by Cate Noble
The crowd was self-segregating. University students scattered along the edge, closest to the congested street, while faculty huddled in the corners near the building. The common, working stiffs were scattered in between but still sorted themselves by rank and file. Supervisors here. Line workers there.
This particular coffee shop was the new, the in, the hot, blending Starbucks panache with a flirtacious wait staff known to pamper their customers. Thus each waiter or waitress built a loyal following. Which made it easy for Cat to sit in Max’s section each time, provided he was working that day.
She’d established a routine that included morning coffee here Monday through Saturday. To the casual observer she was yet another brilliant but overworked student, juggling a full class load and an internship at Institut Predpriyatiya.
The Institut was notorious for sapping the energy and creativity from bright, young interns, and then discarding their dried husks when they failed to maintain an outrageous performance level. Of course, those who did survive until graduation were in high demand by Mother Russia and beyond—the beyond being the choice that paid better.
Training his binoculars back on Cat, Dante watched as Max, the newest member of the team, pointed over her shoulder to something in the newspaper she read. She glanced up at Max, offering a wide smile and a comment. If Dante had been fluent in Russian, he could have read her lips. Max laughed at whatever she’d said. A joke perhaps? I dunno, how many Outer Siberians does it take to change a lightbulb?
Max moved on to flirt in a similar fashion with the redhead at the next table. Dante refocused on Cat. Had she already passed it? He shook his head. No matter how closely he watched, he had yet to catch the actual handoff of the microchip.
Once a week or so she would deliver to Max digital reports that included photos, voice recordings, and on rare occasions, computer files. There were lots of drawings, too, crude sketches actually because, while Cat had a photographic memory, she had little artistic talent.
Long suspected as a cover for secret government experiments, the Institut had tight security, so anything she managed to get out was miraculous. Her current assignment included memorizing the lab’s physical inventory; no small task since the supplies were decentralized and scattered among a half-dozen locations.
People smarter than Dante and equipped with sophisticated software could take those lists of seemingly innocuous supplies, chemicals, and equipment and determine with great accuracy where and in what form they might appear next.
Unfortunately, because there’d been no way for Cat to get out actual samples of the specific chemicals or biological agents, the Agency had been unable to tie the Institut to any of the biochem weapons used in recent terrorist activity. Which to Dante’s way of thinking was secondary to shutting them down.
The higher-ups didn’t agree. Lately the CIA’s interest in the Institut seemed to center obsessively on the experiments being carried out by the notorious Dr. Viktor Zadovsky.
Depending on whom you talked to, Zadovsky was either a genius or a certifiable madman. One moment he was credited with creating invisibility, the next it was total mind control. Even his failures caused ripples to buzz through the scientific network.
Though Zadovsky was one of a handful of scientists that governments around the world would pay through their noses to get on their payroll, few countries could afford a prima-donna genius used to having every whim met.
That was rapidly changing. With the economic destabilization that had occurred since the Soviet Union’s breakup, the brainiacs weren’t so loyal. Money talked and they listened.
Of all of them, Zadovsky could virtually name his price. While the United States was ready to top any offer, their generous overtures had been outright snubbed. Apparently, back in the Cold War days, Zadovsky’s grandparents had been named as possible spies in a leaked propaganda document. While the report had been quickly discredited, Zadovsky’s grandfather felt he never got rid of the onus, was always watched. Young Zadovsky was consequently raised with a U.S. = evil, Russian = good mentality.
Getting someone inside the Institut was a coup in itself. Cat’s status as a contract agent removed any direct tie to the Agency, a plus in operations such as this. She posed as the great-granddaughter of Zadovsky’s grandfather’s closest friend, an impervious alias since the real granddaughter was in protective custody and cooperating with the CIA.
