he sun rose and shined between slats on the Venetian blinds in a humble bungalow near the rail yard in Moscow's industrial district. That morning, Daniella Nikolaev and Peter Alexandrov made love for the first time in weeks. Afterwards, they cooled down, enjoying the afterglow and lingering naked in each other's arms.

He started to kiss her neck; it felt delightful, but after a few minutes, she thought about Dmitri, her beloved Dmitri, languishing in that cold jail cell.

The Black Dolphin. Penal Colony number 6.Thirty-six hours by train; no visitors for the first two years.

She jumped up, pulled on her trousers, and gave Peter the look. He knew what it meant and why she gave it to him.

"Okay..." he always said with the usual blend of exasperation and cheerful acquiescence. "Time for coffee."

This routine suited them both. It tempered their guilt on those few occasions when she allowed amorous interludes. Yet the moment she thought of Dimitri the rush of sensuality was overpowered by the weight of obligatory fidelity, falling like the blade of a guillotine.

"We're done means... we're done."
...

A cold rain pounded the corrugated metal roof of the Saint Petersburg Rail Station, sending rivulets onto the tarmac. A lone woman in a beige trench coat, leather gloves, and patterned rain boots carried a briefcase along the concourse, approaching a man hanging back in an unlit corner. They wore identical face masks that looked like the ordinary ones worn by travelers, but each had high-grade nanofiber filtration and an authentication chip that silently vibrated to confirm each other's identities.

She handed off the briefcase, and he strode briskly toward the eastbound boarding area. Tearing off the mask, she tossed it into a bin and walked quickly to the nearest ladies room. After washing her hands with furious intensity, she threw her expensive kidskin gloves into the trash. In the stall at the very end, she removed her coat, revealing a taffeta hazmat suit. With a pair of scissors, she cut the moon suit off and ditched it.

Stepping back into the public area, she looked like a typical Russian zhenshchina. Only then did she take out her phone.

"Sergei, it's done. He's on the Red Arrow. ETA Moscow: 1100 hour. Be careful! If you breathe in one particle, you'll be better off dead."

A red Lamborghini was waiting, and as she approached,..

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