Silence. Nick's ears were ringing. No one else came out of the passage.
"Anyone hit?"
"No." Selena's voice was tight. "This damn floor is hard."
"Me neither." Ronnie's voice was soft.
"I'm moving right." Nick shuffled to the right, came to Selena climbing to her feet.
"Stay behind me. Don't get too close."
He felt his way along the wall. His hand touched bone, teeth, the rough edge where an eye had been. He jerked his hand back and kept moving. He reached the passage.
Selena and Ronnie came up behind.
Three bodies lay by the entrance to the passage. They weren't moving. Blood pooled around them. A lot of blood. Their bowels had let go. The stench made Nick choke.
Selena stepped over them without thinking. She'd taken four steps before she realized what she'd just done. Three dead men. She might as well have stepped over bags of trash, for all the feeling she had about it. The realization rocked her.
"What do you think, Ronnie?" Nick's voice was quiet.
"Might be more around the corner. Bound to be more upstairs."
"It's like Fallujah. Remember that factory?"
"Yeah, I remember."
Nick crouched down and took a fast look around the corner.
"It's clear to the steps."
The steps were only wide enough for one person at a time. Anyone up top would have a clean shot at them as they came out.
"Fallujah, we had grenades. This sucks, Kemo Sabe."
"Kemo Sabe? You going native on me?"
"I always wanted to say that. Tonto always said that to the Lone Ranger when the shit was about to hit the fan. Kemo Sabe. Has a nice ring to it."
"What does it mean?"
"You don't want to know."
Selena said, "If you're done..." They turned to her. "How do we get out of here?"
"The altar's not far away, ahead and to the right. We go up one at a time and get behind it." Nick grinned at her. "Fast."
He ran up the stairs and came out of the opening and rolled forward behind the altar. The sound of an Uzi on full auto echoed in the church above. The screens behind the altar shattered. Shards of old wood bounced down the steps. They heard Nick's .45 lay down covering fire.
"You last. We'll cover you."
Ronnie went up the stairs like Nick had done and disappeared. In a second Selena heard his Glock. Overhead it sounded like World War III. She pictured the altar, the space behind it. She took a deep breath. The adrenaline kicked in and she ran up the stairs.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Alexei Ivanovich tapped his fingers on his desk . His day had just become far more difficult. He looked at the flash drive in his hand and thought about what it contained. He read the note again. It was printed in English.
Do not jump to conclusions. In this matter, the Project is with you.
It was signed.
A friend.
The package and note had arrived by UPS that morning. Alexei had gotten many odd communications over the years. Sometimes in a dark street at night. Sometimes by official notice. Sometimes in a hard room where unbearable pain was the prelude to truth.
Never by way of UPS. He knew the trail would lead nowhere if he traced it. The video featured the Director of the American CIA talking about a plot against Russia, code named Demeter.
Do not jump to conclusions.
Alexei translated the meaning. Don't make a quick judgment without knowing the facts. Therefore, don't take uninformed action. It was an American idiom. It was logical to assume an American had sent it. Why would an American send such a damaging video to him?
In this matter, the Project is with you.
The sender must be someone in the American intelligence agencies. No one else would know about the Project or how to get the video to Alexei.
Alexei knew he should go to his boss. If he did, all hell would break loose. The Kremlin was paranoid enough without this.
Do not jump to conclusions.
Someone wanted him to know the Director of American Central Intelligence plotted against Russia. Someone wanted him stopped and wanted Alexei's help. Someone wanted him to see the Project as an ally.
Only one explanation made sense. It wasn't a sanctioned operation. That made it a danger to both nations. Alexi considered the possibility the video was part of a larger scheme with a hidden end in mind, suspect as three day old fish in the market. If it wasn't faked it was the kind of thing that could lead to war. Alexei didn't think it was faked.
Vysotsky sometimes felt he lived in a world of brittle mirrors, a world of infinite reflections and possible realities, one within the other to infinity. Truth was out there, but it was often unpleasant and hard to find.
Do not jump to conclusions.
The Project was small. SVR was massive. The Project had no ability to mount any significant operation within Russia. SVR had all the resources it needed to do exactly that. The situation was reversed in America. The Project could operate there in ways Alexei could not. The bow was drawn in America, but the arrow was aimed at Russia. Whoever had sent the video wanted an alliance of convenience against a common enemy.
Alexei made a decision. He picked up his satellite phone and called Korov.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Korov followed Gelashvili and the Americans to the church of St. George. The church was well back from the paved road, isolated on the side of a hill. It was reached by a long gravel drive in poor repair. Abandoned buildings dotted the slope above it. He parked a hundred feet away and considered his next move.
His phone vibrated. Only General Vysotsky had that number.
"Yes."
"Things have changed. What is your situation?"
"Gelashvili has followed the Americans. They are all in a church outside Bankya. He will try to kill them."
"You will prevent that. Kill Gelashvili. Protect the Americans. Do not reveal yourself."
"Protect the Americans?"
"At all costs. Repeat your orders."
"Kill Gelashvili. Protect the Americans."
Gunshots echoed inside the church.
