Allegiance Burned: A Jackson Quick Adventure

by Tom Abrahams

  “Abba is Swedish,” I interject. “They’re from Sweden.”

  “Same thing.” He waves me off and looks at Bella. “You okay with Swiss?”

  “Okay.” Bella leans over Wolodymyr’s shoulder to watch him give her a new name.

  “I give you name Analiese,” he tells her. “Popular name. I put it with Muller for surname. Also popular. It rings no alarms.”

  “Analiese Muller?” Bella tries the name. “Sounds nice.”

  “How tall are you?” Wolodymyr eyes Bella from toe to head.

  “Five foot ten.”

  “That’s one hundred and seventy seven centimeters,” he inputs it into the computer.

  “You’re tall,” I comment, internally comparing my height to hers. I hadn’t taken note that she was almost as tall as me.

  “Gee, thanks.”

  Wolodymyr gets up from his chair and walks over to a cabinet on our left. He spins a combination lock left, right, and left again until the cabinet clicks open. He swings open the door to reveal stacks of documents, passports, various nations’ currency in small and large denominations, and a long pump action shotgun.

  “That loaded?” I ask.

  “Always,” he shuffles through a stack of passports. “I don’t work with angels, remember? Also I sometimes work with hacking.”

  “Hacking?” Bella’s ears perk up.

  “I am, what do you call it, jack of trades?” Wolodymyr winks. “I am good with computers. People need things to happen, need to see things in computers. I open windows for them.”

  “Microsoft?” Bella questions.

  “No windows like to let in light and air,” he answers. “I help people who don’t want people to know they need help. Like you.”

  He pulls a red passport from a stack, closes the cabinet and spins the lock. “This one is good. It’s Swiss and has a couple stamps on it. Ukraine, Russia, France, reentry to Switzerland. You are good. I add one more Ukraine with yesterday’s date. It will be clean and nice.”

  “Thanks for doing this Wolodymyr,” I say. “I really appreciate the quick work.”

  “No problem.” He spreads the passport open and slides it into a printer. “You are friend and you pay with cash. Both are good things. Yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “We get you out of here quick. You have plane to catch,” he says. “I already make reservation. Aerosvit. Sends you straight to Kiev. Then you go wherever it is you go.”

  “Great! Thanks for making the arrangements.”

  “I also tell my friend at the airport that you pay him extra,” he slips in as an afterthought.

  “Why?”

  “You have weapons, yes?” he asks rhetorically. “You need someone to put them in plane without questions.”

  I hadn’t thought about it. The Tec-9 and the Smith & Wesson weren’t an issue on Sir Spencer’s or Bella’s jets. “How much?”

  “One hundred dollars U.S.”

  I laugh. “Okay.” Thank goodness for a weak hryvnia.

  “Where is it you go?” He looks over his shoulder at me as the printer hums and whirs, sucking in the passport line by line.

  “Wolodymyr, if you don’t want to know her name, you really don’t want to know where we’re going. Right?”

  “Good point, Jackson Quick. Good point to make.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Aerosvit does not fly what I would call a modern fleet of aircraft. The regional Ukrainian airline employs a lot of Soviet-era military transport planes, reconfigured for commercial flight. The empty seat in front of me folds all the way forward. And first class, as it were, is special only in that there are desks attached to the seats. The overhead compartments are open, twin lines of rope serving as the barrier for our luggage.

  Even after emerging from bankruptcy, the dollars, or hryvnia, must be in short supply.

  “This is commercial?” Bella asks, tightening the seatbelt across her lap.

  “Not really. This is Iron Curtain commercial. It’s not really typical of what you’d fly in the States.”

  She takes stock of the less than comfortable cabin from her window seat as we bounce against the turbulence.

  “When was the last time you flew commercial?” I ask.

  She purses her lips, searching her memory. “At least a decade.”

  “Really?”

  “I guess,” she says. “I really don’t know. I don’t take a lot of vacations. And whenever I travel for work, I take the jet.”

  “What about the ski trip you took with your dad? When was that?”

  “What are you talking about?” She brushes her hair from her face and turns toward me, away from the window. “What trip?”

  “I saw a photo of you and your father. It was on your computer screen, the home screen. It was the two of you—”

  “I know the picture,” she barks. “What we’re you doing on my computer, Jackson? When was this?”

  “This morning. In the hotel. You were blow-drying your hair.”

  Her eyes narrow. “You got on my computer without asking? I was in the bathroom. I trusted you. I was about to put my life in your hands.” She was somehow yelling at me without raising her voice. “I was vulnerable, and you abused my trust. Unbelievable.”

  “I needed internet access. I don’t have a computer anymore.”

  “You could’ve asked me.”

  “Sorry, Bella. I —”

  “What did you want?”

  “What?”

  “On the internet. What did you want on the internet?”

  “I was looking up neutrinos.”

  “C’mon, Jackson,” she chides, looking at the passing clouds, “don’t compound your deceit with a lie.”

  “I’m not lying. I was actually looking up neutrinos. I was trying to figure out which part of the truth you were keeping from me.”

  “What are you talking about?” she whips her head back to me. “What truth?”

