Colleen Gleason

by Siberian Treasure

  Anticipation and excitement had been shooting through his veins since Nora notified him early that morning that the third explosive had been completed and was being delivered. She had sent it off before coming to advise him, so that it would already be en route to meet Dannen Fridkov and the others in Detroit. She knew he would be pleased with the progress.

  And she hadn’t failed him.

  Less than twenty-four hours, and he would have the world on the edge of its collective seat, listening for his very breath.

  Roman resisted the desire to laugh, or even to smile. Not yet. He was not that careless; there was still opportunity for things to go wrong. Unlikely, impossible, truly; but Roman did not count the eggs in his basket as chickens until they were safely hatched.

  Varden, who sat next to Lev, commented, “I am sure that the message you sent to Washington was taken seriously. They would be foolish not to.”

  “Yes, I am certain even now they are scrambling to determine where and how our Phase Two will be executed. There was no hint in the recording of how we would strike.”

  “Even if we made the targets clear, they would not be able to stop us,” Varden continued. “Although they could possibly evacuate the buildings.”

  “That is true.” Lev looked at Roman. “Have you considered providing them with further information? As you know, the loss of human life is inevitable; but not necessary to our cause.”

  “We could provide them with further information; but I am not sure how timely it would be. And there is always the outside chance that if they knew where our targets were, they could remove sensitive or important material as well as evacuate. No. I think it is better to remain as it is. We are detonating at midnight; there will be fewer people there and it will remain a surprise.”

  “Although one could find value in seeing them scramble to prevent something that they know will happen,” Varden added with a twist to his mouth.

  “There is value in that, too, Varden. Yes. It is worth considering for our next phase—”

  “If there is one,” Varden added.

  “If there is one,” Roman agreed. But privately, he knew he would make sure there was. The world had not been kind to him; he saw no reason to hold back now that he was in control.

  -39-

  July 13, 2007

  Siberia

  Desperation fueled her kinetic energy, yet Marina could only pace the room. Gabe was going to be executed within hours and she had no way to stop them.

  She didn’t have any way to summon anyone to her, to plead for his life, even. She was stuck in the room with no way to communicate.

  To just wait.

  And to Marina, death was almost preferable to waiting.

  That was why she hadn’t left Dennis Strand in the mine, even when the water was rushing in. She’d rather be doing something, anything, than sitting while things spun out of control.

  Yet, here she sat. For all she knew, Gabe could be dead already.

  Bored, frightened, frustrated … she wandered the room, flipped through the menu options on the computer screen, and finally found herself at the small food cupboard.

  She opened the tiny cooler, looked inside, and saw that it had been restocked. Water, juice, more meat, and cheese this time. She slammed the door shut and opened the cabinet next to it. Perhaps there’d be an apple.

  Her heart stopped. Then started again as she gaped into the cupboard.

  There was an apple. And a pear and some bananas and a small silver wristwatch that looked exactly like the one Varden had showed her.

  Marina snatched it out of the cupboard and stared at it; pushed a button. What a joke it would be if it didn’t work. What a gift if it did!

  But who? And how?

  She’d been in the room the whole time. She’d never left, except when Lev took her the night before … but she’d looked in there since then and the wristband hadn’t been there.

  Perhaps … .She’d taken a shower. Could someone have come in then? Restocked the food and left her the watch? Or maybe the cabinet opened on the other side.

  Marina slipped it on her wrist, fastening it so that it fit closely, and turned toward the door. She had no idea what buttons to push, but damned if she wasn’t going to try all of them.

  But first … she stopped. Plan. Make a plan; don’t just hare out like a maniac.

  She grabbed food and water and stuffed them into the generous pockets of her pants. The water bottles were heavy and made her trousers sag; so she limited it to two. She needed freedom of movement. And the meat and cheese—they fit into the pockets of her tunic. Gabe would need protein. Probably first aid, too, but she would figure that out later.

  That was it. She turned back to face the door, pulled her sleeve back from over her wrist, and aimed the radio-controlled key at the door. She pushed a button and waited, hoping there wasn’t some kind of alarm that would screech through the area.

  Nothing happened; silence reigned.

  She pushed another button, the one in the middle, and to her amazement the door began to move.

  Marina was out in the hall before the door fully opened, her head swiveling from side to side like a kindergartener checking both ways before crossing the street. The hall was empty. Turning back to face the open door, she pushed two buttons before finding the right one to close it.

  Now. Which way to go.

  The hall stretched in both directions without break; doors studded the passage and Marina assumed that Gabe was behind one of them. But which one?

  And how long before she came upon someone else?