Cat played the role well, which meant she got more than a dismissive glance from the high and mighty Dr. Zadovsky. In fact, he’d taken her on as an administrative assistant, even suggested she might travel with him. Wink, wink. Which proved that despite the off-the-chart IQ and multiple PhDs, under the sterile lab coat Zadovsky was a lecher.
Of course Zadovsky wanted her. He’d have to be a blind gay monk not to. Cat was fucking gorgeous. From her short, platinum blond curls, to her lithe 36D frame, she exuded a kittenish sexuality.
Dante watched as she picked up her coffee mug, her lips pursing as she blew across the brew’s surface before taking a sip. Knowing better than to torment himself with images of her doing that to his body, he lowered the binoculars and scanned the broader area.
Nothing caught his eye. The cars were the same as usual. Traffic had increased as people went to work.
He turned up the collar on his coat and shifted slightly to the right before picking up the binoculars to check the café again. The waiters were being attentive as ever, catching new customers as they sat, making last calls with their customers who began to pack up.
Still in flirty-waiter mode, Max touched the shoulder of another brunette before moving away to treat Cat with more of the same.
Dante frowned. Was there any truth to the rumors that Cat and Max had been lovers once? Rocco claimed no, that he’d heard they were only friends, but given what Dante saw through the binoculars, he couldn’t help wondering.
A bus rumbled around the corner, adding its exhaust to the morning fog. Almost on cue, half the café emptied. Morning rush officially started as the bus pulled away.
Back at the café’s still busy patio, Max began clearing tables. Dante focused the binoculars on his hands.
Max signaled “all clear,” then “received.”
Good. Cat had given him a report today.
Just as Dante was about to lower the binocs, Max gave a third signal. “Urgent.” Another waiter came by and Max turned away.
Dante watched a few more minutes before hurriedly gathering his gear. In the two months they’d been doing this, this was the first time Max had used that signal.
What the hell was up?
Urgent wasn’t life or death. It also wasn’t danger. So it had been important that Max keep up his front as a foreign exchange student and complete his shift at the café and then attend class at the university.
Dante wondered if Cat had discovered a way to smuggle out actual samples. Hell, maybe she’d found an actual clutch of bioweapons. Langley would love solid proof of what went on behind those locked doors.
When Max reached the apartment outside of town three hours later, Dante and Rocco were playing seven-card stud.
“About damn time.” Dante folded his cards and glared at Max.
“Someone miss their nap?”
Rocco looked as if he wanted to laugh at Max’s retort, but didn’t.
Instead he held out his hand for the microchip. “Let’s see what’s got everyone so excited.” The team’s computer and electronics whiz, Rocco handled the weekly decryptions. “Be back in a few.”
As Rocco disappeared into the other room, Dante moved to the heavily draped window facing the alley. “You sure you’re clean?” He carefully peered out through a crack in the wood shutter—saw nothing.
“Why? Am I that bad?” Max pretended to sniff his armpit before flipping him off. “Of course I’m clean. I took extra precautions, too.”
“Extra, why?”
“Tabby said something’s up, that we should be ready.”
Tabby
was one of Max’s nicknames for Cat. They avoided using each other’s real names even in secure environments. Dante pushed away the annoyance he felt whenever the other man called her that.
“Ready for what?” Dante pressed.
“Hell if I know. It’s not like we could talk freely at the café. But I did notice she was more subdued than usual.”
“Could have fooled me. You two looked pretty cozy.”
“You want to tell me what your fucking problem is, man?”
Dante opened and shut his mouth. He was busted. Shit. “Forget I said that.”
“No. I’m not forgetting. You’ve been like this since we started this job. I thought it was the old treat-the-new-guy-like-crap-initiation routine. But you know what I finally figured out?” Max didn’t wait for an answer. “Your attitude takes a nosedive right after I meet with Tabby.”
Dante recalled the way Cat had smiled at Max. Jesus. She was messing with his head. He let out a harsh breath. “Let’s just drop it.”
“Let’s don’t.” Max stepped closer, his chest puffed out. “I’m sick of being caught in the middle.”
