Hunting The Kobra

by Cooper-Posey, Tracy

  She wondered if she would have to wait long.

  It took thirty minutes. Noah strode into the room, almost slamming the door behind him. He came right up to her and stood over her. “You are certifiable. Of all the stupid things you could do… He was mad at me! He is always pissed at me. He’s never trusted me, I haven’t been around for years like the others. I know how to take the heat! Now you’ve ruined it.”

  Quinn’s heart leapt and bounced around, even more than it had been. Aslan’s anger was scary, yet Noah’s fury was unsettling in a way she didn’t quite understand and didn’t like. She shook her head. “Toni’s departure undermined you. Even if he doesn’t know what happened in the kitchen, he blames you for it. Of course he does—Toni is gone, and you’re right there. It’s a good excuse to get pissed at you because he won’t let himself stamp his foot in rage because you got me and he didn’t.”

  Noah shoved his hand through his hair. “You don’t understand. I’m his backup chemist. I make sure no one is trying to screw him in the laboratory. He needs me, no matter how pissed he is at me.”

  “Aslan called me his lucky charm,” Quinn said. “He wants me to stay around, even if he doesn’t get me. I made it clear tonight that if he wants me to stay here, then you must stay here to. He was trying to separate you and get you alone.”

  “I know what you’re trying to do. Now everyone else sitting at the table does, too. Don’t you get it, Quinn? Aslan will keep me around as long as I’m useful, or until the chafing is too much, while you… Until tonight, you were invulnerable. He wouldn’t have touched a hair on your head. Now, though, you’ve publicly attached yourself to me. Now, your usefulness will last only as long as mine does.”

  Quinn got to her feet, glad of the dark, which hid her trembling. She moved closer to him. “I don’t know much about you. I do know I feel safer with you than I do with him.” She reached up and brushed the heavy locks of hair off his forehead. “And perhaps I’m indulging my self-interest, too.”

  He let out a heavy breath. He was expelling the last of his anger. He drew her to him. “Well, it’s done now.” He kissed her.

  Sometime later, they laid beneath the heavy quilt, facing each other. A streetlamp right outside Noah’s window shed a warm orange light over them which flickered as snowflakes fell through the lamplight.

  “My headache has gone…” Noah breathed in wonder.

  It seemed Aslan had lied about the business meetings scheduled all day Christmas Eve, because no one left the house. The snow was falling and although the temperatures were warmer than a week ago, the depth of the snow kept everyone indoors.

  Mitchell retreated to the home theater. Everyone could still hear through the soundproofed doors the football games and movies he watched.

  Quinn stayed in her room and tried to figure out what she should do next. She was here because she wanted to find out the truth about Denis. She wanted to know why he had died. And now she must find the Kobra if she wanted to return to the States and redeem her life. Dima would settle for nothing less. Quinn was certain of it.

  She didn’t know how it worked in intelligence organizations, only it seemed to her that the lack of communication and attempts to find her meant she was in the doghouse. If she didn’t return with an olive branch, then she would face charges of theft and terrorism, or worse.

  Only, she had alienated Aslan and put a barrier between them. How could she learn more about him, now?

  How could she extricate herself from this house and Aslan’s organization, once she had the information she needed to be able to return home?

  How could she leave Noah behind?

  For the first time, she realized how complicated she had made things.

  Perhaps there was a way to bring Noah in, too. That was, if he wanted to come in. And how, exactly, would she broach that conversation with him?

  She couldn’t blurt out that she was a CIA plant, sucking up information about Aslan in order to find a spymaster in Russia. That conversation would end with a bullet in her brain, put there by Aslan, or Noah himself. She could not ignore that Noah worked for Aslan, no matter how it felt to be in his arms.

  On Christmas Day, Quinn forced herself to face the household. She had remained hidden in her room, or Noah’s, since facing off with Aslan. If she was to further her plans to learn more about Aslan, she couldn’t stay there forever.

