by Misty Evans
She refused to be goaded, to play his game. Silence, the ultimate act of defiance, was the one thing he couldn't stand. Pressing her lips together, she stared back at him and watched with satisfaction as his smile faltered a micron.
He thrust his face mere inches from hers. “In prison, I learned several new abuses to add to my list of torture techniques. I haven't had the chance to try them out on anyone yet. You could be the first."
He walked his fingers up one of her thighs, and a thin, gold chain peeked out from his shirt sleeve. Her lost gold necklace encircled his wrist in two loops. His breath touched her cheek. “You are such a pretty girl. Maybe this time I will administer the torture myself. Then we can both get off, huh?"
Anger zinged through her. Hate coiled in her stomach. On reflex, she thrust her elbow sharply at his face, and welcomed the connection of bone to bone. He fell backward, swearing and grabbing his cheek.
Before the armed guards could move, he regained his balance, stepped forward and cold-cocked her, the force of the blow knocking her out of the chair. She landed heavily on the carpeted floor and curled into a ball, ears ringing.
She clamped her eyes shut to hold back the tears.
"Alexandrov,” someone said in a warning tone.
Dmitri's booted feet stepped away. Someone snapped his fingers and hands lifted her again into the chair. Her arms were pulled behind her and secured with flexicuffs. Then the cherub-faced youth moved around to the front and tied her legs to the legs of the chair. She blinked several times, keeping her eyes on the top of his head and trying to bring his dark curls into focus.
A man, compact and powerful, with dark skin and hair, moved from behind her and seated himself at the desk. As Zara's eyesight cleared, she saw his suit was vintage Italian silk. Under it, he wore a cashmere sweater. He steepled his fingers in front of his chest and gazed at her impassively from under heavy brows. “Where is your partner?” His accent was almost nonexistent.
She noticed the mole to the left of his finely chiseled nose and knew she was looking at Stefano Biaggio. The head of the new Italian Mafia sect. Varina's boss, lover and business partner. A man who no doubt had a very large chip on his shoulder when it came to Zara and Lawson.
A strange calm settled over her. If Stefano was asking her where Lawson was, that meant they hadn't caught him. He would come for her, all she had to do was buy some time.
"I don't know what you're talking about.” Speaking caused pain to radiate from her cheek and jaw where Dmitri's punch had landed. “I don't have any partner."
Stefano tapped his index fingers together. “Then you are a woman of great talent. You have killed four members of my organization, stolen one of my motorcycles and tracked down Alexi all by yourself.” He touched a file folder on his desk. “The CIA does not have many men who could accomplish so much in such a short amount of time."
She shrugged one shoulder. “Never send a man to do a woman's job."
Stefano studied her for a long moment, his eyes dropping to her chest and then down to her spread knees. Where Dmitri always went with brute strength, Stefano understood that humiliation could be as effective as a punch from a fist. A normal woman would have instinctively tried to bring her knees together even if the attempt was futile. Zara forced herself not to move a muscle.
He sat forward and flipped the file open. “We know of your partner, Agent Morgan. I have his complete dossier here with yours.” Slipping a black and white 8x10 from the papers inside, he held it up for her to see. There, caught by the Ambassador's security camera, was her and Lawson in profile. Stefano pulled out several more photos, shot from different angles. He raised his brows to her, waiting.
She let him wait. She wasn't going to volunteer anything, not even lies. It would end up costing her, that she knew, but the longer she stretched out the interrogation, the better her chances for survival.
"Vaughn has caused more trouble for me in the past forty-eight hours than all the other agents who've tried to bring my empire down combined. I cannot let such offenses go.” Stefano sat back in his chair. “You understand?"
Again, she offered only silence.
Stefano glared at her. “Alexi told me you would be uncooperative. What a shame. Perhaps this will change your mind.” Reaching into the file, he pulled out another photo. This one of Zara and Lucie entering the hotel's front lobby.
Not Lucie.