Dante reached up to shove him away, but instead he grabbed the other man’s jacket. “Middle of what?”
“You two. She’s jonesing for you.” He shook his head. “Though for the fucking life of me I can’t imagine what the hell she sees in you. First thing she wants to know each time is how you’re doing. When I’m the one putting my ass out there. You get to hide out in buildings, watching.”
“She asked about me?” Dante almost cracked a smile.
“Yeah. Now let go of my lapels before I kick your ass.”
Dante stepped backward. “Damn it. I need to leave.” He was an emotional liability, putting everyone else here at risk.
“No, you just need to admit you’re hot for her, but that being a pro, you’ll stuff it till later. Until the job is done.”
“Easy for you to say…” Dante shut his mouth. Talking didn’t make it any better.
“I take that back. What you need is to accept that Tabby and I are close friends. That I’d kill for her and nothing will ever change that.” At the look Dante shot him, Max offered a weak chuckle. “Oh, I get it. What you really want to know is if we’ve ever been lovers. Right?”
Behind them, Rocco cleared his throat. “Uh? Should I come back?”
Grateful for the interruption, Dante turned away and motioned Rocco closer. “We’re done. What’s on the disk?”
“I’m still decrypting parts of it, but I just read her report. A couple things: First, she saw Dr. Z’s infamous notebook. She was in his office when he got called away for a lab fire. He left his notebook open on his desk.”
“Holy shit.” It was Zadovsky’s so-called recipe book that allowed third world countries to stock their arms pantries with frightening biothreats. At a hefty price tag.
More, Zadovsky was rumored to profit again and again as he developed permutations that rendered weapons made by his competitors obsolete.
“What’d she get?” Dante asked.
“How the fuck should I know?” Rocco said. “The parts that aren’t high math are in Russian. She only got through a couple pages but she sketched out everything she saw.”
Once again, Dante recalled Cat’s special gift, her photographic memory. He’d watched her demonstrate it once. After flipping through a 300-page book rapidly, she parroted back pages on demand. Yet another reason she was perfect for this job.
Rocco went on. “Here’s the real kicker. She thinks they’re getting ready to move the lab again, and that they’ll make a couple deliveries before packing it up.”
“Finally some action,” Max said.
Dante ignored him. “Have you contacted Mr. T?” Travis, their boss, would be very interested in this.
Zadovsky frequently changed locations, making it virtually impossible to keep spies inside his lab. That Zadovsky had already been in Belarus longer than usual had been attributed to his wife’s pregnancy.
But now that Zadovsky’s son was four months old—
“I just hung up from T,” Rocco said. “He wants Assman to get this data out of here tonight.”
Assman was Rocco’s nickname for the fourth member of their team, Harry Gambrel. Harry’s ghostlike stealthiness made him an ideal courier. But since Rocco and Harry barely tolerated one another, Harry was staying elsewhere. Not a good situation.
Rocco turned back to Max. “T wants you to get a message to Tabby. He wants that recipe book. The whole fucking enchilada. At any cost.”
“Does he know how difficult that will be?” Max asked. “Tabby getting access yesterday was an anomaly. It could be weeks before another opportunity arises.”
“And we don’t have that kind of time,” Dante pointed out. “Not if the lab is being moved.”
Rocco stuffed his hands in his front pockets. “It was suggested we create another diversion at the lab.”
“Getting inside to do that will be impossible. People are there twenty-four/seven,” Max said.
“What do we know about his personal schedule?” Dante asked.
“He doesn’t have one,” Rocco said. “The man’s a paranoid workaholic.”
“Then perhaps we need to create a diversion at his residence,” Dante suggested. “Something his wife would call him home for.”
Chapter 12
Jakarta, Indonesia
July 6
(Present Day)
The telephone on Viktor Zadovsky’s desk seemed to grow louder, more demanding, with each ring. It didn’t help that there were actually two lines ringing simultaneously.