"Sir. Shooting in the church."
"You have your orders."
The connection terminated.
Arkady put the phone back in his pocket and drew the Drotik from his shoulder holster. He ran to the church, pulled open the door and slipped inside.
In the rainbow light coming through the stained glass window, Korov saw Gelashvili and two of his men halfway down the main aisle. They crouched behind pews, firing in bursts toward the front of the church. Two pistols answered from behind the altar. As he watched, a woman come up out of the floor and rolled forward behind the altar, firing three shots as she went.
One of Gelashvili's men crawled to a side aisle and moved toward the front. A large, life-like painted statue of Mary decked in a blue robe and golden crown shielded him from the altar. In a moment he would have an angle on the Americans.
The Drotik was an accurate pistol. The 5.6 mm rounds were high velocity, flat trajectory. Korov was an excellent marksman. It was an easy shot. He raised the pistol, flicked the selector to full and touched the trigger. The sound ripped through the air like tearing cloth. Zviad's man cried out and sprawled lifeless on the church floor.
Behind the altar, Nick turned to Ronnie.
"What the hell was that?"
"Don't know. Not an Uzi."
"Shit."
More shots. The ripping sound again, a cry of mortal pain. Nick looked out from behind the altar. A large, bearish man rose between the pews. He screamed in rage, firing at someone in the back of the church. The ripping sound came again, accompanied by a brilliant second or two of muzzle flash. The bearish man looked down and put a hand on his chest. He swayed. He fell forward, crashing into the pews.
Someone ran to the entrance and disappeared outside.
"Hey!" Nick yelled after him. He heard a car start, tires spinning on gravel, an engine fa
ding into the distance.
The church was silent as the crypt below. They stood and walked down among the pews. Ronnie pointed at a body spread eagled on the floor.
"That one over there. Would have had a clear shot if someone hadn't interfered."
"Yeah. A good Samaritan. With a high end auto pistol."
"Not American or European."
"Something we haven't heard before."
Selena still had the Glock in her hand. She looked down at the dead men. "Who are they?"
"I don't know. Looking at the clothes, I'd say it might be the same bunch that tried to grab you in Greece."
He pushed at Gelashvili's dead bulk with his shoe. "Lousy cut. Someone ought to clue these people in about their tailor."
CHAPTER THIRTY
"Did you have to shoot up a church?" Harker sounded annoyed.
Nick held the phone in his left hand. His right wrapped around a whiskey. Sofia at night filled the view from the window. The lights were on, the city a fairytale picture of domes and old buildings. The dark shape of the Balkans loomed against a night sky filled with glittering stars. It was like something from a Walt Disney movie. The only things missing were Pinocchio and Jiminy Cricket.
"No choice. They picked the spot. They called the game. They lost. Simple as that."
Nick contemplated the lights of the city. He was coming down from the fight in the church. He felt edgy, wired. His hand gripped the whiskey. How many more times was he going to do this before his luck ran out?
"The men you shot were from the same gang that tried to take Selena in Greece. One of them was Zviad Gelashvili. You took out one of the biggest Russian crime bosses in the world."
"It wasn't us who killed him."
"What do you mean?"
"Someone else is in the game. One man."
"Why didn't you say so before?"
"Hadn't gotten to it. Now I have."
"Who?"
"I don't know. He used a specialized pistol. Full auto, very high rate of fire. Small rounds. Can't be many of those."
"That sounds military."
"Has to be."
"Gelashvili was based in Moscow. Maybe it was Russian."
"Why would the Russians help us out?"
"Maybe they didn't. Maybe they just wanted Gelashvili. He was a problem for them."
"They know who we are. Helping us doesn't make sense."
Nick heard her sigh over the phone. "What about that urn?"
"What about it? There's nothing to tell us what happened to it. No leads at all."
"You're sure?"
"Unless Selena can turn something up. There wasn't anything under that church."
"All right. If you can't get any new intel, come home."
"Roger that." Nick put down the phone.
Selena came out of the bathroom, wrapped in a white robe. Her hair was unkempt, damp. She'd had several drinks before she went into the bathroom. She had a whiskey in her hand. She drained it and poured another from the bottle. It was her fifth, or maybe her sixth. Nick had never seen her drink that much, especially whiskey. Selena was a wine drinker. Hard liquor wasn't her thing.
"How you feeling?"
"Fine." She sat on the couch, drank. He sat down next to her. She smelled of soap and lemon shampoo and some fresh scent that was her. Her breath was strong with whiskey. Maybe she'd had another during her bath.
"Good whiskey," she said. "Helps, at the end of a busy day."
She was beginning to slur her words. He said nothing.
"Another busy day." She raised her glass at him. It wavered. "Get up, see the sights, have lunch. Shoot a few people. Back to the hotel in time for dinner."
"Selena..."
She drank. Her glass was empty. She got off the couch, staggered a little as she went to the bottle and poured another drink.
"Maybe you've had enough."
She rounded on him. Liquid slopped from her glass. "Don't you tell me I've had enough. I'll know when I've had enough."
"What's the matter?"