  She went downstairs for breakfast and froze at the door of the small dining room, because Aslan was there. Also Mitchell and Johnson.

  Aslan looked up, then returned his attention to his newspaper.

  Mitchell winked at her and pulled out the chair beside him. He patted it. “They made me pancakes for breakfast!” he said happily. “Would you like some?”

  “I am absolutely starving,” Quinn admitted. “Pancakes sound heavenly.”

  Aslan said nothing throughout the meal. Quinn ate enormously. The pancakes were excellent, the warm maple syrup even better. She drank a rare cup of coffee and suspected she might have to roll out of the room. She had eaten too little food over the last few days. Breakfast made up for it with a vengeance.

  She clinked her coffee cup against Mitchell’s. “Merry Christmas.”

  After breakfast, she took her e-book reader into the common room and settled on the chair and tucked her feet beneath her. The big fire was burning, the flames dancing behind the glass shield.

  A few minutes later, Mitchell and Johnson wandered into the room, their heads together. They settled on one of the sofas and picked through the enormous tray of chocolate sitting on the coffee table.

  When Aslan appeared, Quinn froze. She kept her gaze on the ereader and couldn’t see any of the words. From the corner of her eyes she could tell Aslan was moving around the room. She didn’t check to see what he was doing.

  When he came closer, her breath caught.

  “Would you like a glass, Quinn?” Aslan said.

  She looked up. Aslan was holding a decanter with pale golden liquid in it.

  “What is it?”

  “Sherry,” he said. “Vintage.”

  Quinn nodded. “Yes, then. Thank you.”

  He put a tiny stemmed glass on the table beside her chair and topped it with the golden liquid. “It will warm your middle,” he told her. He lifted his head and his gaze met hers. “Merry Christmas, Quinn.”

  She let out a breath. Her middle relaxed. “And to you, too.”

  Noah came downstairs a little while later. Quinn again found her breath pausing. Noah did not search for her. He walked over to the big buffet under the stairs, when newspapers from a dozen different countries were laid out each morning. He walked along the buffet, glancing at the headline.

  “Noah,” Aslan said.

  Noah looked around. So did Quinn.

  Aslan was sitting at the small round table under the window. There was a chessboard on the table. Aslan picked up a white pawn and held it up for Noah to see. “Come and play. Let me kick your ass for you.”

  Noah hesitated. Then he shrugged. “And if I beat you?” he asked as he crossed to the table.

  Aslan shook his head. “No one had beaten me since I was fourteen.” He spun the board around. “You can be white.”

  Quinn relaxed again. If Aslan wanted to slap Noah around in a symbolic way by using the chessboard, she could live with that.

  The rest of the day was one of silence and introspection. Everyone was polite to each other. The Christmas dinner was excellent, as all the meals were. It was not turkey, but roast beef with Yorkshire pudding. The fruit mince pies for dessert came with a thick coating of custard.

  “English cooking is usually disgusting,” Aslan had observed as he sharpened the knife before carving the beef. “However, there are some meals they have perfected. This is one of them.”

  After the meal, Aslan asked everyone to gather around the fireplace in the common room one more time. There, he uncorked a bottle of Roederer Cristal Rose and poured everyone a glass. “None of us here a
re natives of this land, yet we have made it our own. Here is to a successful year for all of us.”

  Quinn sipped the champagne curiously. The rare vintage was worth the fuss, she decided. It was delicious. She let herself enjoy almost a full glassful.

  Later that night, Noah tapped on her bedroom door. When she opened it, he lifted a second bottle of the same vintage up in his hand. “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to get drunk on champagne. Shall we find out?”

  They didn’t find out that night, because neither of them finished more than a glassful before their attention wandered to other matters. Noah did not go back to his room, either. When she woke in the morning, he was still there, and it seemed almost frighteningly appropriate.

