Talia stepped back from the counter and assessed her makeup. “For the last time, Eddie, this is a business meeting.”
This was so totally a date. It was also a key component of a business transaction, and Tyler was getting a cut. What did that say about their professional relationship? Talia cringed and stepped up to the counter again to remove some of the eye shadow.
“Well,” she said, emerging from the bathroom a few minutes later. She did a quick twirl for Eddie. The LBD, or little black dress, was considered mandatory equipment for a CIA officer. Embassy parties and fancy dinners were a common hazard in the field. “How do I look?”
“I always said you clean up nice.” Eddie leaned a shoulder against the doorframe. “Where’s your Glock?”
“Thigh holster.”
His shoulder slipped and he dropped an arm to catch himself. “Uh . . . right.”
THE MANDARIN BOASTED the only restaurant in Tiraspol worthy of a man like Ivanov—the Red Dragon. Talia arrived separately, and the valet accepted the keys to the Opel as if they were a used banana peel. A sad knowing darkened his features. The tip later that night would likely match the car.
Talia had come early to scope out the place. A pair of Chinese lions greeted her at the door, and again in the Mandarin’s main lobby, where black and gold banners of serpentine dragons hung from marble arches. The restaurant stood to her left, a darkened space lit by red silk lanterns. She saw no threats among the patrons, until her eyes found the bar.
“Mr. Tyler,” she said with a sigh, taking the stool next to him. “What are you doing here?”
Tyler sipped a white, frothy drink through a tiny straw, smacked his lips, and gave her a sardonic look. “I live here.”
“I mean what are you doing here, in the Red Dragon? You know this is where I’m meeting Dr. Ivanov.”
“I’m having a drink, Miss Wright. Is that a crime?” Tyler shifted his eyes to the great brass gong hanging behind the bar and took another drink, wincing. “Did you know many Eastern European bars use vodka instead of rum in their piña coladas? They say you can taste the difference.”
“Okay. I’ll bite. Which did they use in yours?”
“Neither. I’m not much of a drinker.” He took another sip and winced again. “But this one is remarkably cold.”
One day Talia would make Brennan suffer for forcing her to work with this guy. She checked her watch, then checked the door. Ivanov could arrive at any second. “Please go away.”
“Not until I finish my drink. I’m taking it slow. I can’t handle brain freeze.”
“Ugh.” Talia spun on her stool and laid her elbows on the bar. At the far end, a young woman sat alone, dressed to kill in a red sequined dress.
“Look.” Talia nudged Tyler. “That girl down there is practically screaming for a sugar daddy to pick her up. Why don’t you take her and the drink upstairs? Isn’t that what rich guys do?”
Tyler kept working on his icy virgin piña colada. His eyes darkened. “That’s not who I am.”
“I guess that’s the point. I don’t know who you are, Mr. Tyler. And I don’t want to know.”
“Then what do you want?”
“For you. To go. Away!” She pounded the bar with each phrase.
The girl in the red dress gave her an accusing look that said, You must be sooo desperate for attention. Talia dropped her forehead into her hand.
The slurping sound of the last few drops of a cold virgin piña colada roused her from her frustration. Tyler set down his glass with an exaggerated “Ahhh” and patted her bare shoulder. “That’s it for me.” He slid off the stool and tossed a pair of bills onto the bar. “And don’t look now, but your date’s here.”
Two bellhops opened a pair of the Mandarin’s glass doors as Ivanov strolled through, a black SUV pulling away in his wake. Talia ditched Tyler without another word. She walked out to her date, doing her best to banish a sudden fear of stumbling in the unfamiliar heels.
“Where’s your Russian friend?” she asked as Ivanov shifted course to meet her.
“I left Mr. Bazin with the car. After all, I have you to protect me.” He bowed to kiss her hand, but stopped halfway, eyes shifting to the front desk, where Tyler had conveniently stopped to chat with the clerk. “Is that—?”
“Yes. He’s staying at this hotel.”
“And are you two—?”
“No.” She might have placed more emphasis on the word than necessary. Talia tugged Ivanov toward the restaurant, having never received that hand kiss. “Shall we sit down?”