  Tightening her lips in determination, Marina started along the hall. She had no choice but to take the chance of being discovered. Gabe had no chance if she didn’t take one.

  And then there was the added question: would the radio controlled wristband work for the other doors?

  It had to. Varden hadn’t been wearing more than one; hopefully, it worked like a radio. Tune in the right frequency, and push the button.

  Finding the right frequency was another issue; but then, again, her door had opened with no problem. She’d figure it out.

  Marina did not try the first few doors along the hall; something told her she and Gabe would not be kept near each other. In fact, she suspected that he would be kept in a less accommodating area, since he was dispensable.

  She had walked about five yards down the hall when she heard voices from up ahead. Now or never.

  She stopped in front of a door, pointed her wristwatch, and watched in amazement as the digital numbers scrambled, racing through some calculations, then stopped. The door opened and Marina shot in, pushing the button to close it behind her.

  At first she thought the room was empty, but as the door closed behind her, she saw a form sleeping on a sofa that was quite like hers.

  It wasn’t Gabe … it wasn’t big enough. But she approached, cautiously, curiously. Were there other prisoners here?

  It was her father.

  At last, a chance.

  She reached for his thin shoulder and shook it gently. The stench of alcohol told her he was sleeping a chemically-induced sleep; so she shook him again. Harder.

  He rolled over, his grey-white face gaunt and stubbled with silver. His deep-sunken eyes fluttered, then opened, looking up at her vacantly. “Dad!” she urged in a voice not much louder than a whisper. “Wake up!”

  At last it seemed to penetrate. He blinked several times, then opened his eyes to look at her. “Marina?”

  “Dad! Wake up! I need your help!” She was pulling him upright, and grateful to see that he was dressed in a t-shirt and boxer shorts. Seeing him naked was one thing she didn’t want to have to deal with.

  “How did you get in here?” The putrid, stale odor of his breath made her reel.

  “Dad, I have to know where Gabe is. They’re going to kill him. Where is he?”

  He blinked, sat on the edge of the sofa, and scratched his balls. Marina’s stomach turned when she looked at his
spindly legs, still thick with dark hair, his trembling hand, and the way his shirt clung to a sunken chest. When had he become so pathetic? Such a non-entity?

  “They have him in the Confining Area in the Family Segment.”

  “Where is it? The Family Segment?”

  He seemed to be regaining his wits. “The area reserved for the family Aleksandrov; your grandfather and his family live there. It’s private, and no one can enter or exit unless they are Aleksandrovs.”

  “You have to take me there. I have to get him out of here.”

  He was shaking his head. “Marina, no … I can’t be of any help.”

  She pulled him to his feet. “You have to! For once in your goddamn life, you have to do something for someone else! I can’t do this without your help.”

  He sank back onto the cushion. “Marina, you can’t save him. Roman is determined; he’s about to destroy half the city of Detroit. One more life isn’t going to matter—”

  “Isn’t going to matter? One more life does matter, you drunken sot! I can’t believe I’m hearing you say this! Dad, you have to help me. Now.” At that moment, Marina wished she had Gabe’s gun. She would have used it. She would have jammed it in his face and forced him to get off his ass and help her.

  Tears of frustration stung her eyes. “If you don’t help me, it’ll live with you for the rest of your pitiful life.” She stuck her face right into his and it struck her that this was the closest she’d been to her father physically in decades.

  He looked away. “I’m not leaving this room. The last time I interfered—I will tell you how to get to where they are keeping him … but that is all.”

  Marina took a deep breath. Giving in to frustration and fear would only slow her down, make her sloppy, and lose whatever chance she had to save Gabe. She organized her thoughts and listened as he told her how to get to the Segment, and where to find Gabe.

  “When are they going to kill him? And where?”

  “Only an hour or two from now. And I don’t know how.”

  Marina pulled to her feet and started toward the door. “I’ll never forgive you for this.”

  “Marina, there’s so much you haven’t forgiven me for … this one more thing matters little.”

  She stopped. Turned. “Dad.” And then … she couldn’t say anything. He was right. She had never forgiven him for not being a father in any way that mattered.

  “You never hurt me physically, or even mentally. You just were a non-entity in my life. You were so wrapped up in yourself and your vodka that I meant nothing to you—or could mean nothing to you. I came to that realization long ago. But this … this is different, Dad. You could do this. You could put yourself out and help me save a life. And that would mean so much more than not coming to my softball games, or my college graduation.”

  She waited, hoping, begging … .

  He closed his eyes and turned away. “I can’t,” he said, as he lay down and curled into a ball, rolling away.

