Amazon Roulette

by C. M. Gleason

  “I concur. The Skalas are silent for five years, then all of a sudden they start abducting CEOs and bringing down power grids. Surely that’s not the extent of things.”

  “Definitely not. If we only knew where to look.” Now it was his turn to settle back in his chair and give Helen an arch look. “By the way, did I mention I put a GPS tracker on Varden before he walked?”

  Helen sat bolt upright. Her eyes went wide and her mouth curved wryly. “Slick, MacNeil. Real slick. Way to play the hand.”

  Gabe gave a nod of acknowledgment. He knew she was referring not only to his interaction with Varden, but also the way he’d played her. “He’ll find it, probably sooner rather than later, but it was my only option. It’s tiny, and it’s in his pocket. I made sure we had a little bit of a scuffle before he left so I could get close enough.”

  “Are you tracking him now?” She gestured to his iPad.

  “Yes. He’s on the road. Heading east on Interstate 94. He could be going back to Ann Arbor. But for all we know, he might have found the tracker already and put it on a semi…”

  Helen grimaced. “True. Well, the only thing we can do is keep an eye on it and see if his location matches up with any of ours.”

  She scrolled through notes on her tablet with an agile finger. “So, the last time the Skalas had something big planned, we had communication from Roman Aleksandrov about it—a tease. First the random, small-scale earthquakes, then the video message from him taking responsibility for them and promising something more. So the power-grid outage would be the small-scale event, and we should be looking and watching for a bigger one to follow. Another outage, maybe? A bigger one, with greater economic consequences?”

  “If they follow pattern,” Gabe said, “that would make sense.”

  Before he could continue on that path, someone knocked on Helen’s door. She gestured the new arrival to come in, and Gabe looked up to see one of the techs.

  “I’ve got some of the data from Marina Alexander’s electronics,” he said. His name was Tom, and he was tall and thin and had skin the color of coal. He also looked as if he were just out of high school, but Gabe knew that wasn’t the case—a fact which made him feel very old. “Do you want it now?”

  “Yes,” said Helen before Gabe could respond.

  Gabe tensed automatically, and managed to keep his expression blank when Helen glanced at him. He had a bad feeling about this—either whatever was on that phone was going to connect Marina tightly to the Skaladeskas, completely obliterating any trust he left in her and very possibly putting her on a terrorist list, or it was going to be unpleasant or embarrassing in another way.

  He had no idea if Marina was seeing anyone else, or whether she’d kept a few suggestive texts they’d shared a few months ago, or whatever. At least they’d not taken any pictures.

  At least, he hadn’t.

  “I’ve got it here,” said Tom, fairly bouncing into the office. “Here’s a list of calls she’s made and received in the last week, and also whatever emails she downloaded to her phone. She doesn’t have as many texts, but they’re here. We’re still working on the laptop, but I thought you’d want to review this first.”

  Gabe snatched up the paper and scanned it rapidly. When he didn’t see anything suspicious—no calls to anyone that didn’t make sense, nothing he couldn’t explain—he felt his insides loosen slightly. “Do you have her actual phone with you? Maybe I’ll find something you didn’t realize was pertinent.” He felt Helen’s eyes on him as he took the phone from Tom, but ignored it and passed her the list of calls and texts.

  He felt his tension deplete, replaced by something more like discomfort, as he scrolled through her texts, calls, and even email. Nothing that bothered him, except for the invasion of privacy.

  He set the phone on Helen’s desk. “Mind if we keep it for a while, just in case someone tries to contact her?”

  “That’s fine,” Helen said, still scanning the list of communications Tom had provided. “Thanks, Tom. Let me know what you find on the laptop.”

  “I’m going to call Inez to see if she’s made any progress in connecting our list of targets to any events,” Gabe said.

  “In the meantime,” Helen said, “I was thinking…there’s nothing to indicate the deaths from the cuprobeus bacteria were intentional. One was a Skaladeska himself, who likely got infected accidentally while setting up the power outage. The timing’s exactly right. The other is a guy who bought a pinball machine infested with the bugs, and then his emergency physician was exposed and died. No relation to the Skaladeskas, not a target of them as far as we can tell…”

  Gabe’s eyes went wide, because he saw where she was going. “But where did the pinball machine come from?”