"What's the matter? What the hell do you think 'sa matter? You made me into a fucking killer."
That's not fair. He didn't say it.
"Oh, shit." She set the glass down, dropped down on the sofa. "Din't mean that."
"I know." He put his arm around her. She put her head on his shoulder.
"Jus' stepped over 'em. Like they were garbage."
It took a second for him to figure out what she meant.
"They were garbage. Those were bad people."
"But they were people. We killed 'em."
"They would have killed us."
"Darwin."
"What?"
"Darwin. Su'vival of the fisstest. Fittest."
Her face turned white. She clapped a hand over her mouth, jumped up and ran for the bathroom. He heard her vomit into the toilet.
Nick waited. The sounds of retching stopped. He heard water running. In a few moments she came to the door.
"Come on, bed time." He helped her into the bedroom and out of her robe. She crawled under the covers.
"Sorry," she mumbled. Then she was out.
Nick went back into the living area and turned out the lights. Sofia sparkled in chains of light along the valley floor. For no reason at all he thought of the closing scene in Gone With The Wind.
Tomorrow was another day.
He used the bathroom, brushed his teeth, went into the bedroom, undressed. He got into bed. Selena snored.
He stared at the ceiling, thinking. She'd been drunk, but the words stung, even though he knew they were untrue. She'd chosen her new life. Not him. He thought of Megan.
What he'd felt for Megan and what he felt for Selena were two different things. Love was too simple a word. The word itself confused him. Megan had been so different. Megan had been at ease with herself and with him. She'd lived in a world far removed from the desolate places where death shaped his days and nights. If she hadn't died, Megan's world could have been his world. He would have left the Corps, become a normal civilian. Never made his appointment with a child and a grenade in Afghanistan. Never met Harker or Selena.
Megan's world had been peaceful. No one would call the world he shared with Selena peaceful. The strain was beginning to show. Selena was becoming more volatile. She wasn't sleeping well. Sometimes he'd see her gazing off at nothing in particular. She was getting the look. He knew she was headed for a moment of truth. Sooner or later, everyone who made violent death part of their job came to that moment. He didn't know how she'd handle it. Maybe he'd talk with Harker about it.
He closed his eyes. It was a long time before he slept. He dreamed.
He's back in the dust of the Afghan street, again. He's in the market, like always. The AKs begin, like they always do. He ducks into a doorway, as he always does. The child runs toward him with the grenade, again. He raises his rifle.
This time, the dream is different. This time, someone is standing off to the side. It's a woman. A naked woman, dark, as if she were standing in deep shade. She looks at him. Her eyes aren't human, they're like deep pools of black with stars in them. The child throws the grenade. He feels the rifle kick back against his shoulder and the child's face changes into Selena's. Everything goes white.
Nick sat up in bed, gasping. Sweat covered him. The sheet under him was soaked. Next to him, Selena had fallen into a deep sleep.
The dream had changed. It had never changed before. It was always the same, playing out the day in Afghanistan when he almost died. It had twisted his nights for years. For a while, it had come less often. Now it was back. Now it had changed.
Who was the woman? No woman stood naked in that Afghan village three years ago. Something had been different about the child's face. Then he remembered. It shook him.
He got up and waited for tomorrow.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Selena had been quiet on the long trip home from Bulgaria. Nick doubted she remembered much about what she'd said in t
he hotel. He hadn't brought it up with her. He'd decided not to talk with Harker. Selena was part of his team and it was his job to watch out for her. Harker had enough on her plate.
The night before he'd dreamed of Afghanistan again. The dark woman wasn't in it. The child's face stayed the same, an Afghan child. He'd been up since 3:00 A.M. Drinking coffee and staring out the window. Thinking about Selena.
She didn't know him, not really. He tried to remember how it had been when Megan was alive. Had she known him? It was a question he'd never asked himself. He'd been different, he knew that. When she died he'd shut something down. Sometimes it felt like he had a steel wall around him that kept everyone out. Selena had breached it.
When Harker offered him a civilian job he'd thought he was done shooting at people. He'd lead a normal life. A quiet life. Got that one wrong, he thought. He had no idea what a normal life was anymore. One day at a time.
Nick looked around the room. Everyone was together in Harker's office for the first time in weeks. Even Lamont was back. His mom had named him after Lamont Cranston, the Shadow of radio fame. In the Seals they'd called him Shadow. The nickname had stuck.
Lamont had Ethiopian ancestors. It showed up in his wiry body, all muscles and tendons that stood out like ropes. He had blue eyes and coffee shaded skin. A hard ridge of white and pink scar tissue ran from his forehead across the bridge of his nose down onto his cheek, a souvenir of Iraq. He wore a blue sling and soft cast on his injured arm. It was a big improvement over the rigid plaster he'd sported since Khartoum.
Harker held up a flash drive. It was black and shiny.
"This came yesterday. By UPS, if you can believe it. No explanation, no note."
She was wired. Nick couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her look like that. She kept tapping her damn pen. He wished she would stop. Maybe it was that last drink from the night before, but his headache wouldn't quit.
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