The Blood Code (A Super Agent Novel) (Entangled Edge)

by Misty Evans

  Natasha’s gaze never left Ivanov’s face. “My granddaughter is a braver soldier than you, Ivanov. Braver and smarter. As I told you already, killing her parents was your first mistake. Killing her will be your last.”

  Ivanov hesitated. Anya didn’t understand her grandmother’s statement any more than the president did, but it seemed like a good idea to keep him talking rather than shooting. “Why is this code so important? And why did my father have it?”

  “Do you want to tell her?” Natasha asked, seeming to settle into the chair. “Or should I?”

  She crossed one leg over the other, looking for all the world like the elegant woman Anya had known all her life, rather than the beat-up and tormented prisoner Ivanov had tried to turn her into.

  Pride swelled inside Anya’s chest. If Natasha could be so calm and regal in this situation, she could, too.

  Ignoring the gun pointed at her head, she shifted to face Ivanov. “Tell me, Maxim. I have the right to know the truth before I die.”

  The use of his first name, or perhaps the pleading look in her eye, made him lower the gun. He didn’t release her, and she feared if she made one wrong move, he’d kill her on the spot. So she held still, held her ground. Willed him to start talking.

  “Your father was in charge of Prometheus, a project to convert the launch systems from physical keys to computer codes back in the 1990s.” Ivanov’s gaze never left hers, but he wasn’t seeing her anymore. “The set of defense missiles protecting Moscow were some of the first to be converted to an entirely encrypted and encoded system like the Americans had. They could only be launched by the president. Except, your father inserted a backdoor code no one knew about at first. When I tried to upgrade the system, my engineers discovered that the defense missiles in Level A-155 will not launch unless that backdoor code is initialized.”

  Anya glanced at her grandmother. “Backdoor code?”

  Natasha smiled. “A secret way of overriding normal authentication. The code is like a password that opens the program. The program that initializes the missiles.”

  She shifted on the chair, her face serious once more. “The potential for nuclear war frightened your father, like it does all rational people. The Cold War was over, but the nuclear arms race was still going strong. He was torn about what he was doing, making it even easier for one man to start a nuclear war.” She met Anya’s gaze. “He had a daughter. A daughter he wanted to grow up, and have her own kids, without the threat of nuclear annihilation hanging over their heads.”

  Ivanov exploded in anger. “He had no right to tie the government’s hands! To put us all in danger.”

  “He wasn’t a power-hungry politician, Ivanov. He was a father, a son, a husband before he was a cabinet member. Things you’ll never understand. He loved this country. Truly loved it.”

  “He was an abomination to Russia. A traitor, just like you. He died by my hand and you will, too.”

  Natasha looked as tired as Anya felt. “Then you and Moscow will continue to be vulnerable, because I’m the only one who has the code now, and I will never, ever give it to you. ‘Mankind must put an end to war or war will put an end to mankind.’”

  “How dare you quote that bastard Kennedy.”

  Ivanov moved, raising the gun as if to hit Natasha. Anya stepped between them, braced herself against the strike. “All these years, Moscow has been unprotected from a nuclear attack?”

  He stayed the weapon. “Of course not. My predecessors built many defensive missile shields.”

  “But those contain normal warheads, not nuclear ones,” Natasha said. “They’re designed for short-range interception. The last defense against nuclear annihilation. The ones your father worked on, Anya, are long-range ICBMs buried in silos surrounding Moscow and St. Petersburg. They’re the forerunners of Satan, the one-hundred-ton warhead Ivanov has added to his arsenal this year. Those missiles are for attacking, not defending.”

  “My God.” Anya took a step backward, still shielding Natasha. Her grandmother’s hand touched her back. Seeking reassurance or giving it? “You’re making agreements with the United States and Britain to dismantle all these weapons, while behind their backs, you’re building bigger ones?”

  Natasha offered up more information. “Ivanov has listed the missiles as decommissioned since he realized they wouldn’t work. If he can’t obtain the code to initialize them, the missiles are worthless, but the rest of the world doesn’t know that, do they, Maxim?”

  “Russia will be the leader of the world in this decade.” Ivanov raised a fist and shook it at both of them. “And I will lead Russia.”

