John brushed at his moustache, sniffing into a handkerchief while the customs officer examined his passport. The woman in the booth frowned up at him before stamping the book and handing it back to him. "Welcome to Moscow Mr. Bernhard."

"Spasibo." He nodded to her, taking the passport and tucking it into his coat as he followed the rush out of customs.

Working his way through the crush he reached the locker and removed the key from the inside coat pocket. After a moment the metal door swung back and he pulled the duffle from its snug position before exchanging it with the carry-on bag he held in his other hand. The door shut and he returned the key to his coat pocket, aiming for the taxi queue.

The driver dropped him at the base of a large tenement building and he shouldered the duffle bag for the climb to the appropriate room. Opening the door he ripped the mustache from his face and scrubbed there to remove the spirit gum. With a shrug of his shoulder he dumped the duffle on the end of the bed and stretched out. After a moment he sighed and pulled his earpiece from a pocket while dialing a number on his phone.

"Henry speaking."

"It's John. I'm in the flat and I've got the bag from the locker." He flexed his jaw again, rubbing at his upper lip. "That mustache you've got on me in the German passport itches like mad."

"People tend to remember facial hair. It distorts their perception of you and keeps them looking for something distinctive." There was a pause on the end of the line as John adjusted the heating in the room before removing his coat. "Have you perfected that Aussie accent?"

"I've done something with it. Perfected isn't the word I'd use." He laid the coat on the back of the chair and unzipped the bag. "When do I go in?"

"Tomorrow morning. The Green Federation's holding a huge press conference to talk about how they're merging with that company they just purchased."

"The one running the Serbian Oil fields?" John snorted, "Merger isn't the term I'd use for what they did to get it."

"Is that the idealism I hear from a man who robs people for a living."

John paused, "I hope you've got us on a secure line."

"Of course I do. I don't even order take away without a secure line."

"Do you retrieve it yourself?" John examined the inside of the bag, pulling out the contents and laying it all on the bed. "Or do you send flying robots to do it?"

"That's ridiculous. Everyone knows the best robots operate on treads."

"Sorry I asked."

"You've got the cover ID to get in as part of the extra security detail they'll hire to keep protestors away. It puts you at the backdoor and then you'll just have to slip inside when they change the line up."

"When's that?"

"When the speeches actually start they'll send out their bruisers to make sure anyone who tries to actually stop them gets a nice bruise for their troubles."

"Let's hope that's all they'll be handing out." John examined the ID and nodded to himself, "I'm assuming you're not sending me out of the country as Mr. Bernhard are you?"

"It's why you kept the locker key. You're just a German man here for a few days to see the sights of Moscow and then leave."

"A few days." John laughed, "You've got me in and out of here in twenty-four hours."

"Okay, it is what it is. Just remember, the train leaves at eight pm. The press conference should finish by two. Don't get back to the flat until four and then scrub it. I don't want to have to send anyone to do it myself."

"Will you be using it again?"

"I won't answer that question since it violates my privacy."

"Alright." John took a deep breath, "What time do I report tomorrow?"


John shivered, holding out his arms to keep the crowd back from the doors. His watch face glinted between the fabric of his coat and his gloves, and John peeked at it before turning back to his duty. The cold ground John's teeth and he stamped his boots to try and get warmth into his toes. Turning to the backdoor he sighed when the larger men came from behind him.

Without a word, the two men took their positions and the crowd quieted slightly before breaking into louder screeches. John ignored them, limping his way inside the building. His partner peeled off, joining a collection of other security guards sharing steaming mugs and cigarettes in the corner, but John continued through the security checkpoint.

One of the men called out to him but John pointed toward the restrooms. The man waved him on and John hurried into the men's toilet. He counted the stalls and took the second from the last, tucking himself into the space. John gagged into his coat but in a moment at the rolling stench of the room before he reached back and pulled the mask over his head.