  * * *

  Marina left her anger and frustration behind with him as she hurried along the hall. She knew where Gabe was now; at least her father had given her that much, but had no idea how she was going to get to him.

  And then, as she was moving along, she remembered something that made her stop dead in her tracks.

  Something Roman had said; something that could help her.

  “We don’t use guns,” he’d said when she mentioned the break-in at her house.

  Gabe’s gun.

  If she had that … .

  Marina ducked into an alcove and tried to think. He’d hidden it where they’d left their clothes.

  Did she take the chance of trying to find their clothes; hoping they were still where they’d been left … or try to go find Gabe?

  Her breaths were coming fast and hard and she willed herself to concentrate, slow, think. Pretend she was flying and something had gone wrong with the plane. No panic; just thought. Options, objectives, scenarios.

  And she decided. So far her instincts had been right on. She was going to trust them again.

  Because of Dad, she had a better sense of the layout of the entire complex. Although he hadn’t drawn a map or given her a complete overview, she was able to put together a mental picture of where she and Gabe had entered, and how they’d been moved.

  Hoping she was on the right path, Marina hurried along the corridors. When she heard someone approaching, she ducked into a room and waited.

  All along, her nerves were tensed, expecting an alarm to be sounded or the tramp of running feet to be chasing her.

  But luck was with her. She made her way back to the area she and Gabe had first explored without being seen or heard. It took two tries, though, before she found the office where they’d left their clothes.

  She was conscious of a deep thudding in her middle, reverberating through her whole body, as she opened the cabinet where they’d stashed their belongings.

  They were there. The clothes were there in a dark huddle in the middle of the shelf. She reached in, pulling them out, feeling for something hard and solid and heavy. Something clattered to the floor, and she jerked back, fearing it was the gun.

  It wasn’t, but it was Gabe’s sat phone. She jammed it into her pocket, thinking it might come in handy if she could figure out how to turn it on, then she returned to scrabbling through the clothes. Nothing but her little squeeze-light. She stuffed the light in her pocket. The gun wasn’t there.

  A heavy feeling settled in her stomach, and Marina stood, ready to dash out of the room and try to make up the time she’d lost. Then, something made her look back in that cabinet. She pulled the light from her pocket and shone it in there, back into the depths.

  Something glinted dark.

  Marina couldn’t grab it fast enough; she pulled that heavy metal comfort from the very rear of the cupboard and looked down at it. Now she had a chance.

  Not that she knew how to use it; but that had never stopped her before.

  * * *

  The first problem she encountered was getting through the security screen that had stopped them before.

  Marina paused at the doorway and considered. There appeared no way to get the weapon through without going through the sensitive screen. Was there a way to deactivate it?

  She could always shoot the damn thing.

  What more did she have to lose? If she didn’t move quickly, and boldly, she was going to lose Gabe anyway.

  Marina looked over the gun gingerly. Was there a safety? Would she recognize it if she saw it? Did she have to cock it?

  What the hell.

  Taking a deep breath, she pointed it at the side of the security screen, aimed, and pulled tentatively on the trigger.

  The trigger resisted at first, and she almost stopped; but then suddenly, it snapped back and the shot kicked the gun in her hands.

  The screen sizzled, blackened, and Marina, her heart in her throat, ran through. If someone had heard the noise, they’d be there in record time.

  More worried about haste than secrecy, she hurried back through the corridors with more speed and less care than she had the first time.

  It didn’t take more than twenty minutes to get back to where she and Dad had been staying; now that she knew how to navigate the shiny white corridors and open the silent doors. It occurred to her at that point to wonder why he didn’t want to leave his room. After all, he seemed to be in the same kind of prison that she had been.

  But she wasn’t going to take the time now. He’d made his choice; she’d make hers.

  Hurrying past his doorway, she continued along the hall and was just approaching hers when she heard the sound of voices. Male voices.

  She had to hide.

  Without conscious thought, she turned and jammed on the wristband and the door of the suite she’d been imprisoned in opened.

  Dashing in, she closed the door none too soon, for just as she turned, the door began to open again.

  The gun was in h
er hands. She looked down at it; instantly knew it wasn’t the time to use it. She threw herself on to the sofa-bed and jammed it under a cushion just as the door was wide enough for her visitor to step in.

  It was Varden.

  “What do you want?” she snapped, hoping to hide her too-fast, too-deep breaths.

  “I just came to be certain that you were still comfortable. And to let you know,” he added, stepping closer, his green eyes scoring her as if trying to read what was going on in her mind, “that your friend is about to meet his end. So if you pray, you might send a few thoughts to your deity in his honor. Because nothing can save him now.”