Ivanov had the menu memorized. He ordered for them both, advising Talia that Nicolai, the not-so-Chinese chef of the Red Dragon, made only one dish well. He also inquired about a bottle of wine, but Talia refused. She was there on business, no matter how dashing her Moldovan date.
A rehash of her suggestions for Avantec’s security kept the business barrier raised through the first two courses. The more she interviewed Ivanov, the more Talia worried a kidnapping might be Lukon’s best option. And here she was, drawing the target out of his compound.
Her eyes flitted to the entrance and windows during transition movements—a bite of duck or a sip of water—whenever she managed to tear her gaze from his. Ivanov’s gray eyes were at once brilliant, passionate, and playful, especially when he spoke of the lab and his work there.
“I do my best work in my home lab,” he said, handing his plate to the waiter when he had finished. “That place is like a manifestation of my own mind.”
Talia had noticed. She had inspected his residence, across the lake from the main building. In some ways, Ivanov’s personal lab was more impressive than the clean room, and yet more overtly masculine, with polished concrete furnishings and random bundles of wire and steel.
“Are you sure you don’t want another look at it?” he asked, folding his arms on the table. “The house and the lab, I mean. We could go this evening.” There was that playfulness again.
Talia swallowed the boulder forming in her throat. “No. I don’t think that’s a good idea. Not tonight.” She couldn’t believe she had added that last bit. To redirect the conversation, she broached new ground. “What about family, Dr. Ivanov?”
“Pavel.”
“Right.” She felt herself blush. “Pavel. Lukon could use your loved ones against you.” It occurred to Talia as she broached the subject that Ivanov’s file had not mentioned a marital status. Neither had he, as yet. A part of her cringed, waiting for his reply.
“Family is no issue.” Ivanov raised a hand, and the waiter rushed over with a dessert card. “I have no wife, and I no longer have ties with the children’s home that raised me.”
She nearly choked on the water she was drinking. “You’re an orphan?”
His eyes narrowed. “As . . . are you.”
“I . . .” What was she supposed to say? From one slip of genuine surprise, Ivanov had read her past. Talia kicked herself, dabbing the dribble from her chin. She had let her guard down too far. Now she had to own it. A lie would never work. “Yes. My mother died in childbirth. I lost my father at a young age.”
“I never knew my parents at all. I have always been an outsider. I suppose that is the reason I am so desperate for acceptance into the European aerospace community, not easy for any CEO from a city east of Vienna.” Ivanov eased his chair around to her side of the table. “In many ways next week’s expo is my coming-out party in polite society. Natalia,” he said, dropping the “Miss” for the first time and laying a hand on her wrist, “we have much in common. Perhaps this is why I asked you to dinner.” He raised his eyes to hers. “I hope you can forgive the impertinence, but—”
Glass shattered behind them.
Talia spun out of her chair, Glock up and ready, and a waitress backed away with hands raised, abandoning a pile of broken glasses and a fallen tray. The girl in the red dress, now seated with her young date, glanced at Talia and just shook her head.
Talia grabbed Ivanov’s wrist and
dragged him to the doors. “I’m getting you out of here.”
“It was only a few glasses, Natalia.” Ivanov signaled the waiter over her shoulder, rubbing his fingers together in the cash sign.
The waiter answered with a we’ll take care of it later nod.
“For now, yes. But I drew my weapon, so if a real threat is out there, I’ve just shown my hand.” She let go of him out on the drive. “Call Bazin.”
Ivanov didn’t have to. The Russian pulled up as she spoke, looking none too pleased at their sudden appearance. Ivanov’s eyes turned playful again. “Does this mean you are coming with me? The night is young. There are still places in Tiraspol I could show you.”
“No.” Talia gave the valet the ticket for her Opel, ignoring the roll of the young man’s eyes. “You’re going home. Alone.”
