"Yes."
Number One did it again. Still not great, but better.
Mattie pushed him through a third round and told him to let the sentence trail at the end, and not to punch the final word. She had him drop the volume on Petrov's name instead of raising it. She told him to let himself sound younger. She told him to forget, just for this one call, that there were eight of him.
He tried.
Each pass got better by increments that she could hear only because she was listening for them. On the fifth pass, she caught Dimitri smiling faintly. On the sixth pass, Petrov started to lose patience.
"Yes, sir, we can accommodate that," he said, still doing his madam voice.
More repetitions weren't going to make this any better.
She sighed. "I guess that's as good as it's going to get."
"Finally," Petrov said in his own voice and uncrossed his legs. "Make the call."
Number One did not answer immediately, and the silence stretched.
"Perhaps later," Number One said after a long pause.
Petrov shifted forward in his chair. "Now. You are ready."
"We are not certain the delivery is there yet."
"The delivery is not going to get any better and it doesn't need to. You are not auditioning for a part in a movie. Make the call. We can't drag it out any longer."
Number One looked at Petrov for a long moment. Mattie couldn't tell what was happening behind his eyes, but if she had to guess she would have said seven other minds were in a conversation with him that she couldn't hear.
Evidently Petrov had applied exactly the right amount of pressure, because Number One reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and looked at Mattie.
"Repeat the instructions one more time," he said.
"Drop your volume on Petrov's name. Let the sentence trail at the end. Don't punch the last word. One tiny hitch on Anita."
"Got it."
He dialed.
She heard the tone on the other end, two rings, three, and then a voice answered. The woman sounded just as bored as Petrov's imitation, and the rasp in her voice made Mattie suspect that she was a smoker.
Petrov was right on that as well. He must have known the woman despite claiming that he didn't.
"Good afternoon," Number One said. "I'm calling to make an appointment."
Mattie held her breath.
He stumbled on Anita's name. Not too much. A beat. A small course correction. He recited his soldier number, and the pause on the other side was exactly like Petrov's.
If she was ever going to make films, she would hire the guy as her assistant.
Number One dropped his volume on Petrov's name. He gave his hotel room number in the same tone. The voice on the other end said something, and he listened, and nodded once for her benefit even though the madam couldn't see him, and then he said, "Nine o'clock. Thank you."
He ended the call.
Mattie let out her breath.
"Anita will be in the room tonight at nine," Number One said.