  Ivanov was nothing less than the next Stalin or Hitler. He would take out anyone he perceived as a threat, regardless of the consequences. World domination was no joke to him.

  Andreev’s voice cut in. “Sir? We are ready.”

  Ivanov pointed his gun at Anya’s forehead. “Tell me the code to Peter’s backdoor, Natasha, or your granddaughter dies.”

  This was it. Anya reached back and grabbed Grams’s hand.

  “Forgive me, Anya,” Natasha whispered. “I can’t tell him.”

  “I’ll tell you the code.” The unexpected male voice made them jerk to look at the command center’s door.

  Ryan, bedraggled and bloody, wobbled precariously across the threshold. Inga gasped at the sight of him. Anya did the same. “Ryan?”

  His calm, assessing gaze skimmed over her before it moved to the president. “Lower the gun, Ivanov, and I’ll give you your precious code.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  He’s alive.

  He came for me.

  Anya’s knees buckled. Ryan was weaponless and appeared barely able to stand. And the blood…

  His entire upper body was covered with it.

  She swallowed hard and started to catapult herself across the room, wanting to throw her arms around him. As she stepped forward, her grandmother’s hand tightened on hers, a death grip holding her back.

  For a brief second, silence fell, Ryan’s words registering with everyone. No one moved.

  Ivanov hesitated, seeming to debate whether Ryan was telling the truth. Whether he should lower the gun.

  He didn’t.

  “You need her,” Ryan said, eyes steady on the Russian president. “For the code, and for the future of your homeland. Killing her would be a colossal mistake.”

  All eyes in the control room went to Ivanov. “What would you know about the code?”

  “More than you. Let her come over here, to me, and I’ll tell you.”

  The leader bristled, kept the gun trained on Anya’s head. “Tell me, or I’ll kill her.”

  Ryan drew a deep breath. Grams squeezed Anya’s hand. In anticipation? Fear? Grams claimed she was the only who knew the code. Did Ryan actually know it or was he bluffing?

  He was silent for so long, Anya bit her bottom lip. When Ivanov set the gun directly against her temple, Ryan raised a hand in a wait gesture.

  “Her blood,” he said, low and apologetic as he shot a glance at her. “The code is in her DNA.”

  As his words sunk in, Ivanov slowly lowered the gun. He either assumed Ryan was no threat in his current state, or the Russian president was as shocked as the rest of them at Ryan’s announcement. Anya understood the words but not the meaning. How could her blood be the code Ivanov needed to initialize the missiles?

  Grams’s voice, rigid and damning, came from behind Anya. “You’re lying.”

  The acerbic tone of her voice got everyone’s attention. Including Ryan’s. He cut his gaze to Natasha, back to Ivanov, his steady demeanor leaving no doubt in Anya’s mind he was indeed telling the truth. “You may be willing to risk Anya’s life over this, Natasha, but I’m not.”

  Using Anya’s hand as a crutch, Natasha leveraged her weight and stood. “I don’t know who you are,” she said to Ryan, “but you know nothing about my granddaughter.”

  Ryan’s gaze flicked to Anya. “I know Peter Radzoya was a brillian
t computer engineer with a penchant for writing unbreakable codes. His wife, Ekateirna was an accomplished geneticist. I read your Agency transcripts, Natasha. Peter and his wife hit on using a genetic fingerprint—a code as unique as the person—to guarantee it would take years, possibly decades, for anyone to figure out it was the key to Peter’s backdoor setup. Then you went to work to manipulate Yeltsin into weapons reduction talks with America and Britain.”

  “The code has nothing to do with Anya,” Natasha insisted.

  “Yes, it does, and when you decided Anya’s life was in danger if anyone found out about the source of the code, Peter and Ekateirna knew they had to come up with a different one. They were on their way to the lab to change it the night they were killed.”

  Snaking cold slithered up Anya’s spine. Her grandmother didn’t respond, didn’t argue, and in that second, Anya knew it was true. All of it.

  Her blood, with its defects, was a weapon of mass destruction.