The game suddenly swerved and jumped to a different level. A personal one that went beyond hers or Lawson's safety and survival. The two men in front of her were about to screw with her family. “She has nothing to do with this. Leave her alone."
"Too late,” Dmitri said, clapping his hands together and beaming at her. He signaled to one of the men in the back of the room, Zara's chain swinging from his wrist. “Bring the girl."
Sheer terror rose under her skin. Looking over her shoulder at the back of the room, she held her breath.
Lucie appeared in the doorway to the room a minute later, flanked on each side by a guard. Her hands were cuffed behind her back and duct tape covered her mouth.
Zara jerked on her bonds as her sister approached. “Are you hurt?"
Lucie shook her head, and Dmitri shoved her back into the chair. She whipped her head around and pinned her gaze on him. “This is between you and me. Not her."
He thrust his face in front of her. “Then tell me where Vaughn is."
She clenched her teeth together, released them. “I don't know."
"You're lying.” He stood erect and motioned his men to bring Lucie forward. He grabbed her by the back of her hair and forced her down to her knees in front of Zara. Pulling his gun out of the holster, he dug the end into Lucie's temple. “Tell me where Lawson Vaughn is, or I'll blow her brains into your lap."
Zara stared into Lucie's frightened eyes, afraid to blink. Her brain sped through her options and the consequences each one might bring.
"He went to Paris to catch up with Conrad Flynn,” she lied, grateful Annette wasn't in the room to contradict her. “He left this morning and I haven't seen him since."
"Why?” Stefano asked.
"Director Flynn came for him because of the uproar with the French authorities over Varina and Giovanni's deaths.” She willed her voice to stay calm. “We already knew you had set up camp here, and Flynn left me behind to keep an eye on you. He's notified the French and Swiss authorities of your whereabouts."
Stefano snorted. “The French and Swiss have better things to do than bother me, and the United States does not scare me.” His eyes narrowed a millimeter and he pointed a finger at her. “You, on the other hand, have killed several members of my organization. That I do not take lightly.” He shifted his gaze to Lucie and back to her. “I believe in an eye for an eye."
No, not Lucie. “If you want to prove a point or exact retribution for Varina's death, then kill me. Lucie's death will mean nothing to the CIA or the United States. Mine will."
Stefano drew a deep breath in through his nose, flaring his nostrils as he studied her. “The key to successful warfare is meticulous preparation. I, for one, hate improvisation.” He tapped his index fingers together again. “But perhaps, under the circumstances, we can make a deal."
Zara knew her doom was sealed. Whatever deal she made with Stefano and Dmitri would kill her. But if it gave Lucie even the slimmest chance of survival, if she could keep Lucie alive until Lawson arrived, she had to take it.
She looked at her sister and gave her a weak but encouraging smile. “A deal. Of course."
* * * *
"I have a problem,” Lawson said into the phone.
"Yeah, I know.” Del snickered. “He's dark and dangerous and knows how to piss off Stone without raising an eyebrow. So what's new?"
"This is a real problem. I need help."
"Okay."
"Dmitri's got Zara."
The line was silent for several seconds. “What do mean, ‘got her'?"
"Kidnapped."
"Holy shit,” Del whispered. “How did that happen?"
"Long story. Bottom line is I fucked up. Where's Pegasus?"
"Let me check.” Lawson heard Del's fingers tap his keyboard. “Looks like they're all here in the States on standby."
"For what?"
"Missing agent. He's been out of contact for three days now, and Pegasus is on call to ship out to Pakistan pending the DCI's orders."
It wasn't optimal, but it could have been worse. His team could have been in Middle or South America involved in a search and rescue. At least if they were in the D.C. area on standby, he had a chance of getting them to Europe within a reasonable timeframe. Especially if they were going to soon be on their way to the Middle East anyway. “I need you to go to Stone and tell him what's happened. I need Pegasus here in Switzerland and I need them ASAP."
"I'm a peon in the beast known as the Agency. I can't go to Michael Stone. You better call Flynn and get him to talk to the big guy. He pisses Stone off, but he also pulls a lot more weight."