  “We’re not looking to find some process that helps subs talk to one another, Bella. There’s more to it than that.”

  Her eyes are searching for something to say but don’t find one. She licks her lips.

  “This is about nuclear detection, isn’t it?”

  She doesn’t answer.

  “Bella, you can’t sit here and act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. There’s a nuclear component to this. It seems like your Dr. Wolf figured out how to use neutrino beams to find secret nuclear reactors. There was a bunch of research published about that stuff and then it stopped. It went radio silent.”

  “How do you know this?” she asks, her arms folded in front of her.

  “I got a tip and I checked it out.”

  “On the internet,” she says doubtfully.

  “On the internet.”

  “Hmmph,” she grunts and looks back out the window, the sun bouncing off of the clouds, creating a glare against the glass. The light on her face makes her look pale, sallow almost.

  “Is that it?” I ask her. “That’s all you’re going to say?”

  Her silence only furthers confirms that this is about more than she’s willing to admit. My laptop espionage is nothing compared to whatever it is she’s hiding.

  “Look, Jackson,” she turns from the window, her gaze a little softer than before, “you’re right in believing that I haven’t been entirely forthcoming regarding the full scope of this.”

  “You mean the blackmail part or the nuclear part?”

  “I guess I was wrong about you. Neither of us is trustworthy, Jackson.”

  “Speak for yourself,” I say. “I used your computer without asking. Now I’m untrustworthy? I don’t think so. Rude, maybe. Not untrustworthy.”

  “Parse words however you want,” she says, “but you are where you are because you betrayed your employer. He entrusted you with information that you later used against him.”

  “What?” Is she on crack? “You’re telling me that I’m a traitor because I betrayed a lying, manipulativ
e, power hungry killer? That makes no sense. It wasn’t that long ago that you were telling me that I’m the only one you can trust in this.”

  “I’ve given it more thought.” She leans into me and lowers her voice to a whisper. “Your boss, no matter how much of a monster he proved to be, trusted you. You betrayed that trust. And that makes you untrustworthy. Who’s to say my moral compass and yours point in the same direction? Who’s to say, at some point, I give you information that you decide to later use against me?”

  It’s blowing my mind, but she has a point.

  “Why would I tell you everything there is to know? Let’s not forget, Jackson, the man who recommended you to me is someone neither of us trusts. You’re the one who keeps reminding me of that.”

  “You’re saying if A plus B equals C then —”

  “Exactly. You may save my life a million times, and it doesn’t mean I can trust you.”

  “That’s messed up.” I shake my head. “How are we going to keep doing this then?”

  “Doing what?”

  I’ve heard before that adversity doesn’t build character, it merely reveals it. Maybe that’s what’s happening here. Bella is ultimately a pampered, weak, conniving, untrustworthy snake, whose only raison d’être is power and money. She is Charlie. She doesn’t need the rifle.

  “Never mind,” I say. “I understand where we are here. This is business, pure and simple. We don’t have to trust each other to get the job done. As long as we understand each other.” I unbuckle my belt.

  “Where are you going?” she asks.

  “The bathroom,” I mumble. “I suddenly feel a little sick.”

  ***

  Kiev’s Boryspil International Airport is southeast of the city. The domestic terminal is a small building adjacent to the much busier, and more nicely appointed, international terminal. Bella and I trudge through the crowds to the curb in front of the terminal. I’m several steps ahead of her. My pack, which feels heavier with every passing hour without good sleep, has a red tag on it marked with white letters that read Спеціальний. Special. My Tec-9, Gerber knife, and revolver are still inside. The ammo is there too, as is my Garmin. It was the best one hundred dollars I’ve spent in a while.

  “You think it’s safe to get a cab?” Bella asks. “I mean, after Odessa.”

  “We have different identities.” I glance over my shoulder outside the terminal. “We flew commercial. There’s no way to have tracked us here. We’re fine to take a cab.” My phone rings.

  “Is that your phone?” Bella drops her duffel on the curb.

  “Yeah.” I stare at the burner phone. It’s an unknown number.

  “Are you going to answer it?”

  I answer and immediately regret the decision.

  “Jackson,” the caller says, “how’s the weather in Kiev?” His British accent has become like nails on a chalk board.

  “Confusing,” I answer.

  “How’s that, good man? How would the weather be confusing?” He says, though I am aware he knows exactly what I mean.

  “How did you find me?” I turn to Bella, who is now mouthing “Who is it?” Her eyebrows are smushed together.

  “Oh, Jackson,” he laughs. “Do we really need to play this game again? You are always at my fingertips.”

  “This is a burner phone, Sir Spencer,” I say his name and Bella’s eyes grow wide. “There’s no way —”

  “There’s always a way, Jackson. What have you found so far?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?” he asks. “I find that hard to believe, what with two bloody scenes and three or four dead bodies in Odessa. You’d have thought the Czar sent his army to the steps and mowed down the Bolsheviks against a haunting strain of classical music.”

  “Not quite,” I reply.

  “So you haven’t found anything yet? No parts to the puzzle as it were?”

  “No.”

  “Then where are you off to now? You must have a good lead, right?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Jackson,” he says, “really now. What’s with the tied tongue? You seem…what’s the word…suspicious?”

