1
2019
Minsk, Belarus
The mechanical click of the lock was barely audible. A small, fleeting sound that blended into the surroundings, one she wouldn’t normally notice. But right now, it made her heart pound. She gripped the door handle with a gloved hand, took one last look down the hallway, and slipped inside.
The pendulum of an ornate wall clock ticked with steady precision, while a pleasant warmth from the radiator chased away the chill seeping through the white lace curtains. The décor of the hotel suite seemed haphazard; a mix of modern furniture alongside pieces that might be considered vintage if they had been placed there intentionally. Some of the Soviet-era furnishings that used to be in every home were familiar to her from her childhood in Russia. To the right of the door stood a mirror. Irit glanced at it, her blue eyes peering through oversized glasses. The reflection staring back at her was a stranger. The wig, a brown bob, concealed her naturally wavy black hair, and emphasized her round cheeks. They were her most prominent feature, but she had once despaired, as a teenager, that they made her look babyish.
There was a narrow window of opportunity, and no time to waste. Irit went straight to the center of the sitting room. Floral sofas with a coffee table between them, a dining table for six, a simple desk, and a flat-screen TV. She scanned the area, looking for the closet with the safe. It was on the other side of the room, doors half open, revealing a glimpse of clothing on hangers. Irit walked over, memorizing the angle of the open door before getting started. But there was no need. The safe was open and empty. She rummaged through the piles of folded clothing, opened and closed drawers, checked coat pockets, but found nothing of interest.
The bedroom revealed wrinkled sheets, a nightgown on the floor, and a few magazines on one of the nightstands. Another full-length mirror showing a stranger’s reflection. There was nothing in the adjoining bathroom or the small kitchenette, either.
Irit noticed a charging cable plugged into the wall near the desk, and based on its length, calculated where “Dumbo” might place his laptop while working. Then she carefully removed an acrylic painting of a Russian forest landscape from the nearby wall and examined it from all sides before setting it down on the desk. Adjusting her fake glasses, she pulled out a compact from the crossbody bag she wore, and retrieved a miniature wireless camera concealed beneath the pressed powder.
A spot of color at the top of the painting looked perfect for concealing the camera. Irit made a small hole in the canvas with an awl retrieved from her bag and secured the camera’s adjustment arm to the inner edge of the frame with a tiny screw. She pressed the switch to activate it, then hung the painting back on the wall and leveled it on the hanging wire. Taking a few paces back, she nodded in satisfaction, then launched an app on her cell phone and viewed the live feed on the screen. She removed the painting from the wall again and adjusted the camera angle to align with the pinhole. She repeated the process until the image satisfactorily covered the estimated work area on the desk.
She took the signal booster she’d brought with her, designed to capture the weak signal from the camera and amplify it beyond the room, and knelt by the armchair, feeling its underside. Perfect, she decided.
“They just left the café,” she heard through her earpiece, “‘Rona’ is on her way back.”
Irit glanced at her watch. She had only a few minutes to finish her task. “Got it. I’m wrapping up,” she responded, quickly flipping the armchair onto its back. She pulled out a small utility knife, slit the bottom upholstery, and slipped the signal booster inside. She set the armchair back on its legs, checked her cell phone, and noticed the camera angle had shifted again. Removing the painting from the wall, she adjusted the lens and tightened the screw with a small screwdriver. The broadcast image was perfect this time, but she noticed her handling had wiped dust from the frame, leaving clear marks.
“Rona is in the lobby,” one of the surveillance team reported.
“Copy that,” she replied, quickly wiping the dust