  Prometheus. The comic book antagonist her father loved. He’d given her all the issues the first Prometheus had appeared in, telling her the books held a secret. They’d been in Anya’s school bag the night her parents were killed. When she’d slipped away from the car, her mother had insisted she take the bag with her. On their way to America, Grams and Anya had stopped in Switzerland, and Grams had taken the comics away, telling Anya she was too old for comic books now.

  Her knees again threatened to go out. Her heart jumped around like a ferret caged inside her ribs. “How is that possible?”

  Ryan’s gaze stayed on Ivanov. “Anya, your mother was a bright geneticist like you. Your father, a computer genius. Put the two of them together and…” His voice trailed off, letting her fill in the rest.

  Ivanov chuckled, a low-throated, humorless sound. “Even I would not have thought of such an ingenious code.” He glanced at Anya with a new twisted glint in his eye. “Royal blood comes through once again.”

  Why was Ryan doing this? Telling such a secret to this madman? Giving Ivanov control over the missiles? Giving him control over her?

  You may be willing to risk Anya’s life over this, but I’m not.

  Ryan knew Ivanov would put a bullet in her head if Grams didn’t give him the code. Grams wouldn’t do it, but Ryan would. Saving her…and damning them all in the long run if it were true.

  Anya glared at Ryan. How dare he—

  He winked.

  At her.

  So subtle, she almost missed it.

  The wink was a message, but what? Was he bluffing? Buying time until the CIA arrived? Even if it were true, it would take time for Ivanov to have her DNA analyzed for the code. Ryan had to know that. He was buying them time to get out of there and somehow avert a nuclear disaster.

  Andreev cleared his throat. “We have the tools we need here, sir. Your hand and retinal scans will activate the system. Her DNA”—he gave Anya a look of distaste—“will then unlock the system and initialize the missiles.”

  “I’m not your damn key to initializing anything.” Anya jerked her hand out of her grandmother’s. Bluffing or not, she wasn’t going along with this plan. “And I’ll never give you my blood.”

  Ivanov secured his gun in the waistband of his uniform. “I don’t need your blood. I already have your genetic analysis.”

  “What?” Ryan said.

  Anya echoed his shock. “How did you get that?”

  “His doctor took your DNA,” Natasha said, “when he treated your wound.”

  Ivanov snapped his fingers at Andreev. “Give me her medical file.”

  Andreev produced a black briefcase and withdrew a file from it, setting it on the desk.

  Ivanov pointed at Ryan. “Remove him.”

  The prime minister took out a small black gun and aimed it at Ryan. “Move!”

  Anya jumped forward to intercept Andreev, but Natasha once again grabbed hold of her, locking her arms around Anya in a bear hug. How could she be so strong after what she’d been through?

  Ryan’s eyes swung to Anya’s and a flicker of doubt—the first she’d ever seen in them—appeared.

  Ivanov opened the file and pointed his gun at her again. “Read the DNA sequence to me, Anya.”

  The smaller man gestured for Ryan to walk out of the center. Ryan took half a step backward, lowered his voice as he spoke to her. “Do as he says. Stay alive.”

  “Yes, Anya.” Ivanov chuckled with a manic edge. “If you want to save your grandmother, read me the code.”

  “So you can kill millions of innocent people? Poshol ti nahooy.”

  His laughter died at her derogatory use of Russian.

  “President Ivanov,” Inga stepped forward. “Surely, you’re not going to set off nuclear weapons…”

  The gun boomed and a round, red spot appeared on Inga’s forehead. She froze, eyes wide for half a second before she toppled to the floor.

  At the same moment, Ryan rushed Andreev. Whatever his plan, Anya had to help. She jerked forward, but Natasha hugged her tighter, refusing to let her go. Anya could have broken through her arm restraints, but didn’t want to hurt her grandmother. “Let go, Grams.”

  “I won’t,” Natasha said.

  The two men scuffled, Andreev throwing himself at Ryan and sending both of them out the door, and onto to the floor outside the center. Andreev’s gun went off, echoing inside the room, and Anya flinched, screaming Ryan’s name as the door whooshed shut, cutting them off.

  Ivanov ran for the door, punching the computerized keypad on the wall to lock it. Just as he did, Ryan appeared on the other side of the glass, beating it with his left fist. His mouth moved, and Anya made out that he was saying her name.

