—The Moscow Rules Someone should tell her, “Technology will always let you down.” Garth watched her struggle with the door, unsurprised it gave her trouble. Calling a door mechanism “technology” wasn’t really a stretch. When Murphy’s Law was in control, anything with more moving parts than a toothpick constituted technology. Garth often reminded his men that every operation went to shit thirty seconds after it got on the ground. God knows this one had the second she stepped through the door. Wouldn’t you know, since it was crucial not to leave a trail that led from the plane to wherever he took the baby, then the first person he approached would be an acquaintance? A good memory for faces was a longevity-enhancing attribute in an operator. In the harsh white glare of the headlights, he’d recognized her. He’d left the truck’s lights on only to see his way to the porch. It was sheer dumb luck that the light had been in her eyes and she hadn’t recognized him the instant he recognized her.
