He folded his arms, his feet spread wide. “It’s foolish.” The old man’s silence was enough to know he would be difficult to persuade.
“So you have said.” She stared, her oddly dark eyes unblinking. He recognized this side of her, the methodical woman who thought nothing was out of her reach, and none were beyond the scope of her venom. She’d proven that by killing the mafia lieutenants and a least one member of FSB already. “The rescuers?”
He did not break eye contact, his shoulders moving back. “Our path is cleaned, and none left to speak of it. Be satisfied.” Mills or the American spy were of little consequence now. Moscow sent MiGs to destroy the factory, the evidence of their crime against NATO. Attention would stay there.
“The krasnaya served us well enough.”
No one had any inclination to the outcome. Every step behind him had been erased or lead astray. Confusion was their best asset. She’d anticipated their every move so far.
She nodded, moved closer. “Show me this wonder.”
He turned to the casing, flipping the eight latches and lifting off the top.
“So small, da?”
Dimitri shrugged. “I know nothing of such things.”
She understood the electronics and could have built it herself, he thought as she leaned over the sonar device. She opened a small hatch, closed it, then ran her hand over the slick surface. “Did he confirm the transmission?”
When he didn’t answer, she looked back over her shoulder. “Dimitri?”
“Da. It was as you predicted. In the same area.”
Her shoulders sank. She wanted to be mistaken, that it was as they’d been told. This only confirmed the lie.
“The wife?”
He shook his head. “We could not get close.” He waited for the explosion of her temper, and when it did not come, he frowned. “Veta?”
She looked up and the gleam of violence in her eyes didn’t surprise him. “We do not need her. Our wrath will find its target. Now give me the log.” He swept up the satchel and tossed it. She dumped it on the table, and grasped the linen-wrapped book. She carefully removed the linen, then took a seat and opened it.
“Amazing this still exists,” she murmured peering closer, turning a page in a plastic sleeve.
He scoffed, caring little for the antique. “I could have just taken it from the auction house.”
Her gaze shifted to him. “Nyet. That would bring Interpol. As is, it stays with the local police.” From her leg pocket, she pulled a pad and pen, jotted down a note, then closed and rewrapped the log.
“Not after Rastoff killed in England. The men in Ireland were not police and will follow,” he warned again.
“Only if you have left a trail to follow.”
His lips tightened. “Do not misjudge our adversaries, Lizeveta.” Her gaze snapped to his. “They were skilled enough to find us on the water and now the garda have bodies.” He tried for calm. “Moscow will keep disguising their crime for they cannot allow you to expose it. Killing Molenko was a mistake.”
Her eyes gleamed with barely suppressed rage. “Nyet! Molenko gave the order!”
“You speak as if I know nothing! Molenko kept state secrets and FSB is hunting us now. Do not doubt that. They sent MiGs to destroy the factory so the Americans wouldn’t learn of it.”
She drew a deep breath, suddenly calmer. “That was their own mistake. Now the Americans are watching.”
“They are always watching.” She was not in intelligence long enough to understand how skilled the Americans were at spying. His body bore the scars to prove it. He rubbed his neck, a headache brewing. He did not want to see her harmed, but felt she was opening her trap too wide. She should have taken all the files from Molenko’s house. Leaving the others behind offered too much to men who saw crimes against the state around every corner, and never their own duplicity.
“You will keep us safe, Dimitri. That is what I do not doubt.”
Her confidence was misplaced. He’d failed to gain the translation and now she would force the old man to re-create it. Dimitri pitied him. Lizveta was a woman unrestrained with her vengeance.
A knock jolted the door, and he found a crewman standing in the corridor. “We are ready to be under way, Commander.”
She nodded once. “Weigh anchor.” The man disappeared down the passageway and she looked at Dimitri and said, “It is time.”
He remained by the door till she left the room, then followed her till she was outside her cabin. She entered first and he hesitated, waiting for a crewman to pass. Though he’d spent many nights in her arms, he would not shame her in front of her men. He slipped inside, sealing them in, then immediately grabbed her, pushed her up against the door, and kissed her ravenously. For it would be their last. Their lives had taken separate routes to end here, on this day, and to launch the expedition she’d sacrificed everything to make happen.