On the intercom would be his secretary, Bohdana, which angered him. When he said he did not want to be disturbed, he meant it. She could be so bright about some things.
The second line was a private number that only a select few had. And instead of leaving a message, the caller was hanging up and redialing. It didn’t take much to deduce who it was. Or what he was calling about.
One more reason to ignore that line.
Viktor continued perusing the supplies requisition item by item, initialing each line after quizzing the nervous male lab assistant who sat across from his desk.
“And you’re sure this is needed in such quantity?” It didn’t matter that the item was as benign as denatured alcohol. The tone of his query flustered the assistant and enforced the message that Viktor had his eye on everything. Everything.
Viktor knew they all talked about his idiosyncrasies behind his back and he went out of his way to make certain they had plenty to discuss. Controlled gossip.
The phone quit ringing, both lines hushing in unison. Finally. Quietude exploded, emphasizing the rustle of paper, the muffled tick of the clock on his credenza. He relaxed.
Until the door to his office suddenly flew open, smacking the wall with a loud bam. Viktor’s startled assistant jumped to his feet, scattering the files that had been on his lap.
Viktor charged forward, but stopped short when he recognized the man who had burst in unannounced. He felt the warmth of guilt rising in his cheeks. Did the man know?
An indignant Bohdana charged in right behind, nearly plowing into the man’s backside. “Sir! How dare you!” she hissed, grabbing his arm. “I told you! Dr. Zadovsky is with someone. You must leave at once.”
The man casually shook off Bohdana’s flapping hands. “Hey, Doc. You want to help me out here?”
Victor didn’t respond, counting in his head. Eleven seconds, twelve seconds.
The metallic clack of a round being chambered in a gun got everyone’s attention. Viktor’s lab assistant whimpered and sank back down in the chair, his face pale. If the imbecile fainted…
“Still got your posse, I see.” The interloper raised his hands as he spoke over one shoulder. “Hello, Karl. Long time, no shoot.”
Karl Romanov, Viktor’s bodyguard/personal aide, shoved the man’s shoulder with the barrel of his gun. “I vouldn’t press your luck, Mr. Peabody.”
That last word was spat out with a don’t-tempt-me-to-use-your-real-name sneer.
“Oh, come on now,” the man responded with a forced laugh. “I wanted to surprise my old friend. Poor choice of tactics, I see.”
This last was clearly said for the benefit of Viktor’s confused lab assistant and secretary. Make like it had been a joke. How original.
Karl looked to Viktor for direction. It was reassuring to know that in certain circumstances words were unnecessary. With only a slight nod, Mr. Peabody’s brain would be splatter. Wouldn’t his employees have a field day with that one?
“A poor choice, indeed.” Viktor’s glance went from his lab assistant to his secretary. “That will be all.”
His harried assistant scrabbled to the floor, gathering his papers before following Bohdana out. Karl waited a few moments then left, too, pulling the door closed in such a way that there was little doubt he’d be right outside.
“What do you think you’re doing storming in here like that?” Viktor moved behind his desk, but didn’t sit.
“If you’d answer your goddamn phone. I’ve been trying to reach you for three days.”
“I’ve been under the weather.”
“You look fine to me.”
“Yes. And as one might imagine, I’m running quite behind here, so?” He rolled his hand, as if he were too busy to even finish the sentence. What is so urgent you have to bother me in person?
But beneath Viktor’s lab coat, sweat pooled under his arms. And beneath his skin, his pulse thundered.
“We have a situation. Somebody blew up Dante Johnson’s sailboat a couple days ago.”
Act surprised. “He…he is dead?”
“No. But whoever’s responsible has fucked up everything. We can’t get near him now.”
Actually, the fuck-up occurred prior to the explosion. But of course he couldn’t say that.
“It’s just a delay,” Viktor offered instead. “Give it time; let the smoke clear.”