  “You’ve got more skin in this than either you or Bella are willing to let on. There’s more at stake. Bella says Wolf was blackmailing her.”

  Bella shakes her head and backs up a step. “No!” she says. “Don’t —”

  “She says there were buyers,” I look at Bella as I speak into the phone. “Wolf was auctioning his process to the highest bidder. She says Liho Blogis was one of them. Another one was Iranian, maybe.”

  “Iran,” he says. “That’s an interesting one. And Blogis you say?” His condescension zips through the wireless connection.

  “Where are you?”

  “At the Hay Adams in Washington,” he says. “My usual room. The White House is particularly beautiful this morning. I’m watching MSNBC. Care to know what I’m having for breakfast?”

  “No.”

  “Then let’s get on with what’s important,” he says. “We were talking about Iran, and Blogis, and a bidding war. Much more interesting conversation than the blather on cable.”

  “Bella says you were a middleman. You were playing broker for an interested party when, out of the goodness of your heart, you decide to help her.”

  “I found it the most economically viable option,” he says. “It’s far less expensive, and potentially more lucrative, than the alternatives.”

  “Were you aware that this process isn’t about talking yellow submarines? It’s about nuclear detection.”

  “I am aware of the neutrinos’ value and of Dr. Wolf’s discovery. I am only surprised that…”

  “That what?”

  “That she told you.”

  “Why?”

  “We’d discussed what we thought you needed to know as you assisted her in retrieving the process,” he reveals. “Divulging the blackmail was a tactical decision, designed to gain your sympathy. I imagine she told you this at a moment you believed her to be vulnerable.”

  I press the phone closer to my ear and casually step back from Bella, who’s mouthing the words, “What is he saying?” I ignore her.

  I’m untrustworthy anyhow, right?

  “You know, Jackson,” he says, “you’re getting off track here. None of what you’re fretting about is pertinent to the task at hand. It’s disconcerting, really, because you are quickly running out of time. And if you don’t succeed, you don’t get what you want.”

  Bella steps closer to me, her eyes asking me to let her in on the conversation.

  “Wait a minute.” I hold up my hand as much in response to Sir Spencer as I do to signal Bella to back off. I turn away from Bella and lower my voice. “Are you telling me that there’s more she’s keeping from me? That the two of you will let the information trickle out when it’s tactically critical? Otherwise I’m in the dark, blindly doing your bidding?”

  “Take from my suggestion what you will, Jackson,” Sir Spencer answers. “You know as well as I that one functions best when one has the information necessary to complete the task at hand. Too much intelligence only creates more noise. Don’t take everything so personally, good man. It’s not always about Jackson Quick.”

  He has a point and I have a job to finish.

  “All right,” I relent, “I’ll accept I’m your minion. It is what it is.” I turn back around to face Bella, who’s given up and is trying to hail a cab. “And you’re right, I need to focus. So what did you mean about us running out of time?”

  “Ahhh,” he laughs, “back to what matters. Very good. Has Bella discussed with you anything about Toulon?”

  “No,” I catch her eye for second, before she looks away again. “What’s Toulon?”

  “It’s a city in southern France and is home to a large military port. Quite lovely there in July during the Jazz Festival. You’d enjoy the music, and the beautiful Mediterranean scenery, Jackson.”

  “The point, Sir Spencer?�
��

  “Toulon is, as I mentioned, home to a large military port. It’s historically important. And it is where our friend Liho Blogis found a piece of the process.”

  I march over to Bella to tell her. “Blogis has a piece of the process.”

  “What?” she asks, turning her attention from the futility of hailing a cab. “Where?”

  “Toulon.”

  Her eyes widen, betraying her secret.

  “Jackson,” says Sir Spencer, “are you listening to me?”

  “Yes, go ahead.”

  “Toulon is also the home of the Astronomy with a Neutrino Telescope and Abyss environmental research project, also known as ANTARES,” he explains. “It’s an underwater telescope that measures the neutrinos traveling from space into the southern hemisphere.”

  “How does he know this?” Bella interjects.

  “What does that have to do with the process?” I ask, ignoring her.

  “ANTARES went live in 2008 after years of work. Wolf was part of the team that helped design it. They figured out a way to detect the radiation from some of the neutrinos that pass through the Earth and then into the Mediterranean, despite a lot of background radiation. Quite genius, from what I’m told. His brilliance on that project is the reason that Nanergetix selected Wolf for their work.”

  “He had contacts there,” I conclude. “And neither you nor Bella thought to start in France, the place where he worked prior to his job at Nanergetix?”

  “Are you talking about Wolf?” Bella asks. I nod. “How does Spencer know Blogis has a piece?”

  “Jackson,” Sir Spencer says, “these are all educated guesses. France was one option. Brookhaven in Long Island was another. Bella had the lead in Ukraine. You have a history there. We thought it the best place to start.”

  “You never said anything about France or Long Island. Neither was on our agenda. Germany was next, right?”

  “It’s one step at a time, Jackson, and you can’t be everywhere at once.”

  Bella shoves my shoulder, “How. Does. He. Know?”