“Vadeem instantly opened his eyes and glued his gaze on a hotel patron in the process of locking his room door. The man cruised by him in long strides, not sparing a glance at Vadeem—the rumpled FSB agent slouched on the floor. Vadeem sat up and smoothed his leather coat, forcing the cobwebs from his mind. The early morning sun, already high above the Moscow skyline, pushed through the haze of lace curtains from the window at the end of the hall and sent a streak of amber down the brown carpet. ...Dust and fuzz he hadn’t noticed the night before filmed Vadeem’s pant legs, and pricked his nose. The sound of traffic gathered on the street below. And Kat’s door remained closed. Victory. Vadeem felt as if he’d gone ten rounds with Ryslan. Muscles bunched in his neck. His calves screamed, tense and sore. His head wound burned when he brushed it against the wall. He grimaced at how out of shape he was. He checked his watch—eight a.m. He’d had forty minutes of shut-eye. That should be more than enough—had been enough a few years back.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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