The black car moved slowly up the long, snowy driveway. Nathan now Christopher sat in the back, adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses. He felt the weight of the beard on his face and the strange pull of the contact lenses in his eyes. He reached into his jacket and touched the hard drive. It was his only protection in this house he was going to.
The car stopped, and a guard in a heavy coat opened the door. Nathan stepped out into the freezing Moscow air. He walked with a stiff, confident posture, his chin held high.
The front doors of the mansion opened, and the heat from inside hit him. The house was beautiful, filled with gold and expensive paintings.
"Mr. Vane," a voice came.
Nathan looked up, Nikolai was walking down the wide marble stairs. He looked powerful and relaxed.
"Mr. Volkov," Nathan said, using his deep, posh British accent. He held out his hand. "Thank you for having me on such short notice."
