"The biometric match is almost perfect. Same height, same bone structure," A man dressed in all black said, his voice steady but cautious.
Natasha leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs. "Almost perfect?" she asked confused.
"There's a slight difference in the jawline, but it's negligible. No one would notice unless they were looking for it."
She nodded slowly, her expression unreadable. "And where is she now?"
"In Russia," he replied. "But she's dead. Heart failure. Her family is preparing to bury her in two weeks, after the autopsy."
She tapped her nails lightly against the armrest of her chair, her gaze fixed on him. "Dead." A faint smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "That makes it easier."
The man looked a bit confused himself. "What do you mean?"
She tilted her head slightly. "Fool! I must explain everything!" She continued. "We'll take the body. Bring her here and then, we'll make the switch."
He blinked, clearly confused. "The switch? How do we—"