“Dimitri, I am nothing without you.”
“Nyet, you are the strongest.” He palmed her body one last time. “It must be this way.”
“Da, but it does not mean I like it.”
His mouth moved over hers with maddening desire, and he knew well this vow they’d make was for him. She would never stop. He could not allow his heart to rule when following her orders would put her in grave danger. He’d give his life to protect her, but she made him swear to complete the mission, even if she was no longer alive. He swore to himself, even as he kissed her once more and drew back, that if she died, he would leave no one breathing to exact his own revenge.
“Do svidaniya, Veta.” Then he snapped to attention, staring above her head. “My loyalty is yours. I swear it.” He saluted her, and she returned it, sealing their vow. She was his commander now and he would not touch her, would not taste her mouth again till the mission was over. Emotions must be left behind. As if marking the moment, the ship rumbled with the pull of the anchor, rocking a bit.
She tipped her chin up. “Stage two begins.” She straightened her clothing, smoothed her hand over her blond hair twisted tight and high on her head, then stepped out of the cabin. Dimitri followed, remaining a respectful step back as she strode down the passageway. Her boot heels were soundless on the rubber flooring. The vessel had been retrofitted with the latest equipment, solar and petrol powered. But that was her business and she’d bargained with the devil to get it. He was here to see that no one interfered with her quests, regardless of how futile he thought them to be.
Deep Six
Satellite Intelligence
Mitch paced the floor in front of his console, ignoring the looks Lorimier was handing him. The kid was tracking that Chechen phone number and he mulled that it was a long shot, and with all this technology, they still didn’t have enough to hunt. He wanted to chat with Price and Kincade. Gerardo was stalling. The photo didn’t confirm the sub—not to the brass’s satisfaction—and without proof, they couldn’t confront Moscow with it. Mitch was itching for that. He didn’t need more evidence and knowing they built a submarine, possibly with the stolen German technology for a vertical ICBM missile launcher, gave him that “shit’s about to hit the fan” feeling he’d lived with for most of his career.
Worse, that it was most definitely roaming out there, loaded for war.
The phone number might give him a link to the money, the operators that were all over the place then. His mind tumbled back to his captivity, the wounds on his chest and legs far from healed, but it least his skin wasn’t screaming with pain. His ankle had a hairline fracture, a fact he didn’t learn till three days ago. It pissed him off. He wanted back in the field, to find the bastard who did this to him. He ignored the cane propped against the desk, and finally took a seat, bracing his leg on the desktop. What he’d really like was about twenty minutes in a room with Price, no cameras.
“David, talk to me.”
“You’re not long on patience lately, anyone tell you that?”
“Bite me. I’m in pain, look like a zombie, and
I need some payback.”
David chuckled and kept working. It annoyed him that the kid was so focused. Suddenly, David swung his chair around, looking a little wide eyed. “There’s a flag on it. We’re already tracking it.”
Mitch squinted at the screens, scowling. There were hundreds of feeds and satellite technicians from sections even he couldn’t name. “The reason?”
“Person of interest. Tracking for a while, too. Printing the call list.”
Mitch didn’t ask how he managed that and stood near the printer, wiggling his fingers as if it would spit it out faster. He snatched it, and ran his finger down the list, scowling. The calls were spaced months apart. That said, the caller knew he’d be tracked and used different phones. His gaze slid to the last on the list. Same time frame as Chechnya.
“Last call from that phone was in England, Surrey, four days ago. I need to know who received it.”
“That recipient number belonged to Noble Sheppard. I checked the registration. He’s an American.”
Mitch crossed to him, hovering over his shoulder. “I want Sheppard’s call list, everything you can get on this guy.”
David tapped a few keys, then slid back from the counter. The information spilled down the bigger screen. “Noble Sheppard, bookseller from New Orleans and at his address for over thirty years. Sixty-three, divorced, one child.” David swung the chair around. “He’s under police investigation in Surrey. He was kidnapped from his hotel.”
