Freeman Powell A heavy mist rolled over Red Square, and snow sat lazily over the top of the Kremlin.
Vasily lit his cigarette, keeping an eagle eye on the corner sausage-stand which agent Boris manned.
Boris had gained several pounds since been given this assignment. The boredom of standing a post, and the alluring smell of Kranksy's.
Meanwhile, the drop was imminent. Vasily coughed slightly after inhaling, wondering how long he could pretend to be a hardened smoker.
A man in a thick chinchilla coat and dark glasses entered the plaza, talking into his cell phone.
A cold sweat trcikled down Vasily's back. 'This is going to be close,' he thought.
Then the rumble of a truck broke the silence, and the man in the fur coat turned.
Vasily spoke insistently into his government issue radio, 'Now. Go, go.'
Two men in overalls rushed out, grabbed two overflowing rubbish bins, and in a fluent move dumped them into the back of the garbage truck.
'OK, now, next block comrades!' he shouted, as he waved to Boris and hot-footed across the cobble-stones.
