“Good thing we’re not in a hurry,” Boxers grumped as he pulled a seat out for himself. “I’ll do the easy stuff first,” Venice said, her fingers already pounding the keys. “Eyes on the screen, gents.” At the far end of the room, the massive screen switched from dark to blue, and then two faces appeared. They looked vaguely familiar, but before Jonathan could process them, Venice said, “Those men in the apartment were not Secret Service agents. I found both of their fingerprints in the Interpol computers. Here are their names.” The screen displayed Vasily Alistratov and Pyotr Zabolotny. “I’ll let you figure out how to pronounce the last names. Vasily served six years at hard labor about fifteen years ago for assaulting a police officer. He was elevated to Interpol’s list in 2002 when he disappeared from view. Nine-eleven paranoia was running at its fevered height back then, if you recall, and it was easy to move from petty criminal to public enemy without a lot of justification.
