Colleen Gleason

by Siberian Treasure

  “In Windsor? Jesus, God, we hardly have anyone over there—” Darrow’s voice stopped abruptly, and Marina could hear her shouting orders, and the bumps as she moved herself, obviously running.

  “Helen! Listen,” she yelled into the phone. “Before we cut out again—he’s got dark hair and he’s wearing a blue shirt with green stripes, and he’s right by the river. I couldn’t see if there was a vehicle—”

  The phone bleeped in her ear, and Marina knew it had cut out. She pulled it away and looked to see how many battery lines were left. One.

  The next time she called, they had to have the man, and she had to have the code.

  She turned to look at Gabe, who had a bad look on his face.

  “What is it?”

  “We’ve only got one bullet left.”

  “Let’s hope we don’t even need that one.”

  They were at the door of Command Central. Marina looked at Gabe. He had a grim look on his grayish face; she wondered how much longer he could go on.

  It might not be an issue.

  He held up his fingers: three, two, one—he slammed his good shoulder into the door.

  It didn’t move.

  “They’ve secured it somehow. How did they know?” Marina wanted to scream. She remembered that Varden had insisted she go to the toilet. Maybe that had been his way of getting rid of her and Victor so there wouldn’t be any interference.

  How was it locked? None of the other doors … ..Marina saw the faint outline of a panel door. Jabbing at it with her poor fingernails, she managed to slide it open and display the now-familiar tongue-tabs.

  The only way in was with Aleksandrov DNA.

  Perhaps this would be the only time Marina was glad she carried those genes.

  She took a tab, stuck it on her tongue to moisten it, then fed it into the slot.

  The little machine grabbed it, and Marina waited, clutching Gabe’s wrist, hoping she had enough Aleksandrov that it would recognize her.

  Then, miraculously, the door moved.

  They were through the entrance before it was more than two feet wide, surprising the group at the computer table.

  Gabe brandished the gun. “Freeze. Now move slowly to the right. Marina, get the code.”

  As soon as Varden and Roman were out of reaching distance, Marina sprinted into the room and snatched the green plastic sheet from the computer control area. She ran back to Gabe as he stood, holding the gun steadily on the group.

  “You’ll never make it in time,” Varden told them. His words were general, but his eyes fastened on Marina. Again, she felt as if he were trying to tell her something … something subtle. He stared at her … was that the slightest of nods? “Nice try though. You’ve got brains and nerve, as well as good looks.” Even now, his voice was mocking. But he’d given the barest incline of his head.

  Gabe grabbed Marina’s arm—partly, she thought, to help him stay on his feet, and partly to show their solidarity. “Wish we could stay and join your little victory party, but I don’t think there’s going to be one. I’m going to suggest that you not move for a moment while we make a phone call.”

  Marina took the phone and pushed the redial button while Gabe focused the gun on Roman, who, despite his supposed fear of firearms seemed ready to bolt. Which was greater, Marina thought, waiting for the phone to connect: his fear of guns or his fear of failure?

  The phone connected and Helen Darrow’s voice blared through. “We’ve got it. Do you have him?” Marina asked.

  “Not yet. Ambassador Bridge was too crowded; almost there though. You got the code?”

  “Yes. Write this down,” Marina began, starting to translate the code, which was written out in Skaladeska prose. “Green to the left—”

  Roman and Varden moved at the same time, splitting, and Gabe fired reflexively at Varden as he shouted, “Run Marina!” He whirled, slamming the gun at Roman’s face when he threw himself toward them.

  Marina didn’t need to be told twice, but she yanked Gabe after her and pounded the button to close the door.

  They tore down the hallway, and the sound of shouts blared after them.

  Gabe wouldn’t make it far; they needed to stop and finish the phone call—how much time did they have left?—they’d never make it safely out of there.

  The jumble of thoughts crammed in her head galvanized Marina to run faster, pulling Gabe along after her. Their pursuers couldn’t be far behind.

  As they rounded the corner, Victor appeared.

  Marina readied herself to push past him, mow him down if she had to … and at the last minute, she changed her mind. Grabbed his arm. He was going to step up this time. “Get us out of here,” she said, close to his face. “Or I will shoot you. I’ve got nothing to lose.”

  He blanched, but gave a short nod, his Adam’s apple echoing it.

  Gasping for breath, she looked at Gabe. He was fading fast.

  Could she trust her father? Even with a gun pointing at him?

  She looked at him, knowing she didn’t have any time … .but what did her instincts say? Could she trust the man who’d lied to her for as long as she remembered? The man who’d never put anyone ahead of himself? The man who would have let Gabe die?

  She had to.

