by Cindy Dees
Chapter 18
Isabella held the door of the armored SUV as Anya climbed out into the secure parking garage under the Hamilton Arena. The skater had her game face on tonight. She had a distant look in her eyes and wasn’t speaking to anyone. She hadn’t since the American skating coach had shown up at her door to lead her through the usual verbal run-throughs of her program.
He’d had her jump a bit in the middle of her room, too, to practice something she needed to remember about her arms. It had been impressive to see the girl fly up into the air from a standing start, twirl around three times and land on one foot. It was easy to forget just how extraordinary an athlete Anya was. Only a handful of the greatest ballet dancers in the world could jump and twirl like that, and they weren’t landing on a knife edge going upwards of thirty miles an hour.
Anya ignored the arena’s security measures as Isabella led her through them tonight, so focused was she on the performance to come. Judy Levinson was going to meet them at the rink with the fire dancer costume, and Ashley Caldwell, who’d brought Anya’s skates the last time, had volunteered to do it again. Isabella let the American skater do it, more because Anya was being superstitious today, wanting everything to be exactly identical to her preparations for her last two skates, than because Anya’s skates were in danger.
Isabella was pleased to see the tension surrounding the entry checkpoints. Word had clearly gotten out to the building security team that something bad might be planned. This was the premier event of the entire Winter Olympic Games. Tonight, both the men’s and ladies’ singles finals would be skated. Many times, international competitions paired ice dancing with ladies’ singles. But because of the global nature of this event, the ISU had decided to do both competitions on this Saturday evening to maximize the worldwide audience. The men would go first. They were slated to begin in an hour, in fact.
Anya and Isabella made it through the last checkpoint and headed for the ladies’ dressing room. Isabella put the girl’s hair up in rollers while Anya applied her makeup.
It was almost time to take Anya’s hair down and Isabella was starting to sweat it because the Russian coach wasn’t here to bail her out when a voice made Isabella turn around.
It was Lily Gustavson, the ISU official. “Ms. Khalid. You have a visitor.”
Liz stepped out from behind the taller woman. Anya squealed and launched herself at her coach, but checked herself and only gave her coach a gentle hug. Which was probably a good call given how pale and drawn the Aussie looked. Liz said sternly, “You didn’t think I’d let you skate in the finals of the Olympics without me, did you?”
Anya smiled from ear to ear.
“Okay, young lady. Let’s get your hair out of those rollers while you go over your program for me.”
Isabella sagged in relief at escaping further hair duty. She stepped close enough to murmur to the coach, “My colleagues are just outside the dressing room. A brigade of bad guys couldn’t get in here right now. I’m going to go out and have a look around.”
Liz nodded, absorbed in gathering Anya’s hair into a long clip.
The plan was for Isabella to leave Anya in the locker room while she helped the Medusas pull out Lazlo’s family. Now that Liz was back, Isabella felt a whole lot better about doing so. As soon as she stepped out of the locker room, she murmured into her collar mike, “I’m out.”
Vanessa replied, “The fourth skater in this group is skating now. You have about fifteen minutes to get in place.”
“Sorry I cut it so close. Liz is here, though. Looks like hell but isn’t about to miss her girl skating.”
“That’s great!” Vanessa replied.
Isabella hurried to the concourse level. Kat, Misty and Aleesha should already be inside the women’s restroom she’d just passed. Karen would be hiding in a stall of the men’s room nearby. All of them had worn the distinctive black wool coats of Olympic officials tonight, along with hats and scarves. If Vanessa wasn’t already out front in the SUV on loan from the FBI, she would be soon.
Isabella found the entrance into the right section of seats and had a look below. The arena was crammed to the rafters. It was a sea of bright color, and dozens of huge halogen lights washed the ice in brilliant light. Television backdrops dominated a full quarter of the arena down at ice level, and lights bathed those as well. The atmosphere was electric. This was the holy grail of figure skating, and the worshipers were out in force to pay homage to the quadrennial event.