  She smiled with satisfaction. “That’s right. That, MacNeil, is going to be our lucky break.”

  ***

  “Roman has just notified me—Mariska has arrived, along with this Dr. Sanchez,” said Lev’s grainy face on the tablet screen.

  Varden had no reason to hide his relief. “They will be treated for the bacteria, then. They’ve arrived in time.” In excellent time, in fact. By his calculations, it was hardly more than fifteen hours since he’d arrived at Marina’s empty hotel room to lie in wait for MacNeil. Now he was in his own ratty hotel room, trying for a few moments of reprieve before he was on his way to meet Dannen Fridkov just outside of Chicago.

  He grimaced. That should be a pleasant meeting.

  “I have not yet seen Mariska nor her companion, but Roman is optimistic. He says though Sanchez is weak and disoriented, covered with the hives, she is displaying no symptoms.”

  No symptoms? Bloody hell. Varden sank onto the bed, gritting his teeth. She’d lied. She wasn’t infected at all.

  “But Roman says she will be treated regardless. We will take no chances with the Heir of Gaia.”

  Of course not. Mariska Aleksandrov must be protected at all costs. Brought into the Skaladeska fold, tempted and groomed and prepared for the inevitable. To carry on the Skaladeska legacy.

  Damn it to hell. Now she was there, in the compound, and would surely never be allowed to leave.

  Or want to leave.

  “I am going to see her now,” said Lev. “But before we disconnect, you must tell me the whole of it. What happened to Marcko?”

  “He was infected by the bacteria shortly after he left St. Louis. Several of the beetles were in his vehicle.”

  “And you weren’t able to treat him?”

  “I was not in possession of the antibiotic at the time,” Varden told him. “He didn’t believe me, and there was an altercation.”

  Lev’s lips pursed. “Marcko was always a bad-tempered and suspicious one. I warned Roman about those shortcomings, but he has always trusted him.”

  Varden kept his face blank. Only one of Roman’s many shortcomings. The man was driven, intelligent, and clever, but he shared Marcko’s impatience and arrogance. “Marcko made certain I was also infected with the bacteria.”

  Lev’s expression darkened. “He would do that? Why? What was subject of your altercation?”

  “He likely assumed I was lying about not having the antibiotic, and believed if I were infected, I would have to produce it.”

  “And you did not have it to produce.” Even through the tablet screen, Lev’s eyes were sharp. They held Varden’s for a long moment. “And the reason for your altercation with Marcko, Rue?”

  “I attempted to keep him from leaving the room where he was staying. He intended to spread the infection as publicly as possible. Beginning with me.”

  “I see.”

  “I saw no reason to advertise our presence, to draw attention to us and our initiatives.”

  “And to kill innocent people.”

  “It wasn’t part of the plan,” Varden replied coolly.

  “No. It wasn’t.” Lev held his gaze, and though they were a thousand miles apart, connected only by pixels, Varden felt the energy and strength emanati
ng from the old man. Dangerous, very perceptive, and incredibly wise. One would be a fool to underestimate him, or to write him off as having outlived his abilities.

  “And so now Marcko is dead, having been identified in an American hospital by his mark,” continued Lev.

  “Very possibly, though I don’t have confirmation of that. The authorities are fumbling about, trying to put pieces together that they cannot make fit. I have done what I can to obstruct that without drawing attention to myself or Fridkov. However, because of our altercation, Marcko was physically injured. I’m not certain whether he died from his injuries or the bacterial infection. It would, of course, be in the Skaladeskas’ best interest if it were the former.”

  “Agreed.” Still Lev’s gaze held his.

  Varden was never one to mince words. “If you don’t trust me, then call me home.”

  The old man’s eyes narrowed. “There are times, Rue, when I cannot be certain whether that is what you truly want or not.”

