The house itself was wide and three stories high, but even though the rear garden was not expansive, it did have one feature that stood out.

A single-lane swimming pool, glowing and shimmering blue with the underwater lighting, started right in front of her and continued all the way to the back of the home, twenty meters away.

She looked over the house for a while from where she squatted in the landscaping, trying to figure out a way in, but as she eyed the long swimming pool she saw that it butted up to the home itself, and there was a clear window in the wall there.

She could tell by the odd design that it was an indoor/outdoor pool, and that meant there would be some sort of access below the water line for swimmers.

A pair of guards walked across the wraparound balcony on the third floor, strolling lazily together, and she heard notes of idle conversation. The black mat and the rope on the top of the wall behind her were not hidden, but it was dark there and the color of the mat and cord matched the dark brick wall closely enough.

She waited for the guards to make their slow circuit out of view, then ran across the lawn and made it to the wall next to the pool. By staying low she could avoid being seen from the window next to her, but she glanced through it to see that she had been correct. The interior section of the pool extended into a large dark room with a hot tub and several chaises. A spiral staircase led to a door one level above, and there appeared to be a changing room on the far end of the pool.

The only real light in the room came from the glowing indoor pool itself.

She crouched at the back door, preparing to pick the lock, but before she’d even begun to do so, a man entered the pool room. She watched him through the glass on the second-floor mezzanine; he looked out into the night through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Zoya froze and made herself small. Here in the darkness she was banking on the man taking her for one of several planters on the patio next to the lap pool.

The man was security; he had a tiny Czech-made submachine gun hanging from a strap over his neck. Zoya thought he’d turn away after a moment, but instead he sat down on a recliner overlooking the pool, kicked his feet up on it, and lay back. Here he began looking through his phone.

Der’mo, she said to herself. Shit.

After watching the man get comfortable for what appeared to be a leisurely break, she adopted a new plan. She pulled off her pack and the other items taped to her, leaving them there on the patio next to the pool. Then moving slowly in the darkness, she stripped down to her black sports bra and panties.

She slipped her folding knife into her bra, then gently and slowly rolled into the water next to her.

Grabbing her lock-picking kit with a telescoping metal shim from the patio next to the pool’s edge, she took a deep breath and went underwater.

The pool was well lit, so anyone looking her way, either outside or inside, would be able to see her as she worked on the lowered Plexiglas door separating the indoor portion of the swimming pool from the outdoor portion.

Zoya could see through the Plexiglas that it was held in place by a simple lever latch above. She opened the thin metal shim and slid it up.

It took some work, but in under a minute she had the latch lifted. She pulled up on the divider; it slid freely now, and she swam under it before gently lowering it and locking it once again.

She came to the surface now and began swimming languidly through the water as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

She made it all the way to the pool stairs before the reclining guard saw the movement. He all but leapt from his resting place, reached a hand inside his jacket, and then stopped himself.

Zoya stepped out of the pool, water cascading off her hair and skin, her bra and panties soaked, and her guise and mannerisms completely calm.

The man lowered his hand. He was above her on the mezzanine, and he looked at her several more seconds before speaking down to her.

In broken English with a Russian accent he said, “What you doing here?”

Zoya looked up at him, unashamed and proud. In Russian she spoke with defiance, “What does it look like I’m doing?”

She saw the flicker of understanding on the man’s face. “You are here with the boss?”

She walked over to a towel rack. With a half sigh she replied in Russian, “Of course he couldn’t last ten minutes, and I still had a lot of energy to burn.”

A smile crossed the man’s lips, though he tried to hide it.

Zoya toweled off while the man leered at her. He thought she was a prostitute, which had been her aim, and so far her plan was succeeding.

The exit to the room was off the balcony, so she climbed the stairs barefoot, still drying her wet hair with the thick towel.

As she passed the guard she looked him up and down. With a little smile she said, “Next time, maybe, I will find some other way to exercise before bed.”

The Russian bodyguard grinned. “You’re a little slut, aren’t you?”

Zoya smiled till she walked through the door, and then her smile disappeared in an instant and she rolled her eyes.

Seconds later she roamed the halls, looking for her target’s bedroom.

She turned in the direction of where she thought she’d find her target, to her left down a long hall, and she started moving barefoot across the carpet.

There were at least two more security men inside the house; she heard them talking and watching TV to her right towards the den as she turned left to ascend the stairs.

She picked her way up a quiet staircase, turned left towards the master, and listened carefully for any noises.

One minute later Zoya stood in front of the bedroom door, hesitating a moment.

She knew the man she was coming to speak to. Or once did, anyway. He’d never married, never had children, and somehow he had been so steadfast in this, even long ago, that she thought it unlikely this had changed in the intervening years.

He should be alone right now at one a.m., but she had to allow for the possibility that he was not. She pulled out her folding knife and opened it before reaching for the door latch.

CHAPTER 25

   Zoya took three full minutes standing still so that her eyes could become accustomed to the darkness, and when they finally did she began moving silently in her bare feet towards the four-poster bed in the middle of the room.

When she saw a single figure in the bed, she slowed down a little more but continued forward.

Standing over the lone form, she looked around. She slid open the drawer to the side table next to him but found it empty other than a few pill bottles and a pair of reading glasses. She walked around to the other side of the bed; it was unmade but empty, and she smelled the strong scent of a woman’s perfume and the faint scent of sex.