Isabella leaned against the steel railing to one side of the tunnel, trying to look like she was merely standing at her post. She scanned the arena and spotted several security men, unobtrusively strolling around the very top of the arena behind the nosebleed seats. She’d lay odds they were snipers carrying concealed rifles. Dozens of other security types were here, combing the place for any sign of the two nerve agents, but she didn’t spot any of the teams.
The last skater in this group of men took the ice. Four-and-a-half minutes until the intermission. Until the Petrovich family would excuse itself from its seats and head for the bathrooms. Her job was to spot whether or not Ilya or his men were following the family. The Medusas had a plan for it either way, but one was considerably more violent and dangerous than the other.
There would be a fifteen-minute break while the Zamboni resurfaced the ice and a six-minute warm-up period for the last group of men. After that, the sixth through first place men would skate their programs in reverse order. Lazlo was in sixth place going into this evening’s competition, so he would skate first.
His mother and sisters were in the stands all wearing long robes and full burkas, ostensibly in protest over Anya’s upcoming performance. In reality, however, the coverings would play a pivotal role in the family’s escape from Gorabchek.
Soon, now. Adrenaline started pumping into her system, revving her up to full combat speed.
The last skater fell twice in the last minute of his program, and took a disappointed bow as his music ended. No lengthy ovations for him. A few flowers sailed onto the ice and were picked up, and then the Zamboni drove out. A crowd of people rushed the tunnel, heading for the snack stands and restrooms. She held her position against the flood, all the while keeping a close eye out for Lazlo’s family.
There they were, coming up the steps toward her. The black robes and veils were hard to miss. Interestingly enough, they weren’t the only women here tonight so attired. She had to wonder if the women under those veils truly objected to Anya’s skating. But then, maybe she was just cynical.
She kept an eagle eye peeled for Gorabchek or his associates, but saw no sign of their bulky forms in the crowd anywhere near the Petrovich family. “They’re clear,” she said. “Heading your way.”
The family had been warned to expect to stand in long lines to get into the restroom and the Medusas had counseled them to be patient and wait their turns like everyone else so as not to draw attention to themselves. Isabella turned and headed for the concourse, trailing the family at a distance. No sign of any tails from here. She loitered nearby, getting two drinks from the drinking fountain and even standing in the bathroom line herself for a while to mask her continued presence in the area.
“Papa Bear just went inside. Mama Bear and the cubs are about two minutes from inside,” she reported.
A few seconds later, Karen came up. “Got him. Man, did some folks squawk when that end door suddenly turned out to be unlocked. Starting the switcheroo.”
Karen and Papa Petrovich would exchange clothes. She would put on his red jacket and ski cap and he’d don her sober Olympic security coat. At six feet tall, Karen was almost exactly the same height as the elder Petrovich. A spray-on tanner had matched her naturally fair skin tones to his darker ones. With her hair up in a cap, she could pass for the man at a distance. Well, maybe if the viewer was drunk and squinted very hard. Fortunately, all Karen had to do was pass for the guy at a glance.
“We have contact on our targets,” Kat anno
unced. “They’re coming into the stall with us now.” The three Medusas had claimed one of the oversized handicapped-access stalls in which to make their clothing changes with the Petrovich women.
Karen replied, “We’re done. Call us when you’re ready to roll.”
“Roger,” came Kat’s muffled reply. Sounded like her head was in a sweater.
Vanessa piped up. “FYI, I’m ready to roll out here as well.”
In no more than a minute, Kat spoke again. “Visibility sucks in this burka. No wonder women can’t drive in these getups. They can’t see anything!”
Isabella grinned. “I gather then, that you’re ready to roll?”
“Yup, they’re all dressed up as Olympic officials and we Medusas look like Black Moving Objects.”
Isabella took one last look around the concourse. “All clear out here. Let’s do it.”
All four Medusas, now wearing the Petrovichs’ distinctive clothing, emerged from the bathrooms and met in front of the drinking fountain. Without making eye contact with Isabella, they headed purposefully back toward their seats to watch “their son” skate.