  “You intend for me to be Roman’s successor—but only if I’m worthy of the position. If you believe me loyal. It’s not my decision but yours.”

  “There is no doubt of your worthiness. I have never doubted your worthiness or your loyalty—to Gaia and to me, at any rate.” His lips twisted. “But to Roman…?”

  “His ways are not my ways.”

  “And now you quote the Christian Bible to me.”

  Varden couldn’t keep his lips from twitching into a smile. “And, not surprising, you recognize it.”

  “So you have seen Fridkov?” Lev asked, obviously ready to change the subject.

  “Yes, of course,” Varden replied. “Fridkov and I are scheduled to meet in three hours. As far as he is concerned, Roman’s plan should remain intact at this point. He will deliver the package. I will report back on the results immediately. The schedule remains unchanged? October 1 is still the date?”

  “Yes.”

  Varden nodded. “Very well. Do give Marina my best,” he added with a cool smile.

  “Of course I will.” Lev signed off, and Varden flipped the protective case over his tablet with more force than necessary.

  Feck, his head hurt. Still throbbed like a bloody bitch from where Marcko had taken that swing at him with a metal rod. The man always had been short-tempered and untrustworthy—hence the reason Varden carried a weapon when meeting with him.

  The stitch job Marina had done was better than average, but it didn’t take away the blasted pain. And couldn’t account for the loss of blood.

  But it was lucky for him she’d arrived in time to doctor him up—and before he’d become contagious. He couldn’t have gone into the lab bleeding all over without attracting a lot of attention…and if he hadn’t gone into the lab, he too would be dead from the cuprobeus infection, thanks to Marcko.

  It was too bad Marcko had been infected by the bacteria, but in the end it had worked out all right on many fronts—he wasn’t around to tell tales about about Varden, and Rue didn’t have to have the man’s death on his conscience.

  Bloody damn hell. He was exhausted. He looked down at his hands. His fingers were shaking.

  Couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept more than an hour. Too much shit going on, too damn many balls in the air, too many lies to keep straight. And now Marina Alexander was doing exactly what she shouldn’t be doing, and there wasn’t a bloody damned thing he could do to stop her without risking everything he’d worked for for a decade.

  He wanted to be there, in Chacahoya with Lev and Roman and Marina…but he was also, more urgently, needed here.

  Damn, the bed felt good. He needed to close his eyes. He sank back, tried to relax.

  He’d been going without pause since the ill-fated meeting with Marcko, traveling from Chicago to Ann Arbor, and back again, and other places in between. But there was too much at stake to let his guard down. He could get news at any moment. The plans could be altered, someone could interfere, Roman could adjust the schedule like he had done before…

  Varden still couldn’t believe MacNeil had let him walk. He’d been prepared to force the issue if the man hadn’t, but it hadn’t been necessary. Surprisingly.

  His eyes shot wide open.

  He sat bolt upright, and swore when the head rush had his wound throbbing like a baller, radiating pain all around his skull. Even his eyes hurt, but Varden ignored the discomfort as he dug in each of his pockets.

  Then—sonofabitch. There it was.

  He pulled out the tiny electronic node that had been tucked deep down inside his back pocket. Slick, MacNeil.

  Varden looked at it, holding it in the palm of his hand. Then a cold, wry smile broke through the nagging exhaustion.

  He could work with this.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  “Your grandfather has arrived. He wishes to see you.” Nora gestured behind her.

  Marina turned. There was a glass barrier between the tiny clinic where she and Eli were being treated and the chamber where Roman waited. Lev was there, watching her through the partition.

  Something inside her thudded and thumped when their eyes met. He looked so old and frail, so harmless…yet she knew better. She knew he was the mastermind behind all of the Skaladeska efforts to save Gaia.

  And yet something drew her to him. Genes? Heritage?

  “Go on,” Nora said when Marina made no move to leave. “You will be able to see everything through the glass and watch over your friend. The only thing we can do for him now is to wait and allow him to rest. Lev cannot take the chance of becoming exposed, so he will not come in here.”

