Sam shrugged. “Let’s spruce up and join the festivities.”
CHAPTER 38
You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Don’t I look serious?”
“Yes. That’s what worries me.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s nuts, that’s why.”
“There’s a fine line between nuts and ingenious.”
“And an even finer line between ingenuity and idiocy.”
Sam chuckled. “I didn’t see any security guards at the party, did you?”
“No.”
“Which means they’re focused on the perimeter—on keeping people out; the guests have all been vetted and probably frisked. There were sixty or seventy people out there and I didn’t see anyone checking invitations. You know the rule: ‘Look like you belong and you belong.’ ”
“That sounds more like a Sam Fargo-ism than a rule.”
“I like to think they’re one and the same.”
“I know you do.”
“As for the guards, it’s unlikely they’d know us from the King and Queen of England. You think it’s even crossed Bondaruk’s mind that we’d try to invade his home? No chance. His ego is too big for that. Fortune favors the bold, Remi.”
“Another Fargo-ism. And what if the man himself appears?”
“We’ll avoid him. We’ll keep our eyes on the guests. Given Bondaruk’s reputation, they’ll be our best early-warning system. When he’s near they’ll part like a school of fish in shark-infested waters.”
Remi sighed. “How sure are you about this?”
“About what part?”
“All of it.”
Sam smiled and gave her hand a squeeze. “Relax. Worst case, we walk around, get the lay of the land, then come back here and plan our next step.”
Chewing her lip, she thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “Okay, let’s see if Olga is my size.”
The fit wasn’t perfect, but with a few safety pins Remi found in the bathroom she was able to tuck and gather the black V-necked evening gown until only a fashion designer would be able to tell it hadn’t been fitted for her. Remi did the same for Sam’s classic black tuxedo, cinching the waistband and gathering the shirt at the small of his back with a pin. With their faces washed, hair combed, and camouflage coveralls and backpacks safely stashed inside the bookcase, they gave one another a once-over, stuffed Sam’s pockets with a few essential items, then left.
Arm in arm, they started down the hall, which like the bedroom was decorated in somber dark wood, heavy rugs, tapestries, and landscape oil paintings. They counted doors as they walked but stopped after they reached thirty; assuming the room they’d just left wasn’t an aberration, it seemed clear this was Bondaruk’s guest wing.
“One problem,” Remi muttered as they reached the end of the hall and stepped into a high-ceilinged room flanked by a pair of brown granite spiral stairways. The rest of the space was divided into seating areas of well-worn leather chairs and divans. Here and there sconces cast soft pools of light on the walls. Arched doorways to their right and directly ahead led to other parts of the house.
“What problem?” Sam asked.
“Neither of us speaks Russian or Ukrainian.”
“True, but we do speak the international language,” he replied as another couple entered the room and strolled toward them.
“Which is?”