Meanwhile, a somewhat motley group of “Olympic officials” made its way down the concourse and toward the nearest exit. Isabella trailed just behind them, covering their six and making sure none of them freaked out or did anything stupid.
“Coming at you, Viper,” she muttered as the family passed through the exit doors.
“In sight,” her boss replied tersely.
Isabella stepped outside and looked left and right. All clear. Papa Petrovich opened the back door and helped his family into the vehicle. Then, after a long look over his shoulder, he climbed into the front seat and pulled the door shut. For a second there, she hadn’t been entirely sure he’d get in the car. He’d been violently opposed to fleeing before his son skated. But his true reluctance was precisely why the plan would work. Gorabchek wouldn’t expect them to run before Lazlo skated.
“The vehicle is pulling out now,” Isabella advised her teammates inside the arena. She doubled back quickly to the tunnel to keep an eye on her teammates who were still in the aisle, slowly making their way to the Petrovichs’ seats. “Remove the robes now and get to safety.”
Karen bit out, “I just spotted Gorabchek. He’s sitting in the stands.”
“Did he see us?” That was Misty sounding a bit tense.
“No,” Karen answered. “There’s Lazlo coming onto the ice to skate. Ilya and friends just turned to look at the kid. Robes off, now.”
“Where are the tangos?” Isabella asked. “I’ll cover your retreat if you guys can back out of that area now.”
“Twenty rows up from the ice, left of the aisle by about ten seats. All three side-by-side. Four empty seats in front of them.”
“Got it,” Isabella replied. “They’re looking around now. Starting to act concerned now that he’s seen the seats are empty. Aw, crap. They’re getting out of their seats. Get out of there, ladies. Scatter!”
Each of the four Medusas headed in a different direction. Kat went down toward the ice, passing Ilya and friends at a range of about twelve inches. Karen moved left at the intersecting horizontal aisle, Misty headed right. And Aleesha came straight up the stairs at Isabella. Mamba passed her by, making eye contact and giving a fractional smile. Isabella held her ground and continued to lean against the steel railing. “Ilya and friends have split up.”
Isabella pulled out her cell phone and hit the speed dial for the security team. “A little help in section 106. Three subjects have just left their seats. Male. Black leather jackets. All three are probable hostiles. I repeat, probable hostiles.”
A flurry of voices responded to that as FBI agents and OSG security forces converged to pick up pursuit of Gorabchek and his men.
Dex came across the frequency. “If one of those guys takes a piss, I want you there to help him. These guys do nothing and go nowhere without eyes on them. Everyone got that?”
A murmur of affirmatives.
Dex ordered, “Backup Channel 1 will be devoted to Gorabchek. Channel 2 to the taller of his two buddies, Channel 3 to the short one…”
Isabella tuned out as he divvied out surveillance teams to watch the three men. If the terrorists tried to approach a hidden cache of nerve agents, they’d have so many people on top of them they wouldn’t know what hit them.
She headed back down toward the locker room and Anya. She monitored the surveillance of the three Chechnyans on her radio, but based on their movements, it sounded like the three men were merely searching the arena for Lazlo’s family. She’d leave them to the teams upstairs. She had a skater to look out for.
Isabella tried to stay out of sight and out of mind as Anya completed her final preparations for the skate of her life. Sixteen years of daily practice, sore feet, missed fun, and hard work all boiled down to this moment.
The first six women were called to the ice. The ladies’ final would run in the same fashion as the men’s with a break after the first six skaters to resurface the ice followed by the final six skaters. Including Anya.
Too restless to stand in the warm-up area any longer watching Anya stretch and listen to music, Isabella headed for the ice. If Red Jihad was going to do anything tonight, it would have to be soon. This group would take a little less than an hour to skate and be judged. Then, fifteen minutes for the Zamboni, another hour of skating, and it would all be over.