  Obviously, this was not part of his plan. She reached out a hand toward him, and squirmed in her grandmother’s arms. He stepped back, raised Andreev’s gun, and fired at the glass. Anya and Natasha ducked, but the glass didn’t give.

  Ivanov faced them, a smile lighting up his face. He tapped the glass with a fingernail. “Bulletproof. Fifty caliber armor piercing rounds cannot break it.”

  Ryan unloaded another bullet at Ivanov’s head. A thin spiderweb crack appeared but that was it.

  Ivanov laughed. “Looks like it is just the three of us.” He pointed his gun at Natasha. “Or maybe two.”

  Anya shoved Grams to the side as the gun discharged. Natasha hit the chair, knocking it over as she tumbled to the ground. The bullet missed her…

  And nailed Anya squarely in her left hand, still in the air from pushing Natasha aside. The tiny missile ripped through flesh and bone, slamming Anya’s hand back as it passed through and ricocheted off a nearby computer.

  Out of the two of them, Grams had gotten the worst deal. Still, the burning in Anya’s hand was intense. Using it to fuel her anger, she rushed Ivanov. If she was going to die, she was going down swinging.

  Ivanov outweighed her by at least fifty pounds. She didn’t care. Even as his eyes widened and he raised the gun at her, she knocked it aside and jumped him. He stumbled backward from the force of her entire weight slamming into him.

  Together they hit the wall, the back of Ivanov’s head smacking against the glass where Ryan had created the spiderweb. Anya caught a brief glimpse of Andreev lying on the ground, his head twisted at an odd angle. Ryan was nowhere in sight.

  Anya shoved all thoughts of Ryan out of her head and aimed her thumbs at Ivanov’s eye sockets. Her injured left hand didn’t want to obey her commands, and Ivanov twisted his head to avoid her right, but she managed to smear blood across his face. Small victory.

  He tried to hit her and the gun went off. Anya heard a startled intake of breath.

  Grams.

  Dropping off Ivanov, Anya hit the ground and whirled around to look for her grandmother. Natasha slid down the front of a desk, legs sprawled in front of her as blood leeched from between her fingers where they lay over her heart. “Anya?”

  Anya scrambled to her grandmother’s side. “Grams. Oh, God.” She pressed bo
th hands over Natasha’s chest. Blood gushed over their entwined fingers.

  She eased her grandmother down to the floor, tears pooling in her eyes. “You’re going to be okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”

  Stupid words. Nothing was going to be okay. So much blood. Her grandmother was dying right in front of her eyes.

  Natasha patted Anya’s hand. Her eyes fluttered closed. “I’m…so…proud of you.”

  “Don’t leave me, Grams. Open your eyes. You’ve got to stay with me.”

  “Your parents…would have been…so proud…”

  “Grams, I need you. Please. Please don’t leave me.”

  “Don’t give him anything.” Natasha gave her hand a solid squeeze. “I love you, Anya.” Then she whispered, “Vnooch-ka.” Granddaughter.

  Anya squeezed back, tears pouring down her cheeks. “I love you, too, Grams.”

  Natasha’s eyes fluttered closed one last time.

  No, Grams.

  Natasha drew one last shuddering breath.

  Heavy footsteps sounded behind Anya. As grief overwhelmed her, another emotion rose with it. Cold rage.

  There was nothing left. No one left. Just her and Ivanov.

  Time to finish the game.

  Anya raised her eyes to look Ivanov in the face. “Here.” She held up her bleeding hand. “Give me the file.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Get to Anya.

  That mantra looped over and over in Ryan’s head, blocking out the pain and dizziness. Logic, the one thing he’d always relied on, kept tacking on before the bastard kills her.

  He had to ignore the logic voice because if he didn’t…

  Well, if he didn’t, he’d fall to his knees and give up right there.

  Logic had not been his friend inside the control room. Seeing Ivanov pointing his gun at Anya’s head had screwed it up. Ryan’s plan had been to distract Ivanov, get him to lower his weapon, and then take him out before he had the chance to hurt Anya or her grandmother.