Moscow, Russia
November, 1984
He waited patiently, hoping that this was not some kind of test. But by all indications, Renkov's men believed him to be Dr. Chekov's assistant. And it was they who had barged in on a surgical procedure, demanding Chekov's help immediately. And it was Chekov who had sent him first- promising to come as soon as he finished the operation on another poor soul.
But now he'd been waiting in this cold, dim library for over ten minutes- his small black medical bag beginning to grow heavy. He'd already surveyed the room for any sign of her- but there were none. No pictures- no indication that any woman resided in this monstrosity of a house.
The double doors slid open, and the two men who'd brought him here immediately stepped aside- allowing a shorter- albeit, domineering man to storm in to the room.
"Where is Chekov?" the man demanded, his thick Russian accent and striking features confirming that this was indeed Maxim Renkov.
"He will be on his way within the hour. He asked that I come to help until he could finish another operation."
"You are…?" Renkov asked, his eyes narrowing as he stepped closer to the stranger.
"Dr. Matthew Frank- Dr. Chekov's new assistant," the man replied, holding out a hand to shake Renkov's.
Renkov looked at the hand, back at his two men, and then back at this new assistant physician.
"Why Chekov need assistant?"
"Not sure. He advertised, and I got the job." At this, Henry Sharpe dropped his hand and continued, "Dr. Chekov said he's been getting too many patients to handle on his own."
Renkov remained silent but seemed to accept this answer. One of his men stepped forward and handed the credentials for Dr. Matthew Frank to Renkov.
Renkov studied the papers, while Sharpe made a quick decision about how he would need to handle Maxim Renkov if he were to make any headway and find his missing CIA agent.
"Look, sir, if you prefer to wait for Dr. Chekov, that's fine. But from the inappropriate and disrespectful way your two men barged in to a surgical procedure and demanded immediate assistance for someone in this household, I would assume time is of the essence. And if that is the case, I can assure you I have trained with the best and practiced on my own in London for 15 years."
Renkov eyed him suspiciously, dropping the papers to his side as Sharpe looked him directly in the eye.
"My suggestion would be to take me to whomever is in need of medical attention so I can begin an assessment and treatment until Dr. Chekov arrives to assist. If we waste much more time, I'm afraid I may not be able to complete my job sufficiently."
Renkov turned to the side, looking towards his men and then back at this Dr. Matthew Frank. He contemplated the options, then finally, cracked a small smile.
"You make sense. I like. Come," he instructed.
Renkov pushed the papers back in to Sharpe's chest and pivoted towards the doors. Hurrying to catch up, Sharpe shoved the papers inside his jacket pocket and fell in to step behind Renkov. He attempted to take in to account the various windows and doors as they made their way through two hall ways and up a large, winding staircase.
But with the way Renkov's men had him flanked and were watching his every move, escape route planning would have to come later. Right now, all that mattered was finding his agent…and finding her alive.
