RockStars

On The Shore, North Of Boston, Massachusetts - The Home Of Thomas Allston and Eve Crowder

Tango is lying on the trailer's outside deck just above where Eve and Allston have buried the two million dollars they liberated from a Chinese military base being built in New Hampshire. The spectacular smells of the ocean, scrub pine, and steaks on the grill make a day on the deck perfect.

Eve, in a chef's apron, is hosting Ben and Lisa. Today's menu is surf and turf: steaks, flame-broiled scallops, and salad.  Two of the three have been drinking wine, while Lisa has opted for cranberry juice and ginger ale.  The mood has been fun, and earlier, all three went over to the shore and grabbed coffees while Tango did his thing with the gulls.

It was sunny, a little breezy, and the day was ending.

"So, Evie, where the hell is Allston?" Ben asked. "Did he leave you holding the bag here?"

Eve laughed, saying, "I don't know where he is or when he will be home, but I hear from him occasionally.." "Tango and I are holding down the fort."

Tanaka remained silent because she knew where Allston was and what he was doing. 

Earlier this week, she ran photographed documents from Allston through an artificial intelligence scanner that translated them from Russian to English. They were communications and inter-company statistics showing the cash flows at each Agapov unit. Wally was so happy about this. These documents listed the locations of each Agapov unit worldwide.

The Intel on the whole Agapov unit was now cleared of its fuzziness. Wally was adding to his RockStar status.

Allston was able to get this in TJ before he left for Barcelona. His promotion opened his computer to more access to what was going on. Allston knew not to download, cut and paste, or copy anything to a thumb drive, which would alert someone...somewhere.

 Instead, while on his lunch break, Allston took photos off the screen with his phone, sent them to the cloud, and then deleted them from his phone.

Then, he continued writing the week's scripts for when he was in Barcelona. Also, Allston looked like an "American Rock Star" to the upper's in the Agapov Organization.

With staff training, focused objectives, and non-stressful phone delivery, Allston had moved the branch in TJ to the top of the charts over all the other Agapov locations.

The documents showed that TJ had gone from the bottom third to the top in earnings.

Ben Mason and Lisa were the most solid couple Eve had ever seen. They liked each other, told jokes, played Scrabble, and laughed at the world. Eve had a similar arrangement with Allston, but his work created distance, and Eve was unsure of their direction.

Even on a fine day like today, it bothered her. The two need to talk soon.

Eve flipped the steaks, turned the scallops, and asked Ben and Lisa how "They wanted their steaks?"

Eve said, "Three rares coming up."

Lisa learned that she loved scallops.

The Gothic Quarter, Barcelona, Spain

Going out in Barcelona is an experience, and everyone should do it.  The Russians picked a place to have their mini-convention that the people who ran each unit could agree upon. 

Had they gone to Las Vegas, it would have created immediate interest from American law enforcement, plus as Anatoly told me a few times in TJ, "The whores in Barcelona are cheaper, better looking, and happier to be with you in Barcelona." 

"You must buy shlyukha (Whore) in Barcelona Troy, they are nice and affordale." 

My first night here involved good food, people-watching, and maybe too much scotch. 

I sat in Plaza Catalunya, eating Empanada Gallega and sipping scotch in a plastic cup. 

I would have loved to snap a photo and send it to Eve because I know this place would touch her heart, but I will stay operationally sound in case my Troy Manolo phone gets searched. 

It's good tradecraft. 

The music, fountains, and food choices in the Plaza are exceptional, but the occasional patrolling police officer carrying a machine gun affects my appetite.

Being outgunned by anyone sucks—even by the good guys.

The hotel bar was stocked with the conventiongoers.

I called an audible as I walked toward the bar and instead went up the elevator to my room. I need to interface with these people when I am clearheaded.

I always check the room to see if anyone has entered when on the road, and tonight, I got a green light. It's also okay to be a stickler, so I checked the room for cameras, and sure enough, I found a pinhole with a speck lens above the TV facing the bed. (I have installed a few of those.) I didn't stare at it or approach it. 

I guess the Russians will send me a gift, Shlyukha, while I am here and try to create a blackmail card. 

Maybe Anatoly is a forward thinker, after all. I think back to TJ a few days ago "The whores in Barcelona are cheaper, better looking, and happier to be with you in Barcelona." 

This creates problems. I don't want any action; I'm married in my heart. I can't imagine calling up Eve tonight and saying, "Hi Evie, I'm in Barcelona, and the Russians are going to try to get me to bang someone and film me." "Are you okay with that?"

I'll think this out later.  I took a shower, flipped on Antena 3, and started watching Crimen en el Paraiso, an overdubbed U.K. comedy. 

Tomorrow will be very interesting.

An Office On Tverskaya Street, Moscow

Belyakov was sitting in his dark office in Moscow, smiling because he had just made a decision. He would fly to Barcelona tonight and observe the organization's convention as things took place.

Nobody in the Agapov organization had ever met him; he was now the head man.  Belyakov was off the INTERPOL radars, even though he was known as a close associate of The President.

Belyakov was going to Spain as a Federal Security Service officer. His FSB credentials would get him into every area of the convention. The President's former employer was the KGB, which became the FSB. Not much has changed beyond the name. The FSB was feared as much as it was when it was called the KGB.

Belyakov, always a hands-on manager, wanted to see what his Unit Chiefs looked like, especially the group from Tijuana. They were doing something right that had taken a lot of heat off of him. The conference would be interesting.

It was now dark and rainy in Moscow, and Belyakov's phone buzzed, announcing that his car to Shemetyevo Airport was downstairs. He was dressed like an FSB guy but took off his leather coat and tossed it over his chair at the last minute. He put his gun in his waistband and put his backpack on. He now looked Amerikanets.

Belyakov looked in the mirror on the back of his office door, drew his pistol, and pointed forward, saying in perfect English, "Do you feel lucky, punk? Do You?"

As he got into the back seat of the waiting car, he wondered if there was a McDonald's in Barcelona. Belyakov loved a good Big Mac.