contain an entry stamp for your vacation to Argentina. Once you get out of Argentina, you're home free. Your names have been removed from every U.S.-generated international and domestic watch list. The Petroviches are free and clear as far as the U.S. government is concerned."
"Do you trust them?"
"For now, but I'd recommend having a backup plan ready at all times. I'll help you get a second set of papers, just in case. Have Daniel pass on the details when the two of you have talked about it."
"We'll be sure to get in touch," Jessica said.
"Why do I get the feeling the two of you already have a plan to disappear?"
"Because you know us too well? Who knows, we might sign on with you as a Mr. and Mrs. Smith freelance team. No promises, but all options are still on the table."
"Now that is a pleasant surprise coming from you. Even hearing you mention the possibility gives me hope. I was utterly convinced that I'd never see the two of you again."
"You might not…" she said and paused, "but sometimes life makes the choices for you."
"In my experience, it's most of the time. The two of you will always be welcome here. Don't ever forget that," Sanderson said.
"Somehow, I don't think you'll let us forget."
"We all know each other too well. Enjoy your time together. The two of you have earned it. I expect to hear from Daniel early this evening. Sounds like they are close to wrapping up their work in Germany. Of course, it all depends on his ability to get some very stubborn people to talk."
"I'm sure Daniel will be on one of the first flights out of Germany tomorrow."
"A lot of highly placed, extremely anxious government officials in D.C. are counting on that very same assessment."
"Daniel never disappoints."
"No. He doesn't. Good luck, Jessica," Sanderson said, and the call disconnected.
She placed the phone on the cold granite countertop and glanced at a two-thirds empty bottle of last night's Malbec standing next to the sink. Was nine-thirty in the morning too early for a glass of wine? Probably. Plus, she needed something stronger to deal with the anxiety stirred up from talking to Sanderson. He'd ruined their lives for his own selfish gain, though the entire situation was certainly more complex. Without the general's new initiative, who knows what the world might have faced in the upcoming weeks. The limited reports streaming out of Russia painted an extremely bleak picture. Without Daniel, the world may never have discovered the truth about what happened in Monchegorsk. She felt her mind spinning again and glanced at the bottle of wine. Still not a good idea. Maybe a little closer to eleven o'clock.
Chapter 4
"We stick out like a sore thumb around here," Daniel muttered from the rear bench row of their Ford Transit van.
"At least nobody will call the cops," Konrad Hubner said.
"That's because we look like the cops," Daniel said.
"We're fine. This isn't a high crime area. The immigrants take care of this place," Reinhard Klinkman said.