Boris took a seat and adjusted the arm of the lamp to give him the best lighting possible. The DVD was to his left, secure in its plastic case. Ivan handed him the leather portfolio. “Any troubles,” he asked, heavily accented. Boris didn’t wait for the answer as he pulled a particulate safety mask over his head, followed by safety glasses. With white, lint free gloves, he carefully broke the seal of the portfolio cover.
“None,” Ivan answered as he reclaimed the DVD. Waiting wasn’t his strong suit, and a little entertainment was in order.
The paper was as fragile as onionskin. With a tweezers, Boris carefully turned the pages, jotting notes in a far more substantial notebook. For hours, he worked; his knowledge of the French language aided his understanding of the Richelieu Documents.
Ivan watched the movie, twice. He looked back at Boris. He needed to stretch, to do something other than stare at the too small television screen. When Boris didn’t respond, Ivan flipped through the DVD menus. To his satisfaction, he found an Extras menu.
The outtakes were his favorite on any DVD, but this one didn’t have any. There was a biography of the director, the author, and of cast. It required reading, and Ivan found himself starting to fall asleep as he flipped through the Dumas article. In order to stay awake, he chose an alternative audio commentary and started the movie again.
This caught the attention of Boris. “Turn that back,” he pointed to the remote with a jabbing finger. “Turn it back to the start. Let me hear that again.”
Ivan sighed as he grabbed the remote and returned to the first track. Boris turned purple as he held his breath, then exploded with laughter. “Ah! Ivan, you are a genius! A stupid, **** genius!” Ivan, however, could not be proud, because he had no idea what warranted the praise.
Kirill and Dimitri were cloaked in army green camouflage. The security had been heightened at the president of the bank’s home. A wrought iron fence surrounded the white house and the golf course tended yard. Colonial pillars stood proudly across the front of the home. Patriotic banners graced the top of each pillar as it tried to compete for the most ostentatious home in America title, with the White House in D.C. as its only competition.
Patrols of police regularly passed down the cobble lane of the exclusive upstate New York neighborhood. Private security constantly scanned the residence for intruders. And though it wasn’t officially recorded, a sniper was perched at attention somewhere within the property. Despite all of the defense and opposition, Kirill and Dimitri were not concerned.
Dimitri cut the first wire, disabling the perimeter security monitors. Together, the men pressed through the hedge, hustled across an open twenty-foot courtyard, and pressed up against a wall of red brick. All the attention was focused on the white house; no one noticed when Dimitri cut the power to the Federal-style brick home.