From Russia Without Love by Stephen Templin

including resident spies. It is believed that Lullaby assumed the identity of a dead Greek in Albania and lived there for a short time customizing the identity before moving to Greece. To help with his legend, he probably married a Greek woman, and it is believed that he lives in Greece.”
    Chris shook his head. “I guess it is what it is—until it isn’t.”
    “One more thing,” Young said. “I tapped the phone Hannah requested. Xander made a phone call to a man he called Talos. They spoke using code words about a ‘package.’ We’re still trying to decode their conversation, but Talos’s phone was tracked to the Kypseli neighborhood.” Young gave the address.
    Chris checked the GPS on his phone and found the location. “That could be where they’re holding Michael. Kypseli is only five klicks north of our location.”
    Chris thanked Young, ended the call, and briefed Hannah and Sonny.
    “Let’s check it out,” Sonny said.
    “Better than just sitting here,” Hannah said.
    They left their room and took the elevator down to the garage where they loaded into the BMW. Hannah took her turn behind the wheel, started the engine, and mounted her GPS on the dash.
    She drove to Kypseli, in the center of Athens, where the city became denser with apartment buildings and people—more foreigners than Greeks. The GPS coordinates corresponded with a brown, 1950s apartment building that stood four stories tall. As Hannah drove by, they searched for nearby surveillance, but all they found was a stocky man standing outside the apartment building.
    Hannah drove two blocks away and found an open spot in a line of cars parked next to the sidewalk. Graffiti marked the wall beside them.
    “My gut is telling me Michael is here,” Chris said.
    “Could be indigestion.” Sonny chuckled.
    Hannah and Chris both ignored him. “Tomorrow morning, we can pose as movie location scouts and rent out one of the apartments across the street from the target building,” Hannah suggested as she turned the car away from the building. “Find out what’s really going on here.”

    Early the next morning, they dressed casual, returned to Kypseli, and slipped through a back entrance into an apartment facing the target building. They went from apartment to apartment to request a room to rent, but the language barrier proved to be more of an obstacle than the movie production pitch.
    They hit the jackpot on the second floor, though, when an elderly Pakistani man let them inside and showed them a room. One area of the wall was a patchwork of three colors: an unfinished yellow paint, the beige color beneath, and a worn patch of brown wood below it all. Scribbled on part of the beige color were childlike drawings, and a makeshift curtain hung from a rope by clothespins. Sonny opened the curtain partway, finding an excellent view of the target building across the street.
    The Pakistani wrinkled his nose. “Albanian mafia, rude they are,” he said.
    “The men across the street are Albanian mafia?” Hannah asked.
    The Pakistani nodded. “Communism fell. Albanians illegally immigrated. Crime organizations they make.”
    “What else do you know about the men across the street?” she asked.
    “Albanian mafia, police hate.”
    “Anything else?” She showed him a photo of Michael.
    The Pakistani shrugged as if he didn’t recognize Michael. “Albanian mafia rude. Women buy and sell. Money take. You room want?”
    “Human trafficking and extortion doesn’t equal Michael being in there,” Sonny said.
    Maybe I’m wrong this time. But there’s only one way to find out. “It’s the best lead we’ve had,” Chris said.
    After some haggling with the Pakistani, they settled on a price.
    Peering through the window, they could see there was a new guard across the street, taking the place of the one the night before. This guard was taller but not as stocky and had a permanent scowl.
    “The right window on the fourth floor is protected with metal