His brows shot up. “Get me the police reports and contact Surrey police. Did Sheppard make any calls to the tagged number?”
“No sir. Only incoming. Sheppard’s phone isn’t on, and it was last used yesterday. In Ireland. Man, he gets around.”
“Not if he was kidnapped, Davey-boy. The kidnapper has it. Start a trace.”
“You might want to look at the last four numbers on Sheppard’s call list then.”
Mitch scanned the list and went still.
“I thought that would get your attention.”
Mitch looked at him. “Fontenòt? Christ. Research Sheppard, this Corrigan, and Fontenòt. I need to know where they are and what they’re doing, A-sap.”
“Why not just ask Dragon One?”
“And eat crow after we shut them down? Not till Gerardo lifts the restriction. Find another way.”
David scowled at him. “You’re trusting the wrong people.
Just my opinion, sir. If Fontenòt is associated with this Sheppard, and he’s missing, don’t expect D-1 to be sitting on their thumbs.”
“They’re restricted.”
David scoffed and looked back over his shoulder. “It just warms my heart that national security is in your hands, Major.”
His expression said otherwise and Mitch’s face pulled tight. “Is that doubt I’m hearing, Lorimier?” And why wouldn’t he? It’s not like he didn’t just get his ass handed to him by a bunch of mercs.
“All I’m saying is…” David didn’t look at him and typed, humming a funeral dirge. “What goes around, comes around, sir.”
NINE
Flade Isblink, Northern Greenland
0800 hours
Olivia cranked up the music, wiggling in the seat to “Ain’t too Proud to Beg.” The song made her happy and it was one of Noble’s favorites. She was trying to be positive. Sebastian hadn’t seen him in Norway, but the blue-eyed guy was there. Yet while she didn’t have details, Safia was tracking everything from the dig and around it. The Northern Lion was sailing slowly south. Dragon One came prepared with cases of gear, half of it she didn’t recognize. The weapons she did, and she glanced down at her SIG Sauer on the seat, loaded. She’d locked it up on the NSA jet before China and hadn’t had it on the dig till now. She felt better armed, but wouldn’t wear it inside the habitat. Too distracting. Besides, that’s what Sebastian and the detail were for, thank you director, but after having that big knife shoved in her face, she wasn’t going to be defenseless like that again.
She turned down the volume as her MP3 player slipped to the next song, enjoying the only privacy she’d had since leaving Ireland. She’d caught up on sleep, and indulged with a soak in a tub, her last for a while, then videoconferenced with her team to prepare them. Sebastian had done the same with Ross and McGill. Her team was a little nervous and anxious for her return, but Agent Ross didn’t seem the least bit insulted that someone else was taking over security. Then again, she thought bitterly, he’d failed to protect Noble in the first place. Blaming him didn’t ease her own guilt and she was feeling a lot of it with Sebastian in her life again.
He was a few minutes behind her and on reflex, Olivia glanced in the side-view mirrors of the Snow-Cat, big hawking things fitted with two-inch steel pipes. Another reason she wasn’t comfortable riding in this kind of tonnage on the ice. It was a tank, and the rolling trends pulled its massive shell across the endless blanket of white that looked pink through her lens. Her goggles were less the cyborg style and more like some pricey wraparound Guccis. The best part was the switch that would turn them to night vision. Ideal for being on the ice in the dark, though right now, it was daylight about twenty hours a day.
From the treads, shaved ice and snow fanned out like white wings and it was another ten minutes before she spied the habitat, downshifting. Beside and behind her were supplies, mostly food, and she was dying to try the Polish sausage she’d seen loaded earlier. Her hips wouldn’t like it, but she had the winter to worry about that. Time was literally growing shorter by the day up here and hitting hard ice wasn’t helping the project she’d ignored since Noble was taken. Her heart sank a little more, and she slowed the Sno-Cat to a crawl, then stopped several yards outside the habitat and behind the marker. She shut down the engine, then pressed her forehead to the steering wheel, flinching when the horn chirped. She fell back into the cushioned seat, aching down to her soul.
