<strong>Ysabel and Alexi</strong><br/><br/>"He'll have answers.  You might have the right questions."  And with that, Fitz drops a five dollar bill into the jar by the driver and engages in a high-speed back-and-forth conversation with the man, the content of which had to do a lot with something sunken and Caesar.  Then he waves the pair to a couple of seats.<br/><br/>"Should be only about twenty minutes.  Traffic's not bad for this time of the week, and he's actually going to the Plaza, so we'll be practically on the doorstep."<br/><br/>Then he shuts up for most of the drive, save to point out various landmarks of interest.<br/><br/>It actually takes twenty-seven minutes, if anyone checks their watch, before the jitney drops the trio off in front of a modest little hotel in a clean and well-kept neighborhood, where a pair of older men are sitting at a table and enjoying a good drink.  One of them is a dignified fellow who seems to be a sheet and a half to the wind already. The other...<br/><br/>Alexi recognizes him at once: he's a few years older, balder, and heavier around the gut, but that's most certainly Yazkov.<br/><br/>"Here we are," Fitz says, raising a hand to wave.  "Let's go meet and greet, shall we?"<br/><br/><strong>Archie</strong><br/><br/>"There I must agree.  We have few friends, we old professionals.  Our lifestyle does not lend itself to genuine trust."  Yazkov sighs heavily.  "How many of us marry?  How many of us keep our spouses for long?  Oh, it is to be expected, of course, that we keep them because a family man is an excellent cover, but how many of our loved ones remain at distance?"<br/><br/>He, too, drinks his fill.<br/><br/>"I tell you, old foe, the pigs in the Kremlin betrayed the Revolution long ago.  Too many good Communist boys have died for them.  Just as I suspect too many good American boys have been wasted on gambits.  And too many good British lads, of course."<br/><br/>A jitney rolls to a stop at the curb and three people get off.  One of them draws Archie's eye--he looks quite a bit like an actor whose name the Viscount can't place, and to top it off he's wearing a bright pink blazer.  The other two seem normal enough, though.<br/><br/>"And here they are," Yazkov says gloomily.  "I will order another bottle..."