The hot July air, like hot metal, hung over the concrete platform of Sheremetyevo Airport. Your bag, filled to overflowing with folders with documents and personal belongings, seemed heavier than a hundredweight. My head was spinning wildly with a carousel of unfinished business, upcoming negotiations, and, frankly, an uneasy premonition. A business trip to Amsterdam is not just a business trip, but rather a mission shrouded in a light haze of secrecy. And here's the key – you were "released" not alone, but with an accompanying person.

This fact in itself already spoke volumes. The official need for such an escort meant an increased level of risk or, even worse, increased interest in your person or the objectives of the trip. He stepped out of a black executive–class SUV that glistened in the sun, a car that radiated strict formality and a certain menacing aura. Slender, taut, as if carved from marble, in a perfectly pressed suit the color of freshly fallen snow, in stark contrast to the hot asphalt. His face, hidden by deep shadows, was almost unreadable, his expression was neutral, almost impassive. Only a slightly noticeable tension in the jaw line hinted at hidden tension.

The sound of his voice when he said:

— «Hello, I'm Xander, your escort,» — he said evenly, calmly, devoid of any emotional coloring. This absolute dispassion, the absence of the slightest hint of friendliness or, conversely, aggression, was even more suggestive than the very fact of having an escort. He was a professional trained to hide his emotions, a man whose job was to be inconspicuous but always ready for action. Or maybe he was more than just a bodyguard.