Arthur was-well, to put it simply-bored. He spun once in his chair, letting his feet dangle over the edge of the armrest, before sitting up with a start as the phone rang. With considerable enthusiasm, he quickly answered the call, reluctantly placing the phone back on the hook as the caller hung up. He sighed, unable to budge from his ennui, and listened to the chair squeak as it rotated.

Francis poked his head in the small room to set a cup of coffee on the desk, curling his lip at the other man. "There are men who would kill to be sitting in that chair, and you abuse it like a plaything."

"It is a plaything. At least, at the moment. After we stopped the bombing streak, it seems everyone's decided to lay low-both at home and on the continent."

"Yes, well-that may well change." Francis propped up a file folder on the desk, waiting for Arthur to scramble upright before continuing. "Our contacts among the Russian gangs have been drip-feeding us information. It's not much, but there's been a stir."

"You know we don't have jurisdiction, there's not that much we can do-"

"The threat of police action is enough to motivate these people. You remember that explosion in an American apartment complex about five months ago?"

Arthur hesitated. "Two suspects…ah, one about five eleven, the other-six two? Blonde, light-eyed, scrawny from the report we saw. You mean they popped up?"

"Not only that they popped up, but that they have resumed some…less than savory activities. They had fled the country, presumably to Canada, after the local police investigated a string of cleverly concealed murders. That's when we got involved."

"So-wait, give me a mo." Arthur pulled his chair forward to begin scanning over the file, nodding carefully. "'Trademark wounds have been discovered on the victims'? When did these guys have a style?"

Francis grimaced, shuddering as he sipped his coffee. "They have a tendency to…mutilate."

"Your trademark psychopath, then. I see. And the Russian police haven't decided to clue us in yet?"

"Our contacts were faster. InterPol is able to see what may be right under their noses a week before they learn." He grinned faintly, shrugging. "It is all in the organization."

"Sure, sure-and what are we supposed to do?"

"That is the fun part, mon ami." Francis carefully laid a small handgun on the desk, pushing it over to Arthur. "We get to flush them out."

O

"C'mon, Ivan, hurry up!" Alfred tugged at the taller man's sleeve, whining faintly in the growing chill. "It's nearly dark!"

"You are an absolute weakling." Natalya mumbled, unlocking the door of her apartment to let the three of them tumble inside. "I will prepare tea, coffee-"

"Coffee for me, thanks, but you don't have to bother." Alfred waved her off, seating himself on the couch to turn the television on. A news bulletin scrolled across the bottom of the screen, and Alfred let the white noise soak in as he began to flip through a series of English magazines. "That was new-I liked the light. Much better."

"It was a risk, Natalya, we should not have taken it." Ivan disagreed, weaving his scarf around the coatrack near the door. "We have to lay low."

"Don't listen to him, Nattie, we were fine!" Alfred called, propping his feet on the coffee table. "Honestly, it was great. Although there was no screaming."

"Never screaming. Never." Ivan stood behind the couch, drumming his finger on the cushion, while the news continued to play on the television.

"Ah, well, perhaps next time, Alfred." Natalya teased from the kitchen, letting the water boil for tea. "You know, you can make it so that they live and still struggle-without the vocal cords, of course, but-"

"Natalya." Ivan warned, raising a hand to cut her off.

"Ivan, please, I learned a lot when you left-"

"Shush!"

"Why?"

"Natalya, be quiet and listen!" Ivan gestured to the television as she entered the room, watching her expression as the news bulletin played. Alfred, uncharacteristically quiet, glanced at the siblings, sitting up after a moment. Ivan tensed before moving to the coatrack again, tugging down his scarf harshly before nodding to Natalya. "Alfred, begin packing. Find the passports, we need to leave."

"Passports, Ivan, that's a bit much-"

"Wait, what? What's going on, I only caught 'watch' and 'fishing results' and 'economy' from the news!" Alfred stood, letting his magazines fall. "What did you hear?"

"They can find us again. The description is circulating." Ivan moved into one of the bedrooms, beginning to pack the clothing. "Somehow, they found out we were here. We need to leave."

"Moscow, certainly, but not the country!" Natalya protested, folding her arms. "Go to one of the border towns, let things lie, and everything will be fine!"

"Nattie's right, we don't have to go too far. We can always come back, and after a year or two…we can go home." Alfred hesitated, hiding behind the couch. "Right, Ivan?"

The other man didn't reply, gathering one suitcase to bring it out to the main room. Natalya watched him for a moment, then moved to begin helping him. Alfred stared at the two speechlessly, gripping the back of the couch, before dashing into their shared room, angrily beginning to stuff clothing into another small bag as Ivan began to dictate instructions.