Rain had hit two hours outside of Novorossiysk and had drenched her, doubling the time it had taken to cover the final hundred kilometers. The downpour had stopped as she’d neared the port, but she’d been shivering when she’d made it up to the second-floor room to which a morose clerk had directed her after pocketing her rubles. She’d stripped off her clothes and hung them to dry in the tiny bathroom and then stood beneath the warm stream until color had returned to her face; now she was treating herself to another shower before going to reconnoiter the hospital and yacht club.
She toweled off and pulled on her stiff, dry clothes, checked the time, and counted her remaining cash before descending the stairs to the hotel lobby and exiting the drab building. The waterfront stank of rot, exhaust, and fuel. In the late morning it was crawling with sailors and dockworkers. Jet stopped at a nearby diner and sat at a scarred wooden table coated with a film of grease and ordered the fisherman’s breakfast and a cup of strong coffee. She watched the activity on the wharves as she waited for her food, noting that most of the vessels appeared to be in poor repair, flagged in countries that were ignoring the sanctions imposed on Russia for its actions in Ukraine. When her meal arrived, she ate the tasteless goop that passed for eggs using slices of bread to sop it up, and by the time she was finished felt vaguely nauseated.
Jet paid at the register and asked the young woman behind the counter for directions to the hospital. It was too far to walk, the woman advised, and gave her several street names and landmarks she could use to find the newly constructed building. Jet thanked her and headed back to the hotel parking lot, where her liberated motorcycle leaned in a corner, too battered for even the most desperate thief to bother stealing in the dead of night.
She located the hospital easily enough and circled the block before parking down the street. It was an indifferently designed monolith built in the same gray style as the rest of the city. Laborers milled around the entrance, putting on the finishing touches in preparation for the evening’s ribbon cutting. She continued past the front, noting the police cars and private security guards watching the workers from the shadows, and rounded the block to see if the rear offered her any better chances. Two large trucks were offloading beds and medical equipment under the watchful eyes of yet more guards, and it was quickly apparent that sneaking into the facility and lying in wait would be an impossibility.
The trip across town to the marina took fifteen minutes. She had a scare when a police truck pulled from a side street and took up position behind her, trailing her through dense traffic along the waterfront until it turned off just before the yacht basin. Jet exhaled a sigh of relief when she saw it disappear from her mirror, and slowed as she neared the site of the cocktail reception. Ribbons were being hung from the front fa?ade, backed by elaborate displays of helium balloons. She found a slot for the bike and killed the engine and, after hooking the helmet onto one of the handlebars, strode along the sidewalk toward the clubhouse.
What she saw wasn’t promising. Security looked professional, not the flabby rent-a-cops she’d hoped to see; the men prowling the grounds possessed distinctively military bearing. Once past the building, she turned and walked to the marina, ostensibly watching the circling birds as she calculated a nocturnal approach from the sea. The problem was that once on the marina docks, she wouldn’t have bought herself anything if the party stayed indoors, which it appeared would be the case from the preparations and the weather.
She returned to the street and surveyed the nearby buildings. An upscale hotel across the street and a restaurant next door offered no apparent advantage, other than a reasonable spot to maintain surveillance while she came up with a plan. Perhaps she could subdue one of the service staff catering the affair, take their uniform, and gain access that way? She’d done so before on past assignments, but always with days or weeks of preparation and research into the company’s rules, as well as in-depth knowledge of the security precautions. A maneuver like that had considerable risk, especially if the company was close-knit – all it would take was one of the other servers to voice misgivings and the game would be over.
Jet ate lunch at the restaurant and lingered over coffee, watching the arrival of the catering crew with sinking spirits. All had security passes hanging from their necks, and the guards checked everyone before allowing them into the building. She could see a possibility if one of the female crew left, but the way it was being operated, with the crew arriving four hours before the beginning of the ceremony to help set up the venue and glassware, she didn’t have a chance.