Damn. The last thing Lawson wanted to do was explain to Flynn how he'd screwed up and let Zara get kidnapped.
But for her, he would get down on his knees and kiss Flynn's feet if it meant he would get him his team.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Thirty-Five
Zara sat still as stone in her chair. Lucie was seated on the couch and Dmitri leaned against the wall behind Stefano, staring at Zara. It was meant to unnerve her, so she ignored him.
"Did you know anyone killed in the September eleventh terrorist attacks?” Stefano asked.
While Dmitri was a crafty manipulator who liked to tease and taunt and draw things out, Stefano was a different animal. The Mafia leader preferred to get to the bottom line as quickly and efficiently as possible. A ruthless executive. She wasn't sure where his question was leading, but she answered honestly. “Yes. Several."
Stefano focused on a framed photograph on his desk. “My family as well. Two of my cousins and a half dozen college friends. The bride-to-be of my stepbrother. All lost in the World Trade Center Towers because a minority of men are bent on destroying the West in the name of God.” He shook his head. “Those attacks did not just affect Americans. They affected all of us."
Zara glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. It had already been close to two hours since she'd been kidnapped. Another six before the sun came up. Time, so far, was on her side.
"Islamic fundamentalists are a black mark on the twenty-first century,” he continued. “Their followers are ignorant, uncultured peoples who thrive on fanaticism and violence. They have brought their darkness to the United States and they continue to spread the same violence throughout the European community in an effort to make us fear them. This fanaticism has gone unchecked for too long. They should be made to pay for the destruction and killing they have committed. They should be wiped off the face of the Earth."
An eye for an eye. The Mafia way of life. Zara sighed. “The United States and Great Britain are trying to flush out and bring those responsible to just—"
Stefano slammed his hand on the desk. “The United States and Great Britain have done nothing but add fuel to the fire. Many of the Islamic leaders responsible for nine eleven walk free, continuing to pour money into their private militias and planning more attacks, not just on the United States but worldwide."
Dmitri crossed his legs at the ankles. “Two days ago, an al-Qaeda sympathizer drove a car bomb into a canteen of an air base in Belgium, killing over a hundred people. He was a disciple of Osama bin Laden."
Stefano's jowls shook with rage. “The same man was suspected of planning a suicide mission against the U.S. Embassy in Rome last year. He was questioned by the Italian authorities who in turn notified your government and requested help in prosecuting him. The Italian government was told to handle it themselves. The U.S. could not be bothered by such an insignificant matter. Do you know why, Agent Morgan? Because they were too busy sending more troops to Iraq."
Drawing in a deep breath seemingly to calm his rage, he sat back in his chair. “There are highly efficient ways of dealing with these Middle Eastern mongrel races. Ways of eliminating both the fanatic leaders and their followers. My colleagues and I have developed such a way.” He exchanged a look with Dmitri. “We will give them exactly what they want."
When he didn't continue, Zara broke her silence again. She needed to keep him talking. “Guns? Bombs? Weapons of mass destruction? How will that help your cause without hurting the innocent?"
Dmitri answered, his voice carrying excitement. “Silent bombs. Highly efficient, but less messy than traditional weapons. Easy to carry and disseminate and extremely deadly."
Zara's brain clicked. “Biological agents. That's why you recruited Dr. Vos Loo."
Stefano nodded. “Genetic engineering of biological agents can alter their incubation periods, the way they are spread and even the clinical syndromes they produce. Bacterium can be mixed with viruses to create the most deadly and the easiest-spread diseases the world has ever known."
"Vos Loo's father,” Dmitri said, warming to the discussion, “dabbled in creating alternate agents back in the 1950's for the Russian Biological Warfare Program. Unfortunately, none of them were used in anything more than laboratory experimentation."
"And all were supposedly destroyed at the end of the Cold War.” Stefano held up a finger and tapped it against his temple. “But the doctor kept his own personal notes and hid them in a secret underground lab here in Switzerland. Jon has continued his father's work."