  She looked over at Eli, who seemed to be breathing much more steadily and slowly now. His vitals were being monitored by familiar-looking medical equipment, and one of the techs sat in a chair next to him as if to keep watch.

  Marina nodded and left the room, hoping she wasn’t making the wrong decision.

  The door to the other chamber opened immediately for her, and she stepped in, heart pounding, palms damp, insides in turmoil. Her father and her grandfather. Her blood, her family. Terrorists.

  Roman appeared less commanding when in his father’s presence, although he loomed over his parent. In both demeanor and action, he deferred to his father.

  Lev was hardly taller than five feet, being stooped with age. He seemed frailer than the last time she’d seen him, yet there was still an aura of energy emanating from him. His skin was wrinkled and very nearly translucent, showing blue veins and the rope and texture of every tendon and muscle in his forearms and bare feet. He had thin wisps of stark white hair that gathered like a soft cloud above his skull, and that covering was thin enough to reveal age spots of brown and beige.

  “Mariska,” Lev said, reaching to touch her.

  She didn’t move away, and his soft, gnarled hand curled around hers. A shock of something bolted through her—energy, recognition, connection; she couldn’t quite define it—and, startled, she looked at him with wide eyes.

  His sharp gaze caught hers and held as firmly as his fingers. His blue-gray eyes were steady and delving, penetrating, and yet…kind. He exuded kindness. Affection. And truth. The word popped into her head from nowhere.

  Truth.

  How could that be?

  Marina withdrew her hand, feeling a little unsteady. She collected her thoughts. “Where is Cora Allegan?”

  If Roman was surprised at her knowledge, he didn’t show it. “She is no longer here. We have released her.”

  “Released her? Why would you do that?”

  “She has been released into the arms of Gaia. It will be Gaia’s decision, Her judgment, as to whether Her tormentor will live.”

  “Do you mean to say you set her loose in the jungle?”

  “Precisely. If Gaia means to forgive her for what she’s done, then the woman shall live. And perhaps, one hopes, with a deeper respect and conscientiousness for our Mother.”

  “That’s a certain death sentence. For all intents and purposes, you’
ve murdered the woman.”

  Roman shrugged. “But no, I wouldn’t say that. After all, there are countless people who live in the jungle, who have survived in the rainforest. It is more than possible, more than reasonable that she could survive. It truly is up to Ms. Allegan herself, and whether she shows respect and care for her environment. Gaia is forgiving. She will provide for those who care for her. She always has. Therefore, there is an excellent chance Ms. Allegan will survive this little game of roulette. And if not…then Gaia has spoken.”

  Marina stared at him for a moment. “You had no right to bring this—this judgment upon her. Or anyone.”

  Roman shook his head. “It is not only my right, but my duty. Someone must speak for Gaia.”

  Marina hardly knew what to say. Her father was a murderer—no, she’d known that for five years. But he was also delusional. She recovered. “Then I must thank you for treating Dr. Sanchez and myself, instead of allowing Gaia to make her own judgment on our worthiness.”

  Lev made a sharp noise, but he smothered it when Roman glanced at him. “You knew we would take no chances on your well-being,” Roman told her. “You were safe coming here.”

  “You will always be safe coming here,” said Lev. “Mariska, I am so pleased you have returned to us.”

  “You can’t possibly think I’m going to stay here.” She quelled a stab of apprehension and kept her expression cool. This conversation had been inevitable. It was the outcome that she feared.

  The two men exchanged looks, but it was Roman who spoke. “Your heritage, our family—our legacy and responsibility—demands a member of the direct bloodline of Gaia lead this tribe. You are the last, Mariska. You are the last of the blood, and you must do your duty.”

  “While I want nothing more than to protect and save our earth, and while I am utterly sympathetic to your goals, I will have nothing to do with a terrorist organization. You know that. You’ll have to destroy me before I’d join you. I told you this five years ago. Nothing has changed. Not even”—she turned to look at Lev—“the temptation of a career-making discovery.”