Glancing through the mini-fridge, she realized they needed food. Lots of food. Payne and Jones were big guys who looked like they could eat a lot. So she took it upon herself to call room service. Two days of dining had made her familiar with her options. She ordered half the menu and told them to hurry, hoping brunch would arrive before Payne and Jones emerged from the guest wing. Their timing couldn’t have been more perfect. Jones heard the front door as he exited the bathroom. She assured him it was only room service, but he took no chances.
He ordered Allison into the main bedroom, then closed the door behind her. Meanwhile, Payne emerged from the guest room and checked the peephole. He saw a waiter in his mid-fifties. No one else was in the hallway. Payne opened the door while Jones covered him from the back of the room. Everything went smoothly, and within five minutes, they were helping themselves to a huge Russian breakfast—boiled eggs, cheese, black rye bread, cold cuts, oatmeal, fruit, and a pot of Nescafé. Their favorite item, by far, was the blinis, yeast-leavened buckwheat pancakes served with sour cream, smoked salmon, caviar, and an assortment of fruit spreads. Jones went the American route, stuffing his with eggs, cheese, and cold cuts, while Payne and Allison opted for the more traditional Russian toppings.
They ate their meal at the dining room table, anxious to learn more about each other.
Payne said to Allison, “I’m glad you’re wearing the same clothes. That means you followed my advice and came straight here.”
She nodded. “I did everything you told me. I wasn’t taking any chances.”
“That’s good to know. If you keep that up, you’ll be fine.”
“About that,” she said, not quite sure how to word things, “don’t be mad at me, but I need to go back to the other hotel. Just for a minute or two.”
Payne shook his head. “No way. You can buy new clothes.”
“It’s not my clothes. I couldn’t care less about my clothes. It’s my research. All of my research is at the other hotel.”
Jones put his hands in front of him, then moved them up and down like a giant scale. “Your research . . . your life. . . . Your research . . . your life. . . . Sorry. I’m with Jon on this one. Your research isn’t worth the risk.”
“It is my life that I’m worried about. My name and personal information are all over my research. If someone finds it, they can find me.”
“Shit,” Payne mumbled. “That changes things. We’ll have to get it for you.”
Jones put his hands back out in front of him. “Her life . . . our lives. . . . Her life . . . our lives. . . . That’s lives with an s. This one’s a little tougher for me.”
“Knock it off.”
“See, the s makes it plural.”
Payne ignored him. “Where were you staying?”
“At the Astoria Hotel. It’s across the street from the Hermitage Museum.”
“I know the place. One room? Two rooms? A suite?”
“Definitely two,” she stressed. “I wasn’t staying with Richard.”
“You weren’t a couple?”
She scrunched her face and shook her head. “Not a chance. That guy was a player. Good-looking, lots of money, and lots of girlfriends. I know he was hoping for something extra on this trip, but I was here to work. Nothing else.”
Payne nodded. “That’s a relief.”
“Why is that?”
“Why? Because if you were a couple, a good assassin would be able to figure out your name in a heartbeat. All it would take is a single call to California, and he’d know everything about you. But since you weren’t together, I’m hoping you’ll get lost in the shuffle.”
Allison turned pale as she set her fork down. “You think an assassin is after me?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But . . .”
Payne believed in being up-front with people. “From what we saw, a professional killed Byrd. Since we don’t know why, we don’t know if he’s looking for a second target. If Byrd owed someone money or screwed someone over, then you’ll be fine. This was a one-and-done, and you’ll never be bothered again. On the other hand, if the two of you saw something or did something that you weren’t supposed to, then that’s a different story. Then I’d be worried.”
A moment passed before she spoke. “What do you mean you saw him killed?”
“Good question,” Payne said. “To help you understand, let me explain who we are.”
He gave her a brief rundown of their military careers. Nothing too in-depth. Nothing too personal. He didn’t even tell her their last names. But he explained that they were ex-Special Forces, they were close friends of Petr Ulster, and they had a wide network of government contacts. And one of those contacts provided them with security footage from the Peterhof.