Zvenigorod, Russia
"Winter has come too early this year,” Dmitri Yazov complained as he threw his long overcoat onto a chair near the door. He was the last of the five men to arrive. I think this will be one of the coldest we have seen in a long time.” Crossing over to the bar, he withdrew a decanter of brandy and filled a delicate crystal snifter. Yazov was a man of above-average height with a solid build. His salt-andpepper- colored hair was trimmed in a military-style crew cut. His skin was severely pockmarked and his left eye drooped slightly, due to a grenade that had exploded in his face as he was pushing one of his men out of danger’s way. While he was twice as brave as his assembled colleagues, he was easily less than half as refined, and in a demonstration of his lack of finesse, he downed his brandy in one long swallow.
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