With a sigh, Alex stood back and assessed her handiwork. She hardly ever wore makeup, but when one desired to seduce a powerful man, one had to deploy all the weapons in their arsenal. Bright red lipstick stained her full pout and her large eyes appeared catlike due to an expert application of black eyeliner and false eyelashes. She had styled her pixie in such a way, that her bangs swept across her forehead, accenting her femininity. She looked like she had just stepped foot off of the Silver Screen, playing an Audrey Hepburnesque siren.

Taking a deep breath, Alex forced herself from the mirror of scrutiny. Her black patent heels clicked obnoxiously across the wooden floor as she made her way down the stairs.

"I feel like I just stepped through a time machine," Johnny said, as she entered the kitchen.

"I just want to make sure that I play my part correctly," Alex replied defensively. "Krysikov is reportedly obsessed with 1950's and '60's films."

"Well," Johnny began, looking her up and down. "You've certainly accomplished that."

Blushing, Alex smoothed down her black and white checkered pencil skirt and cleared her throat.

"Johnny boy, stop harassing our new guest," Briggs said as he brought over a seemingly nondescript watch.

Alex held out her arm as Briggs tightened the "watch" (it was really a radio) around her wrist.

"That just ruined her whole outfit!" Johnny declared. "Marilyn Monroe wouldn't have worn an ugly ass watch like that!"

"How many fifties movies have you watched, Johnny?" Mike asked, adjusting his earpiece to make sure that Alex's device was in working order.

"Enough to know," Johnny said dismissively.

"I am sorry the authenticity is in question, JT. If I had more time, I would have gone out to an antique jewelry shop and had it custom-made, but I had to go surfing this morning," Briggs said, fiddling with his own earpiece. "So, sadly Alex has to deal with my hand-me-downs."

"Thank you for prioritizing, Briggs," Alex said with mock solemnity. "If this thing goes south, we'll know who to go after."

"I'll be in Tijuana if that happens, Red."

Alex had earned the nickname "Red" for obvious reasons. Unlike Mike who had earned the nickname, Levi, when he uncovered a truckload of stolen, wait for it...Levi jeans or Johnny who earned his by playing a part in a fictional movie where his "character" died on the toilet. Still, it made her feel part of the group even though she had only lived there a week.

"Are you ready?" Mike asked.

"As ready as I'll ever be, I guess," Alex replied.

How ready could you be; when you had to face a man who had killed hundreds of people without even getting his hands dirty?
Alex had been given only two days to prepare for this meeting, a job interview, so to speak. Her heart raced as she drove her small Kia through the congested L.A. traffic. Paranoid, she kept fervently glancing into her rearview mirror to make sure that Mike and Briggs were still behind her. They would wait a block from Krysikov's home, listening in to make sure that she was not in imminent danger. There would be no TAC team. Just Mike, Briggs, and their Glocks.

As she pulled up to the wrought iron gate that separated the Russian warlord's castle from the common folk; she rolled down her window. She waited for the guard to acknowledge her presence. It took several minutes before his voice crackled over a large speaker attached to the gate.

"State your name," the man said in a thick Russian accent.

"Alexandra Alexeyevna Petrova-Warren," she replied in accented English.

"Gospodin Krysikov is waiting for you."

As if by magic, the huge black ramparts slowly eased backwards, granting her access to the winding gravel driveway. Either side was lined with rose bushes and gardenias and the scent managed to calm her as it wafted through her open window. The gravel crunched beneath her tires as she halted before the veranda. The driveway made a complete circle before swinging back to the road from which she'd come. In the center, rested a magnificent fountain. How pretentious, Alex thought to herself, shaking her head. Slamming the car door shut, she made her way to the front door. Before she could even knock, the door opened, revealing a tall reedy man.
"Miss Petrova, follow me," he said, his expression never-changing from dour. Alex was surprised to note that he had an American accent. That was good news for Mike. It would increase the probability of securing him a place on Krysikov's team. As the butler led her to what she, presumably, assumed to be Krysikov's study; she could not help but admire the lavish decor. Every nuance of the house screamed expensive. It seemed as if every piece of furniture was inlaid with precious metals, mainly gold and jade. The pictures that adorned the walls looked like they had been stolen from the Louvre, but most likely, they were fakes created by master art forgers. She would have delved into the matter deeper, but the mission at hand was far bigger than that.