Chapter
twenty-
two
TIRASPOL BEST CHOICE MOTEL
TRANSNISTRIA UNRECOGNIZED TERRITORY
TALIA AND EDDIE LEFT THE MOTEL for their final day at Avantec late in the afternoon. After she rejected his offer of an extended date, Ivanov had given her some line about an all-day project. He had asked her to meet him the following evening at the compound’s private airfield, the only section she hadn’t inspected yet. Talia suspected his true motivation was to shorten the goodbye.
She didn’t blame him.
As they got in the car, Eddie asked how the dinner had gone. The tone behind Talia’s “Fine” shut him down.
What had she been thinking, showing romantic interest in the subject of her mission? The guy didn’t even know her real name. To take things further would only punish them both. An abrupt end to their relationship, professional or otherwise, was the right play.
Eddie was staring, and Talia realized she had the Opel’s gas pedal pinned to the floor. She let up and glanced at him. “What?”
“Nothing.”
Bazin met them at guest parking and crammed his oversize form into the driver’s seat of a golf cart. “I take you to airfield.”
A twelve-foot fence topped with concertina wire surrounded the airfield and its hangars. As Bazin drove down the perimeter road, Eddie leaned forward from the rear seat and nodded at the gauges. “So what kind of mileage does this thing get?”
The big bear hit him with a scowl.
Eddie raised his hands. “Never mind. Forget I asked.”
Bazin drove them down a row of flat offices and in through the back of a sparkling-clean hangar. No grease stains marred the polished floor. Complex machinery manned by a small army of engineers left no stretch of wall uncovered. The Russian walked Talia and Eddie to the open doors at the front, facing the runway, and tucked his hands behind him in a military stance.
All three stood there for a long while. Eddie clearly could not handle the silence. “So,” he asked, fidget spinner twirling in his fingers, “where’s your boss?”
“Dr. Ivanov arrive soon.”
Talia was intrigued. “With Mr. Tyler, I presume? On his Gulfstream?”
Bazin shook his head. “No Mr. Tyler.” A deep chuckle rumbled in the bear’s chest. “I think he bored with whole business.”
“That sounds about right.” Talia shifted her gaze out to the runway. Bad grammar or not, Bazin could be fairly insightful.
A few seconds later, the Russian pointed high above the orange glow of the setting sun. “Dr. Ivanov.”
The aircraft began as a black wedge, falling out of the sky like an elevator, with no sound at all. Talia could make out four massive engines with cowlings that swiveled within the hull. Their fans kicked up to a whine and then a roar, rapidly slowing the craft to a hover five feet over the runway. The cowlings tilted forward, and the craft floated along a short network of taxiways until it reached the apron, where tricycle gear extended to cushion its final touchdown. A hatch with built-in stairs extended from the side, and a pilot in a gray, form-fitting flight suit sauntered down the steps.
Talia knew him by his walk before he pulled off his helmet. “Pavel?” She used his first name without thinking.
Ivanov lobbed the helmet to Eddie and grinned. “What do you think?”
“I think you set up this whole scenario to impress me.”
EDDIE WAVED THE HELMET AT HIM. “I might have gone with a dramatic head toss when you pulled this off, but I’m not sure you have the hair for it. So good call.”
Ivanov ignored him, giving Talia a bow. “You read me so well. But did it work?”
“Yes.” A smile forced its way past the poker face she was fighting to hold. “Yes, it did.”
“Excellent. I like hearing you say that word.”
“You mean, ‘Yes’?”
“Exactly.” Ivanov accepted a tablet from one of his engineers and used it to gesture at the craft. “I give you the Mark Seven, Avantec’s prototype free-flying lift.”
“Soo, it’s a helicopter.” Eddie passed the helmet off to another engineer.
Talia stifled a laugh. “It is impressive. But I’m afraid I’m not one for heights.”
“That is too bad.” Pavel began typing on his tablet. “I would love to give you a ride. As for your comment,” he said, glancing at Eddie, “the Mark Seven’s performance reaches far beyond any helicopter. It is a hybrid rocket-jet that can reach the highest suborbital altitude.”
“Suborbital?” Eddie’s sarcasm faded and the tech geek emerged. “To what purpose?”