Dmitri pushed off the wall. “It all works out perfectly, you see. The Middle Eastern fanatics want to buy weapons with the capability of distributing fatal diseases to the rest of us. Some of them came to me in the past, but I always turned them down. I didn't want to deal with them. Now, Stefano wants revenge for the senseless deaths of family and friends at the hands of these same fanatics. I find the idea very appealing. So along with Vos Loo's help, I've arranged a deal that gives everybody what they want. I supply the weapons and Vos Loo supplies the anthrax and smallpox agents."
Stefano chuckled softly. “Vos Loo has developed a virus which is fast acting and highly contagious like SARS but contains a deadly strain of a pathogen similar to anthrax. When the deal goes down, our Islamic buyers end up exposing themselves to a deadly disease without even knowing it."
Dmitri chuckled too. “Then the Muslim dogs take it back home with them and our biogenetically engineered version of the plague kills thousands of them, all of them if we're lucky."
"Luck has nothing to do with it,” Stefano retorted, the impatient, calculating commander again. “Calculated planning does. In a few days, we will have justice and achieve what the Superpowers have failed to do with armies, warfare and trials."
In other words, Zara thought, don't send an egomaniac superpower to do a hit man's job.
Stefano opened a laminated wood box on his desk and drew out a cigar. “Vos Loo's strain takes twenty-four hours from exposure to full-blown symptoms. However, by the time a high fever and chest congestion appear, it's already too late. The exposed person's white blood cells have dropped significantly. His lungs fill with blood and his fever spikes, causing brain-damaging convulsions. He goes into shock and respiratory failure. All major organs shut down. Within forty-eight hours, the virus will have run its course and the patient will be dead."
"In the meantime,” Dmitri said, “he has exposed countless others. His family, the men he prays with at temple, his business associates. All who in turn pass the disease on."
Zara challenged their logic. “As soon as the World Health Organization recognizes the cluster of disease, they'll isolate and quarantine those affected just like they did during the SARS epidemic."
Stefano dismissed her argument. “The WHO moves at a pace comparable to your Congress. By the time they understand the massive scale of the disease, the quarantine will be too late. Plus, it will take them weeks
to figure out the antidote. In order to survive the virus, a specific combination of antibiotics and antimicrobials has to be administered within the first twenty-four hour period."
Ethnic cleansing. Dear God, how could they even be talking about such a thing? Zara shifted her gaze between the modern-day versions of Hitler and Milosevic in front of her and once again called on logic to help her out. “Cleansing Europe of Muslims, even if it's only the extremists, is a massive undertaking. You may make a dent in their community, but you will never eliminate the entire Muslim world."
Stefano rolled the cigar between his fingers. “An effective war campaign does not limit itself to striking the enemy on only one front. My plan is in fact multifaceted. As the world deals with the biological attack, new attacks will be initiated, originating from the most unlikely of sources. The Health Ministry itself will unknowingly distribute contaminated antibiotics. Blankets and other supplies provided by humanitarian aide agencies to the refuge camps in Afghanistan and Pakistan will be contaminated with smallpox. The Muslim world will be under siege. Few will survive. Those who do will have nothing to live for."
Scenes of death and disease filled Zara's mind. Her stomach roiled. “How will you keep non-Muslims from contracting the disease? If Dr. Vos Loo's virus runs amok, aren't you putting yourselves and your own families in danger?"
"Adherents to the Islamic faith are a very tight-knit family,” Stefano answered. “They keep to themselves. A few innocent people on the fringes may be infected, those who tolerate and accept Muslims into their community, but every war has its collateral damage and anyone who befriends this group of people deserves to die. My network of health administrators here in Europe and in America will be instructed on proper protocol for dealing with the outbreak should it affect large numbers of Europeans. The antidote cocktail will be made available for those I deem appropriate. All of us here are already receiving vaccinations as a precaution."
Zara glanced at Lucie. A deep line creased her sister's forehead, mirroring her own. She glanced back at Dmitri and Stefano. “So how will you expose your buyers to this supervirus Vos Loo's created?"