Zipping it in place he breathed through the filter, adjusting the eyepieces to sit snuggly in his eyesockets, and rolled his shoulders. The coat draped over the stall door as he climbed carefully onto the seat before reaching back. His cane knocked through the vent in the ceiling and he used the curved end to grab at the pipe. It held and John lifted himself through the opening.

He reached down, pulling the vent back into place, and tapped his watch to change the face. It blinked and he followed the red line through the steaming tunnels until he reached the destination. Tapping the face again it shifted and John waited until the indicator stopped at twenty degrees Celsius.

John yanked the opening loose and hooked the end of his cane over a pipe before climbing down to drop into a deserted room. Reaching up, he unhooked his cane and shuffled forward at the edge of the corridor until he reached a large atrium. After a quick look he hurried through the space toward a back hallway.

He waited, checking around the corner and moving when he confirmed it was empty. The black door loomed before him and John dug into his suit for a set of wires he stuck to his watch before attaching the leads to the chrome pad on the side of the door. His watch beeped as numbers tumbled over the face.

After a moment the watch and the chrome pad synchronized with a ding, unlocking the door, and John pulled it open. He slipped inside, detaching the leads from the door and his watch, and tugged on the door to close it behind him. Pivoting he dry-washed his hands in the tight gloves when he saw the wall of safes.

He grabbed his cane, twisting the silver handle, and waited for his watch to beep. Lifting the cane to the highest door, he touched it to the metal and checked his watch. It made no noise so he shifted the cane along the line of doors, each making no noise, and moved down the columns until one of them beeped.

Smiling to himself, contorting the mask slightly, he pressed the head of the cane to the door and counted three before closing his eyes. It sparked and fizzed, burning a hole through the lock to drop it into his hand. He pulled the door back, removing his fingers quickly, and pulled the box from inside loose.

The top popped open and he shuffled through the contents before he settled on a clear box. Examining it through the lens of his goggles, he confirmed its match to the dimensions and instructions. He tucked it away, pushing the box back into its housing, and closed the safe. The lock slipped into the hole and he knocked it with his knuckle for good measure.

John pushed the door to the safe room open and immediately raised his hands, cane dangling from his right, when he saw a man with a gun pointed at him. The man walked toward him slowly, waving the gun slightly to signal John move to the other wall. Shuffling to the side John dropped something from his left hand and the man whirled on him.

"Sorry," John croaked through the mask, his Aussie accent struggling, "Guns make me nervous."

"Don't move." The man warned, bending to examine what John dropped.

John's cane swung up and caught the man under the chin. He fell back and John hurried back into the corridor. Slipping a bit on the floor he aimed for the window and pointed his cane forward. With a twist of the handle it emitted a sonic pulse and the window shattered.

A moment later John was flying. He aimed his shoulder for the top of the truck and gasped when the air fled his lungs as he landed. He fought for breath through his tight mask and unzipped it while flailing to roll himself to the ground.

The mask came off and John sucked air into his lungs, ignoring the way the cold burned his throat, and dug under the canvas cover to find another coat. He hurried into it, pulling out the interior lining to fit the prosthetic nose and beard to his face as he shuffled forward. His cane folded, tucked safely under his arm, and he stepped to the side as a security man ran toward him.

He mumbled incoherently as the man grabbed him, stumbling when the security man tossed him aside. It went against all natural instincts but John kept his pace slow, ambling to the side of a man drinking and swaying in time with music only he could hear. Wrapping his arm around the man, John pulled a bottle of vodka from the interior of his coat and offered him some.

After a minute John unzipped from his suit and handed the other man his coat before dumping the suit into a waste bin. The clear box slipped into the pocket of his suit coat and he broke off the end of his cane to slip into the other man's coat as he collapsed it into a small stick. With a tap to his prosthetic nose, and a wink, John left the man to enjoy the coat and the vodka.

A moment later John heard the security men, with the man from the safe, confront the man in the coat. They argued in Russian and John continued to measure his pace away from them, vanishing into the crowd. His fingers curled around the box, a smile taking over his face.