“Any purpose I desire.” Ivanov offered Eddie a congenial smile, but Talia felt a sense of barely contained power behind the statement. “Mostly it will service Gryphon, as a towing and maintenance vehicle.” He led them into the hangar. “Let me get changed. I want to show you the airfield, but not in this pressure suit. You have no idea how much it itches.”
TALIA FOUND THE AIRFIELD surprisingly well defended, with an armed patrol in a HiLux pickup, motion sensors, and cameras. She could understand the security hardware for a tech company, but the armed patrol seemed excessive.
Ivanov read her mind, nodding at the pickup as they passed. “See, I have already taken your concerns to heart—extra men to stop Mr. Lukon.”
Night had fallen by the time the four reached the conference room. From her portfolio, Talia removed a set of papers. “Here are our recommendations, all the changes and additions you need to make to protect yourself. And Wright Way will continue to employ our intelligence resources to look into Lukon. If we find out more, you’ll hear from me.”
“In that case I hope you do find more.” Ivanov laid a hand on top of hers, stopping the papers, that playful glint in his eyes. “Perhaps I should be the one to call on you. In case I have questions.”
There it was. Talia resolved to manage his expectations, right there and then. She started by drawing her hand out from under his. “Dr. Ivanov, my life is fluid. I’ll be halfway across Europe tomorrow.”
His eyes went from playful to mystified at the emphasis she put on Dr. Ivanov. And then he stiffened. He slid the papers over to Bazin. “I see. Then your report is for my head of security, not me. I will leave you with him to discuss the details. Thank you for your time.” He pushed back from the table and left the room.
Bazin watched him go, then folded his hands on top of the papers. “Glad that over. I feel like fourth wheel all week.”
“Third wheel,” Eddie said, correcting the idiom.
Bazin furrowed his brow.
Talia touched Eddie’s arm. “Don’t. Don’t even try.”
The language barrier did not help the review of Talia’s security suggestions. She and Bazin conducted most of it in Russian, stopping occasionally to include Eddie, and by the time the three walked off the elevator and into the lobby, only a few lights were lit. The beat-up Opel sat alone in the parking lot. There was no Mercedes G-Wagon, and Ivanov made no appearance for a final goodbye.
Talia said little on the drive to the gatehouse and would have remained silent all the way to the motel if the guard had been awake to open the gate fo
r her. Not a good sign. She would have to call Bazin in the morning to report the infraction, and Bazin would likely throttle the man for sleeping on the job. She honked the horn and rolled down the window. “Hey! A little help here!”
No response.
A breath of wind and a soft creak shifted Talia’s attention to the gate. It hung loose on its hinges—not quite closed. She shut off the engine and drew her Glock.
“Whoa,” Eddie said. “I know you’re in a bad mood, but you can’t shoot the guy for slacking off.”
Talia scanned the scene outside, watching the periphery of the gate’s spotlights for movement. Nothing. She cracked her door. “Stay here.”
Moving in an arc with her weapon up, Talia shouldered her way through the door and found the guard facedown at his station. She checked his pulse. Faint, but present. He was still breathing.
A shadow moved in the monitors, and she spun.
“Easy. Easy. It’s just me.” Eddie came through the door, frowning at her Glock.
“I told you to stay in the car.”
“Bad call. Which of us can tell if someone’s messed with the gatehouse computer, hmm?” He walked past.
She lowered the Glock and watched him work the keyboard. On a hunch, Talia picked up the guard’s coffee. She lifted the lid and gave it a sniff. She handed him the cup. “Smell this.”
He grimaced. “Smells like the milk went bad.”
“Valerian oil. Heavy sedative. This guy was drugged.”
“They hacked his computer too.” Eddie turned back to the keyboard and typed some more. “Specifically . . . the motion detectors on a section of the outer fence.”
A dark well opened in Talia’s stomach. “Which section?”
“Southwest section, near the—”
Talia was already running for the car. “Near the residence!”
She and Eddie had the Opel speeding around the lake less than a minute later. Talia had her phone to her ear. “Come on, Pavel. Pick up the—” She didn’t finish. A massive explosion lit up the water.
The Gryphon Heist Page 9