I wish you were here, Noble. Safe and doing what you love.
He had to survive. It would kill Sebastian if he didn’t.
She heard the distant thump of the chopper and blotted her eyes, mentally preparing herself for weeks of practically living with Sebastian. She admitted that given the turn of events in the last three days, she was glad there was one person she could trust to keep them safe. Archaeology didn’t usually bring bad guys. Her own training was minimal, and Ross’s skills weren’t even close to what she knew of Sebastian fourteen years ago. Clearly, he’d added a few, though he’d never talked about it when they were married. She was much more informed now and understood the drive that kept him in the field. Like climbing the cliff and sneaking into the khan’s crypt. She had to see it, screw the risks.
Anxious to get back to her job, she pushed the safety on her weapons, and zipped it into her pack, then exited the Sno-Cat with quick moves. It was going to take a few days to get used to the cold again. Yanking the wrap over her mouth, she strode to the domed habitat, her boot spikes digging into the ice. She dropped her bag there, then attached the Sno-Cat battery to the heater to keep it warm and ready. She faced the horizon to watch Sebastian fly in. Another skill, she thought, and her eyes widened as the helicopter approached. That’s some chopper. It reminded her of a fat arrow with a hook tail. Painted matte black, the metal nose was layered like scales of a dragon. Wicked cool and big. The skids retracted inside its smooth fuselage, she supposed. Neon green lights outlined the undercarriage and blinked.
Seeing Sebastian at the controls was sexy and she admitted a freakin’ turn-on. Gawd. Knowing what he looked like naked wasn’t helping either. He hadn’t lost that self-assured edge that made her feel incredibly safe and protected—and yeah, loved. It was his trust and confidence she’d wanted then. What do you want now, a voice asked, sounding too much like her mother. The impossible, she thought.
The aircraft neared. Very James Bond, honey, she thought, smiling, and a little excited to show him her world.
Sebastian had plenty of cold-weather training in the Marines. Six months of living in Norwa
y with little more than standard-issue gear; he’d spent most of it repairing and maintaining choppers. He hadn’t learned to fly the things till a couple years later. It had taken him ten miles to get used to the arctic temperatures and wind currents. A wild view, he thought flying over gray jagged rock and patches of lush green. He passed over a massive lake so still it reflected a perfect mirror of the snow-capped mountains surrounding it.
Beside him, Max studied the screen showing the terrain. He pointed out Olivia’s Sno-Cat ahead. “You should have forced an escort on her.”
Sebastian snickered to himself. “While she was armed, are you crazy? She’s an expert shot and doesn’t take orders well.” He was behind her by minutes and could see anything coming. Then the radio crackled with his call sign and he tapped Sam through.
“Just checking freques.”
“Loud and clear. Y’all almost set up?”
Sam was as close as he could get to the dig and not be on the ice, positioned a few miles west of the Nord Ice Station, a weather tracking facility manned by the Danish Navy. The Sirius Patrol was out there somewhere, he thought, noticing snowmobile tracks. The Siriuspatruljen executed long-range recon patrols solely to maintain Danish sovereignty. Sort of a roving ice police. Sam was south of them, a Huey on standby in case they needed to airlift the scientists. Olivia had a bush plane at her disposal, but Sam considered them no better than balsa wood and a rubber band. Choppers could go places a plane couldn’t.
“Roger that. Just trying to stay warm. Got you on satellite, but if anything goes ass up, you’re on your own. It’ll be a few minutes reaching you.”
Trying to anticipate the unknown was never easy. On the ice, even harder. With so many on this ice dig, he went for overkill. “Stay locked and loaded. The security detail are all young pups fulfilling their cold-weather duty.” He signed off and lowered his altitude a hundred feet. Flying low was better than high. The glaciers were hell on wind currents and it was a bumpy ride, more dangerous with fuel barrels right behind his head. He could have done without that, but there were no free rides. Supplies had to be transported, and today he was a flying gas can.
Damage Control Page 17