As she emerged from the long tunnel leading to the ice, she looked around the arena. If possible, the atmosphere was even more charged than it had been for the men. She wondered idly how Lazlo had finished. She hadn’t paid the slightest bit of attention. He probably hadn’t pulled up into a medal position from sixth place, but he’d still had a great showing for the representative of a tiny country at its first Olympics.
What was the Red Jihad planning? She could almost feel the violence of it in the air. The anticipation was so thick she could slice it. Of course, maybe it was just her own nerves about Anya’s upcoming skate. If the girl really hit her program, she might even pull out a medal. And how big a statement would that be to the world?
Isabella fretted through the first group of skaters. But she saw nothing. During the fourth skater’s performance, all three surveillance teams reported that the three Chechnyans had left the arena. Completely, as in outside. Bye-bye. What was up with that? A rolling surveillance team followed them to see where they headed.
Please, God, let this whole threat to the skating venue not be a giant feint to disguise some other target! All of the OSG’s security resources were concentrated here!
The Medusas reported in now and then. None of them had spotted anything suspicious. The last skater in the first group flew past Isabella on the other side of the boards, nearing the end of her program. From this angle, the ice looked like unnaturally white glass, despite six long programs having just been skated on it. Holt’s super ice held up well to hard usage. It glistened with an almost magical quality. Some ice-skating rink this was.
Wait a minute. Ice-skating rink. Harlan Holt said he’d put the powder in the rink. Not in the arena. In the rink specifically! He was a scientist, not a skating expert. He wouldn’t necessarily have used the proper terminology to distinguish between the ice surface and the facility which held it. Lots of people called the ice itself a rink.
Holy shit.
Could it be that the Agent Alpha was right there in front of all of them? In the rink itself? In the ice?
The current skater, Alexandria Marweshandra of India, finished her program and commenced taking her bows.
Isabella thought furiously. It was all there, right in front of her. Harlan Holt inexplicably insisting that the ice be torn up and resurfaced right about the same time his wife disappeared. The hit from the chemical detectors on the paper bag of poop—that had lain on the ice! The anomalous readings when this place was searched last night. A trace of vapor rose from the ice when it got cold in here, like late at night. A t
iny amount of the Agent Alpha was evaporating into the air—from the ice! Even Holt’s distraught remark last night that he’d put the powder in the rink made sense. He’d told her exactly where the Agent Alpha was. He’d mixed it into the ice!
Marweshandra headed off to the kiss-and-cry area. Meanwhile, a gate opened at the other end of the arena where the Zamboni would enter as soon as the girl’s scores were posted.
Her brain leaped to the next step. How would the Agent Bravo come into contact with the Agent Alpha? Think, ’Bella, think! It was liquid. There’d need to be a whole lot of it. Hundreds of gallons. It would have to come into direct contact with the ice.
A rumbling engine coughed to life at the far end of the ice.
Oh shit.
The Zamboni!
She yanked out her phone, hit the speed dial, and screamed into it, “Stop the Zamboni! It’s the Agent Bravo! The Alpha agent has been frozen into the ice and the Zamboni is about to spray the Bravo agent right on top of it!”
She looked around wildly at the coaches and skaters milling along the boards. What had that scientist said? The nerve gas was slightly heavier than air. It would sink. But she’d said that if it was stirred up, it would mix with the air in an enclosed space!
“Get back!” she shouted at the top of her lungs. “Everyone, get back from the ice! Head down the tunnel!”
Dammit, they weren’t moving. They were all staring at her in uncomprehending shock. Like she’d lost her mind.
“Poison gas,” she shouted desperately. “From the Zamboni! Terrorist attack!” She was about to yell “Fire!” if they didn’t get moving soon. She grabbed the arms of the people nearest to her and shoved them toward the tunnel.
Over her shoulder, she heard the Zamboni rumble out onto the ice. Holy crap. Thirty thousand people were about to get nerve gassed.
Into her phone she shouted, “Somebody stop the Zamboni! Make an announcement over the P.A. system for everyone from the bottom rows of the building to move up higher as fast as they can. Evacuate the place, dammit!”