  Her uneasiness made her creep around the room to avoid waking him. She dressed warmly, grabbed her coat and hurried from the house. There were still taxis plying their trade even on Boxing Day and more shops were open than she expected. Quinn had the taxi to take her to the Goldenes Quartier, where she wandered the lonely roads. There were few people about. She looked in windows, considered buying things which caught her eye, but didn’t.

  The restlessness was gnawing at her belly. The questions she had been asking herself about the future returned in full force. Christmas Day had been no-man’s-land, with everyone behaving themselves. Would it continue? There was no guarantee.

  The chill of the fresh snow and cold temperatures drove Quinn to the little café where she had learned most of her useful German. It was open, which delighted her. She pushed inside. Warm air touched her cold cheeks. She sniffed the scent of tea and coffee. She could also smell a sweet pastry cooking in the oven at the back of the store. The air was delicious, filled with spices and caffeine.

  Quinn took off her gloves and headed for the counter to order her usual pot of tea. She came to a halt, three paces away, as the barista turned to take her order with a smile.

  Blonde hair, plaited and pinned over her head in typical German fashion, dirndl and pink cheeks. A sweet smile, and big blue eyes.

  It was Agata.

  Dima had made contact.

  [23]

  Thursday, December 26th

  Quinn made herself step forward as she would normally. She gave Agata a stiff smile. “You are new here,” she said in bad German.

  “I started today,” Agata said in English. Her accent was thick, yet understandable. The last time Agata had spoken directly to Quinn, she had spoken English like any other North American.

  “You are English, yes?” Agata added. “Your accent…” She shook her head ruefully.

  “I know, my German is just awful. I’m learning fast. Actually, I am American.” The passport Toni had given her before the Washington fiasco had been an American passport. The name on it was not hers, though.

  “What can I get you?” Agata asked.

  “The last time I was here, there was a stash of Irish breakfast tea. Could I have a pot of that, if there’s any left?”

  “I’ll see if there is. Have a seat.” Agata turned away.

  Quinn went to the table by the window, where she preferred to sit. She liked to people-watch. Not that there were many shoppers today. She pulled out her ereader, instead. There was no one else in the store she could study, either.

  Agata carried over the big white porcelain teapot and a coffee mug. She put them both on the table, turned to the next table and grabbed the sugar pot and put it beside Quinn’s coffee cup.

  “Cream,” Agata said, as if to herself. She hurried away.

  Quinn opened the teapot to inspect the tea and judge if it was ready to pour yet.

  Agata came back with a small milk jug, which she put on the table and stood back. “Is there anything else?”

  Quinn wondered if the question was as straightforward as it seemed. “For now, I’m good.”

  Agata smiled brilliantly at her, then went back to wash dishes. Dishes clattered and steam vented from the espresso machine. It sounded perfectly normal.

  Quinn took the lid off the sugar pot and paused. Sitting on top of the lumps of sugar was a small tube of lip gloss.

  Quinn slipped a lump of sugar from the bowl and dropped it into her tea. As she put the lid back on the pot, she eased the lip gloss out and put it in the pocket of her pants.

  She drank her tea and wondered if there was something else she should do. Did Dima want her to report in? If she had, surely they would’ve slipped her cellphone or some other communications device. A simple tracker implied they were merely keeping an eye on her.

  She felt more relaxed than she had for many days, knowing Dima and her team were nearby. Quinn fought the inclination to pull Agata to one side and talk to her. Agata had not tried to do so herself, which meant no one in the store knew who she was. Quinn couldn’t blow her cover.

  All Quinn could do was be herself. Dima had told her to do that from the start. She had to leave everything else to Dima.

  Although, with Dima in the area, did it mean her time was growing short? She still had no answers and could give Dima nothing which would help her find the Kobra.

  The uneasiness which had driven Quinn from the house evaporated as she finished her tea. Feeling far more positive than she had for many days, Quinn went back to the house. She had with no shopping bags and nothing to show for her time except a change of attitude.

  No one stopped her when she got in the house and demanded to see her shopping bags.