"Good luck," the butler said as they halted before a closed mahogany door. He had no intention of going any further and subsequently scurried off, leaving her to face her fate alone.

Gulping, Alex raised a trembling hand and knocked.

"Come in," a pleasant baritone timbre responded.

The man who had spoken had his back to her. He was standing upon a ladder, placing a book upon the shelf of a massive bookcase. Thousands of vintage prints lined the shelves, many of which bore Cyrillic titles. As the man descended from his perch, Alex nearly did a double take. The gentleman before her could not possibly be Mikhail Krysikov. He did not look a day over 35 and Krysikov was in his mid-seventies.

"Mrs. Warren," the young man said with a slight Russian accent. Striding over to her, he reached his hand out,"It's a pleasure to meet your acquaintance. I'm Dmitri Mikhailovich."

Reality dawned on Alex as she shook the handsome man's hand. Dmitri Mikhailovich was Krysikov's son.

"You as well sir," she demurred, trying to appear submissive.

Smiling, Dmitri gestured to a high-backed leather chair opposite his desk. "Please, have a seat. May I offer you a refreshment?"

"No, thank you."

Alex tried not to make eye contact. Powerful men typically did not find confidence attractive in the "help." Aside from that, she found him incredibly attractive.

He is a vor! She kept trying to tell herself. He is a murderer, who is using young girls as sexual objects to be traded like cattle.

For a few moments, Dmitri just stared at her from across the desk, his hazel eyes kind, yet mysterious all at once.

"Tell me a bit about yourself," he finally said, sitting back in his chair as he absentmindedly fiddled with a ballpoint pen.

Clearing her throat, Alex said, "I don't speak very good English. My husband used to be Marine, but he no have job now. I clean house very nice and can do anything you ask. I very quick learner."

"Mm," Dmitri murmured. "Your husband used to be a Marine? That is very interesting," he replied in Russian.

"Yes, he very brave. He was in MARSOC."

Dmitri whistled, "Impressive! Marine Corps Special Forces. I admire that."

"You like American military?" Alex asked, continuing the conversation in Russian.

"I respect anyone who is willing to fight for something they are passionate about, but let's talk more about you. Why did you move to America?"

This was the part that Alex excelled at. She had always participated in high school plays and had served as the president of the Glensville High School Drama Club. She would have gone into acting, but decided that becoming a federal agent was similar enough and she didn't have to starve to death to become one. So, she brought on the tears (not enough to be obnoxious, just enough to make her eyes glassy) and recanted the tale of how her papa, Alexsey Vasilievich, had suffered a heart attack and her mother had died when she was a baby. To continue to live in Moscow was to face unparalleled torment and thus she decided to move to L.A., the land of fame and fortune. She quickly learned that is was less that, than the land of shattered dreams and botox.

"Which brings me here to you," Alex continued. "I would really like the opportunity to work. I promise that I won't let you down."

Nodding, Dmitri said, "You've made a very convincing appeal. I would very much like to present you with the job."

"Oh, spasibo!" Alex said. "I appreciate the opportunity."

"I would also like to meet with your husband. I might have a position that he would be interested in."

Alex's breath quickened with genuine excitement. She had never anticipated such ease in securing her and Mike's positions.

"That would be wonderful!" she said. "Spasibo!"

"How quickly would you be able to start?"

"Right away! We both could start right away."

"How about you and your husband meet me here at 11:00 tomorrow morning for brunch? We have a lot to discuss."