Page 53 of Stolen Empire
And it won't be mine.
11
KATYA
The Mytishchi market is crowded at noon, bodies pressed close between stalls selling everything from bootleg cigarettes to stolen electronics.
I keep my head down and my hands in my pockets as I weave through the crowd, tracking the man Dimitri described.
Tall, narrow shoulders, a brown jacket with a patch on the left elbow.
He's carrying a messenger bag slung across his chest, and he moves casually, suggesting he has no clue I'm following him.
I spot him near a vegetable stall, haggling over a bag of potatoes, and I time my approach.
It's not like this is the first time I've played the part of pickpocket, but for some reason this time, my nerves feel raw.
My palms are sweaty, heart racing, and when he turns to leave, I bump into him hard enough to make him stumble.
Probably a bit overkill, but I have to work with it anyway.
"Watch it," he snaps, steadying himself.
"Sorry, God, so sorry," I mutter, moving away and letting my gaze drop to the ground.
The feigned shame hits its target.
He doesn't look at me twice and I suck in a breath of relief.
The man adjusts his bag, and I slip my hand into his pocket, feeling the phone with the tips of two fingers.
I lift as he walks, and the phone slides from his coat, firmly pinched in my grasp.
But the mini celebration and release of endorphins is secondary to my task.
I glance around at the crowd still moving past me as I get started.
Sixty seconds.
That's all I need.
I move to the edge of the market where Dimitri's tech is waiting in a parked van and knock twice on the side door.
My body is still poised to run if need be as the door slides open.
A young guy with glasses and a laptop balanced on his knees gestures for me to hand it over, so I pass him the phone, and he plugs it into a cable, his fingers flying over the keyboard.
"Forty-five seconds," he says, not looking up.
He doesn’t have to remind me.
If that douche finds out I took his phone, I'm dead.
All of this will be for nothing.
I watch the crowd while my pulse races and the tech works.
The courier is still visible, moving slowly between stalls, and I know I have time.