  She went up to her room. Noah was not in the bed where she had left him. She had not seen him in the room downstairs, so it was possible he had driven Aslan to the factory already. Even for criminals, business was a year-round affair.

  Quinn had nothing to do. She didn’t know what she should do to help Dima, either. She had to trust that Dima would reach out to her when she wanted her to do something and would contrive to tell her what that was.

  In the meantime, Quinn couldn’t shop endlessly. It left her little else to do. Aslan had never given her any formal responsibilities. Until recently, she had still been in recovery from the bullet wound.

  She didn’t dare hop on to the social networks to check statuses because it would send up red flags with every intelligence organization in the United States.

  For lack of an alternative, Quinn curled up on the bed and tried to read. Inevitably, the last few nights of little sleep and excess fear, along with a great deal more physical activity than she had indulged in lately, plus the covert signal that Dima was nearby and the relief it provided, all did their work. She slept, more heavily than she had slept in a long time.

  She rose through layers of sleep to realize the quilt had been placed over her. As she stirred, an arm tightened over her middle. There was a warmth at her back, too.

  “You are safe,” Noah said so softly, she barely heard it. His lips pressed against her neck.

  Quinn slept again.

  When she woke the second time, Noah was still there. He sat at the table, scrolling through his cellphone. He looked up at her movement.

  Quinn saw covered plates on the table and silverware.

  “Aslan suggested we stay in tonight,” Noah said. He raised a brow.

  “He is being civilized, just as you said he would,” Quinn said, as she threw the quilt aside, slid to the edge of the bed and got up.

  “A snake sleeping in the sun is still a killer,” Noah said, as he removed the covers from the plates.

  Startled, Quinn looked at him. “You’re not just being metaphorical, are you?”

  “In this business?” He picked up his knife and fork. “Come and eat before it gets cold.”

  Quinn thought her appetite would not recover from that observation, only the scent of the curry drew her to the table. She sat and ate.

  Afterwards, almost as if Noah had read her mind, he took her back to bed.

  Much later, when the house was still around them and not even the sound of Mitchell’s beloved football game could be heard, Quinn stirred and lifted herself up on one
elbow to look at Noah. She knew he was awake because his fingers had not stopped moving against her flesh. “How ruthless is he?”

  Noah’s fingers stopped moving. “You have to ask?”

  “He supplies chemical to anyone who pays. It’s illegal, but it’s not a South American cartel. Or is it? That’s my problem, I think. Everyone is so polite and Aslan is so elegant.”

  “Yet in your gut, you’re afraid of him. Doesn’t that tell you something?”

  “My gut says be afraid, yes,” she said. “Only I don’t know why. I mean, I can guess. If I knew for sure, then I would have a measure of him and be able to respond appropriately.”

  Noah didn’t answer at once. He considered how much he would say.

  “If you’re worried about me blabbing, remember there isn’t a single person in the United States I can talk to, even if I wanted to,” she reminded him. “Everyone I know outside the United States is in this house, except for Toni and two baristas at a café.”

  Noah sat up. There was no moon and no streetlights, so his face was in shadow. She couldn’t see his eyes, which bothered her more than she thought it might. “You want blunt fact. That is what you’re asking for, isn’t it?”

  “I suppose, yes.”

  “Are you sure you want to go there?” He paused. “You won’t like it, once you step over that line.”

  “I don’t like standing on this side of the line and guessing. Maybe I’m so afraid because my imagination paints everything larger than it should be. Maybe the truth will let me sleep better. I cannot always sleep with you curled around me.”

  He didn’t speak at once. Even though she couldn’t see his eyes, Quinn knew he was back to thinking heavily again. Noah weighed everything well before he spoke.

  “Have I seen Aslan do murder?” he said. “No. He does not trust me nearly enough.” He shook his head. “Do I think he is capable of murder? Absolutely. He is one of the biggest chemical weapons suppliers in the world. One doesn’t become successful in this business without leaving a few bodies behind. Probably more than a few.”