  “Help me with him,” she told Victor, still pointing the gun at him. “How far?”

  “It’s not far.” He gave her an enigmatic look. “I did mean to give you the gun.”

  “Come on. Get us out of here.”

  He looped one thin arm around Gabe, and it was ludicrous to think that he’d be of any help … but between him and Marina, they managed to move the three of them quickly down a passage that blended so well into the wall that Marina would never have found it.

  She felt the time ticking away, and she chafed. But they couldn’t stop. The voices and pounding feet were too close behind; getting closer.

  They couldn’t stop yet.

  Suddenly, they were at a door, and Victor was pulling a tongue-tab from a small panel. He licked it, and fed it into the machine, and the door opened.

  Air. Fresh air. The grey light of midnight during an Arctic summer.

  She became aware of a screaming alarm; a siren blaring a warning. One look at Victor—for she’d ceased to think of him as Dad—told her he was responsible.

  He would not look at her.

  Marina pulled Gabe through the door, and found herself on a small hill, covered with tufts of brown-green grass. Four tall pines stood like sentinels over looking the steppes below.

  Marina grabbed Gabe’s arm, trying not to think about what time it was back in Detroit, and ran. As if he, too, was spurred on by the fresh air, he picked up speed and kept up with her as they dashed over the uneven ground.

  As they came to the cleft of a hill, Marina heard their pursuers. She glanced behind and saw Victor, standing at the doorway, watching as a group of men dressed in pale Skaladeska clothing tramped through the door and after them.

  Marina turned back to watch her own footsteps and stumbled to a halt seconds before Gabe did.

  They stood at the top of a small hill, and down below them —ten feet or so—was blue-grey water, as far as the eye could see.

  -45-

  July 14, 2007

  Windsor, Ontario

  Helen looked at her watch. Eleven-fifteen.

  They had twenty-five minutes to apprehend the bomber and reconnect with Gabe and Marina Alexander, who were God knew where, and have her translate the code … .and hope that it worked.

  Her underarms were soaking wet and her heart drummed so fast in her chest that she thought it was going to erupt from her body like Alien.

  First things first. She had to do her part.

  “Did you get him yet?” she bellowed into her cell phone. Thank God she’d had some manpower near the tunnel that went under the Detroit River to Windsor and sent them over immediately. Fortunately, the Windsor police were as dedicated to keeping the peace as she and her people were, and they
didn’t start any turf wars or jurisdiction games.

  There was always the chance that their target had moved; but he couldn’t have gone far if he was keeping control of the bombs.

  Could he?

  “He’s got a green and blue shirt on. Dark hair. He could be in a vehicle, or standing outside. Or in a nearby building.” Stay calm. Follow the plan.

  At last, the Taurus her aide was driving blasted through the Tunnel onto the Canadian side of the river and turned north. Her fingertips were tingling in earnest now; she knew she was close.

  Urging Colin Bergstrom, who’d somehow commandeered driving her car, she pointed in the general direction she knew they needed to go. “Along the river! Go, go, go!”

  She glanced at her watch. Eleven-twenty. Jesus-peets, if she made this … ..

  “Stop!” she screeched, flipping off her seatbelt so hard it smashed against the window. She was out of the vehicle before it came to a halt.

  Yanking the Beretta from the holster at her waist, Helen streaked across the road, heedless of the oncoming cars. She’d seen a flash of green and blue under a streetlight, and, by God, she was going to get him.

  “Stop! I have you covered!” she yelled.

  Damn, it felt good to be moving; to be doing something. She ran onto the grass, half-lit by the lamps high above, and hurried after the man who was rapidly disappearing into the night.

  She didn’t catch him; she couldn’t catch up to him. He was gone.

  But he hadn’t been carrying anything … so the box, the box that she knew had to be at least twelve inches square, and that he had not been carrying—it had to be around somewhere.

  Bellowing into her cell phone, Helen ordered her men to look for the box. “It could be under a park bench. In a car. Anywhere! Grab anything you find that looks suspicious and bring it back.” She sited and selected a landmark that was easily found, even in the dark, and even to agents not familiar with the area, and started running back to the car.

  She was almost there when she saw it. A faint gleam of metal.

  Helen veered to the side, shouting for Colin to follow her back to the car.

  “Got it!” she screamed, recognizing the box as she ran up to it. She was already digging the phone from her pocket and stabbing at the keys to call back Marina Alexander.

  Please let her answer. Please let this go through.

  Green to the left. She remembered that one.

  Eleven-twenty-seven. She looked at Colin, who crouched next to her. His rugged face wore the same intensity, the same worry she knew her own did.

  Good God.

