This scene does appear in Tomorrow We Spy, but in a very different form: Talia no longer actually meets inside the restaurant with her CIA contact, adding just a little more spy shenanigans to the story. Here’s how it looked originally:
I reach the address, and on the outside, the building looks like just another brick in the strip mall wall. Inside, however, it’s clear they’re trying hard to distinguish themselves with a blend of modern industrial (exposed ducts and can lights), eclectic (mismatched dining sets) and shabby chic (with repurposed, artfully worn furniture).
On a weeknight, the atmosphere is subdued, but I can only imagine what the trendy twentysomething crowd sounds like on the weekends. I hesitate at the more shabby, less chic, antique entry table. I don’t see a hostess, so I take a seat at a tiny black coffee table with a good view of the door.
I’m in luck: Semyon strolls in seconds after I do. He looks over the harmoniously mismatched table arrangements, his gaze moving past me before he finally approaches. “Mind if I join you?”
“Of course not.”
He takes the overstuffed leather armchair next to mine. After we’ve faked introductions, the waitress arrives for our drink orders and disappears.
“How are you enjoying your time in Rostov?” Semyon asks, still sticking to Russian.
“Interesting, so far. Good to be back, though.”
The waitress hands Semyon both of our drinks, and he passes my Perrier with pomegranate juice and honey. (Oh my goodness, I nearly forgot about Russian honey. They’re obsessed — but it is so worth it. I’m definitely getting some to take home.) (If I can.)
“And how is your business going?”
Before I can answer, Semyon turns to accept the bread from the waitress and orders a traditional starter, oliv′ye salad, for both of us. I hardly care — I’m starving and everything sounds good. Except kholodets, meat jelly. Enough said.
I scan the restaurant casually until the waitress leaves and I can finally respond. “Business is fine; met some very good candidates.”
Semyon’s eyebrows jump mid-vodka-sip. “Have you now?” He passes me the bread, but that isn’t all he deposits in my hand. I don’t use this device very often, but I recognize it. A hard drive cloner, the size of a credit card with a USB plug. A low thrum of adrenaline beings to build in my stomach. This isn’t just a gadget: it’s an assignment.
How soon can I get some alone time with Borislav’s CPU?
For now, I slip the cloner into my pocket and start on my bread. “Our hotel is nice, but I think the people in the next room are eavesdropping on me.”
“That would be the case in all the hotels.” Semyon shrugs. “Sometimes the only way to get rid of nosy neighbors is to bore them to death.”
I’ll take that as a cue that I’m doing the right thing not jamming the bugs. I’ll change the subject. “Would you happen to know where to get the best deal on SIM cards in the city? Everywhere I’ve looked the prices are outrageous, and my client needs one.”
“Yes, let me write it down.” He fumbles in his coat pocket for a scrap of paper. He scrawls out an address, then the words ozherel′ye, varezhki, to look like a shopping list (for a necklace and mittens). But the items aren’t things he’s going to pick up: they’re a code. “Necklace” is the cryptonym for a post box, and “mittens” means there’s a dead drop concealment that looks like a rock somewhere nearby.
I thank him for the paper and slip that into my pocket, too. The familiar jitters creeping into my legs aren’t Restless Legs Syndrome. It’s only been a few minutes, but this very public meeting has run long. Even if my oliv′ye salad is nowhere to be seen, I need to get moving.
I’m about to get up when Semyon starts the conversation again. “What are you going to do if you find the best candidate with your business?”
I glance around the restaurant casually. “We’d love to hire him away.”
Semyon’s smiling in the edge of my peripheral vision, but something else catches my attention. A man hovering at the entry table. Staring at us. The way he’s eyeing us would mean he’s definitely a criminal or a weirdo in the US, but staring isn’t rude in Russian culture, so it could easily be normal.
As normal as the hair at the back of my neck standing at attention.
I turn back to Semyon. “Does your friend want to join us?”
He laughs like I just made the best joke, then glances around the room as if ashamed at his own volume. “Good eye,” he murmurs.
“Think I’ll be leaving through the kitchen now. It would be really nice not to have to walk the streets alone at night.” Pretty sure he can figure out I’m not asking for company — I’m asking for protection.
“See what I can do. Good night.”
“Night.” I stand. If it weren’t winter, I could make the getaway cleaner, but it is, and I need this coat. I make a show of checking the pockets, like I’m going to need something in the bathroom — make-up, feminine hygiene products, any excuse will do — and gather the jacket. “I’ll be right back,” I say in a voice pitched for our new best friend.
Semyon nods, and I’m out.
I’ve got another meeting now — face time with Borislav’s computer. And Danny might be my ticket in.
Read Tomorrow We Spy to see how it’s changed!