“Company,” Curt said. He tried to look past Yuri to see if he could tell what had broken.

Yuri’s expression went from anger to surprise and obvious delight as he recognized his friends. Although his face remained flushed, he smiled broadly. “Hey, guys!” His voice was hoarse.

“We were in the neighborhood,” Curt said. “We thought we’d just drop by to say hello.”

“I’m glad you did,” Yuri said.

“We heard you’d been by the firehouse,” Steve said.

Yuri nodded enthusiastically. “I was looking for you guys...”

“So we heard,” Curt said stiffly.

“You’re not supposed to come to the firehouse,” Steve said.

“Why not?” Yuri asked.

“If we have to tell you, then we’ve got a problem,” Steve said.

“Security is a big concern in an operation like we’re planning,” Curt said. “The fewer people who associate us publicly, the better off we all are, especially with you being a foreigner and all. We don’t have too many friends with Russian accents. You show up looking for us, the other firefighters are going to start to wonder.”

“I’m sorry,” Yuri said. “I didn’t think there was a problem at the firehouse, especially when you mentioned that many of your comrades think the same way you guys do.”

“We’ve our share of patriots,” Curt admitted. “But none quite as patriotic as we are. Maybe we should have spelled it out more clearly. Anyway, now you know you don’t come to the firehouse.”

“Okay,” Yuri said. “I don’t come anymore.”

“Aren’t you going to invite us in?” Curt asked.

Yuri glanced over his shoulder in the direction of Connie’s bedroom. The door was ajar. “Yeah, okay, sure.” He stepped out of the way and gestured for Curt and Steve to enter. After closing the door he guided his visitors toward the living area, where there was a low, threadbare couch and two straight-back chairs. He gathered up a collection of newspapers from the sofa cushion and deposited them on the floor.

Curt sat on the couch, with his knees jutting up into the air. Steve balanced his muscled bulk on one of the chairs.

“Can I offer you guys some iced vodka?” Yuri asked.

“I’ll have a beer,” Curt said.

“Same,” Steve said.

“Sorry,” Yuri said. “I only have vodka.”

Steve rolled his eyes.

“Vodka it is,” Curt said.

While Yuri went to the refrigerator for the drinks Steve leaned over and whispered: “Now you see why I’m concerned. The guy’s a dimwit. It never dawned on him not to come to the firehouse. It didn’t even enter his mind.”

“Take it easy,” Curt said. “He doesn’t have a military background. We should’ve known to be more explicit with a nonprofessional. We’ve got to cut him a little slack. Besides, let’s not forget, he’s doing us one hell of a favor getting us a bio-weapon.”