  Please connect. Please.

  She looked at the box, already trying to tear into it. Colin’s thick fingers, surprisingly nimble, pushed and shoved and poked at the box in her lap.

  “Green to the left,” she repeated aloud. What did that mean? “Green to the left.”

  She pulled the phone away from her ear to look at the screen. It was still trying to connect.

  Come on. Come on!

  Suddenly, on the bottom, a panel slid away from the box, falling into Colin’s lap.

  Buttons and dials. They were all there.

  A green one.

  She looked at Colin—their eyes locked. Holding her breath, Helen turned it to the left.

  Nothing happened. That was good. She heard him expel his breath, heard his murmur, “Good girl.” He looked at her again.

  Please! Connect!

  Then suddenly, it did. The phone was ringing.

  “Green to the left,” came a voice over the phone. She was running; moving; Helen could hear it in her breaths. “Blue down … .Red down.” Marina was panting into the phone.

  “Yes, yes, come on!” Helen said. “Blue down, red down.”

  “Black and white, cross over right—”

  The phone went dead.

  And Helen looked down. There was no black and white.

  It was eleven-twenty-eight.

  -46-

  Marina jammed the phone back into her pocket. She’d given as much as she could from memory of the code before the phone cut out.

  She and Gabe were stumbling down a small hillock, toward the water that lapped trustingly below them, knowing their pursuers were on their heels. Hearing them.

  A nippy breeze blasted her in the face as she pushed Gabe along the shore. There had to be something … somewhere.

  The Skaladeskas had reached the top of the crest behind them, and Marina’s back itched. She felt as though there should be gunfire raining down on them; but there was not.

  Something else whizzed through the air and thunked into the ground an inch from where her foot had been. An arrow.

  “Pick it up, Gabe!” she shouted encouragement between snagging breaths. “Toward those rocks over there. I can try to call Helen again then.”

  As they ran, she tried to look again at the green sheet so she could spit out the code as soon as she had the chance.

  Another arrow whizzed by, brushing the top of her hair, and Marina chanced a look back. Some of them stood on the top of the hill, firing; while another group chased them down the hill and along the shore.

  Water splashed beneath her feet, cold and dark, and Marina veered away from it. Gabe was slowing down again. Bright red blood soaked his shirt, and flung from his arm as he ran.

  “Try Helen again,” he said, gasping.

  The rocks were only a few meters ahead; but what good would they do? A quick duck behind them and their pursuers would reach them in moments.

  “Black and white cross right to green,” Marina mumbled. The air she managed to drag into her lungs seared her mouth dry, and burned in her lungs. It was thin, and she suspected too late that they were at a high elevation.

  And then … she saw it.

  A mirage? Good Lord, please don’t let it be a mirage!

  “A fucking boat!” Gabe shouted the words before Marina could reconcile it.

  They kicked up their speed; the boat, a small cruiser, was sitting just beyond the boulders they’d been aiming for. Hidden. As if waiting for such an escape.

  Had Victor known about the boat? The chance for escape?

  Marina shoved Gabe the last few inches onto the boat and leaped on after. He was already untying its mooring, and she dashed over to the motor.

  “Out of my way. This is mine,” Gabe commanded, and before she could speak, he’d started the motor with a smooth purr. “Call Helen!”

  She’d almost forgotten. Pushing buttons frantically, she placed the call.

  Pulled the green sheet from her pocket again and started to reread it.

  And realized she’d translated wrong.

  Not black and white … .orange and yellow. Cross right to left. She read the next line to be sure.

  “Helen!” Marina yelled into the phone as the boat cruised into the lake. “It’s not black and white. It’s orange and yellow! Cross right to left!”

  No one was on the phone.

  “Helen!”

  And as she waited, listening for that connection over the roar of the boat, she heard, somehow, the faint call of her name.

  She looked up, out over the water.

  Victor.

  How did he get there? What was he doing?

  He was struggling, in the water, his arms raised as he went under. His face glowing white above the dark water.

  The Skaladeskas swarmed along the shore; arrows flying. Marina felt like she was in a medieval war zone.

  “Gabe!” she shouted, still holding the phone to her ear, still waiting for Helen’s voice. “Look!” She pointed. “Circle around!”

  He was going to drown. Surely one of the Skaladeskas would pull him out.

  “Marina!” Gabe shouted at her. “Talk to Helen. We have to get out of here!”

  “Just one pass. I can’t—”

  The phone connected just as Marina felt the answering swerve of the boat. She shouted into the phone, “Helen! It’s not black and white. It’s orange and yellow
. Hear me? Orange and yellow cross right to left.” She looked up and saw Victor slide under the water.