Michael was spot on in his assessment of Kristof. Montero also knew the story of Kristof, aka Archangel, and Donovan being boyhood friends, a fact that best remained a secret. Donovan sat back to watch her go to work.
“I saw the BBC report about arms dealers, as well, and made some inquiries. As it’s my job to look into all matters of security, I checked them both out, Kristof and Marta, and, Michael, you couldn’t be more wrong. Archangel is actually a myth, a totem if you will, created by three powerful arms dealers who have long since been killed or imprisoned. Archangel might as well be a unicorn, but because of the fear the name invokes, it’s thrown around by any criminal who wants to try to amp up his street cred. Kristof made his fortune importing building supplies into famine-plagued Africa. Which is where Donovan met him. Pretoria, right?”
“It was,” Donovan replied, impressed with Montero’s fabrication.
“I also heard you talking about William. I understand it’s a slippery slope, but from where I sit, we’re too far down the rabbit hole to turn back, or even slow down now. It’s not far-fetched to use the communication issues in our favor, and we can deflect or negate any connection to all things Russian, long before they become a factor in William’s world.”
“The communication problems will buy us some time,” Donovan said. “Though, I’m more concerned with the bigger picture as it pertains to William. We also have custody of Sofya, a Russian, and we have no idea who she is.”
“That’s a problem I’m not sure how to fix,” Montero said. “I have no idea if Sofya will ever get her memory back, nor does she, a question that’s at the root of a great deal of her fear. Considering everything she may have been through, that might not necessarily be a bad thing, though she may always have a bull’s-eye on her back. The problem is—what becomes of her when all this is over?”
“I’ve been wondering the same thing,” Donovan said. “The best I can come up with is we find some sort of international witness protection that would keep her safe.”
“There is one other possibility we have to consider, and then I’m going to bed,” Montero said. “Sofya could get her memory back, and we might not like who she really is, and then, all of a sudden, we have an enemy inside the gate.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
LAUREN SAT IN the rocking chair in Abigail’s darkened bedroom, silently propelling it back and forth, waiting. In her left hand she held a cup of tea, long since gone cold. In her other hand was a Glock. Stephanie lay on the double bed next to Abigail. Lauren had come down off her earlier rage. The combination of the day’s events had reached a violent crescendo with the tattooed thug who would bring harm to Abigail. Lauren wasn’t proud of what she’d done, though she wasn’t ashamed either; her sins had been reactive, not proactive. The slender difference seemed important, though her earlier surprise at her own behavior lingered.
Everyone was in position and the waiting had begun. Reggie explained to Lauren that it didn’t matter who might be coming, having an SAS team in place essentially made any attack a nonevent. Lauren had no idea what time it was. Through a tiny opening in the drapes, she could see the iridescent greens and blues from the Northern Lights, which gave a false promise of the coming dawn. She let the rhythmic motion of the chair distract her from the world outside.
A knock was followed by Marta slipping inside the bedroom and silently closing the door behind her.
“Is it over?” Lauren asked, still rocking.
“Yes, none of our people were hurt.”
“Were they Russian?”
“Yes, all were unknowns except one. His name is Alexy Stanislav, he’s Sluzhba Vneshney Razvedki.”
Lauren stopped rocking. “The men who came to kill us included a member of the SVR, Russia’s foreign intelligence service?”
“Yes,” Marta said. “We should think about leaving.”
“And go where?”
“Reggie thinks these people are after you, me, and Dad. If you want to come with us to Wroclaw, we think everyone in England will be safer.”
“Part of me wants to take Abigail home, deal with this on my turf.”
“I’m not a parent, so I won’t stand here and tell you I understand how you feel, I don’t. However, judging by what happened in Minnesota, if you went to Virginia, they’d find you. With Reggie taking care of Abigail and Stephanie, you’d have more peace of mind than you have now.”
“Is there an endgame to all of this?”
“Yes. We know that someone with considerable political clout in Russia is trying to silence anyone with knowledge of the woman. If we can pull enough information together, we’ll be able to determine who and why. From there, a solution will present itself.”
“More killing?”
“Probably. With people like this, that’s typically necessary.”
“How can you be so . . . unattached?”
“Who says I am?” Marta replied, her voice softer, less militaristic. “We all deal with things differently. Right now I feel like I’m fighting for more than just my friends and family. These people are threatening my very future, and I need to stay focused.”
“Because of how you feel about Trevor?”
“I figured you knew. Yes, I have feelings for Trevor.”
“Does your Dad know?”
“Oh, hell no.”
“He asked me something yesterday morning when we were still in Innsbruck. It was the morning you’d gone to town. He was concerned that you’d never find anyone, that being his daughter had robbed that from you.”
“He said that?”
“I explained that you would find someone and that person would accept who you are, and who your family is, as well. I reminded him that anyone you brought home had already passed a great many tests, and that he should try to relax and enjoy your happiness.”
“That might be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
“How long have the two of you been . . . romantic?” Lauren asked.
“About five months—not long after we met. After he went back to England, we started talking on the phone, then it seemed like we were calling almost every day. We started meeting in Innsbruck or Vienna. Sometimes I’d sneak away, and we’d rendezvous in London.”
“He knows about the family business?” Lauren asked.
“He suspected and wasn’t at all surprised when I confirmed his suspicions.” Marta shrugged. “He’s a former SAS operative turned mercenary, so it’s kind of perfect.”
“How does Trevor feel?”
“He’d sit down and talk to my father right now if I gave him the go-ahead.”
“From everything I’ve seen, Trevor is a good guy. If he’s not intimidated by you, he has nothing to fear from your father.” Lauren stood and smoothed her clothes.
“You’re probably right,” Marta said, and stood as well. “Let’s go talk to Reggie.”
Lauren and Marta slipped out of the bedroom into the dimly lit house. Downstairs in the parlor sat Kristof, his face pale in the firelight. He was stocking-footed, which meant he’d probably taken part in the defense of the house, and had muddied and then removed his shoes. The evening’s exertion seemed to have swallowed both his energy and color.
“Dad, are you feeling okay?”
“Not really.” Kristof shook his head. “I must have overdone it, and now I’m paying the price.”
“What can we do?” Lauren asked.
“I want to get you to a doctor,” Marta said as she went to her father and put her palm on his forehead. “Trevor, Reggie!”
“Right here,” Trevor said, hurrying into the parlor and going to Kristof the moment he saw him. He knelt and took Kristof’s pulse. “What is it I can do for you? What do you need?”
“Is there a doctor on call?” Marta asked.
“I just need a minute,” Kristof said. “I’m a little light-headed . . . I feel washed out.”
“What happened?” Reggie asked as he hurried into the room.
“Marta thin
ks we should get Kristof to a doctor,” Lauren said.
Reggie nodded, pushed a button on the phone in his hand, and swept it to his ear. “Doc, it’s me. Yeah, we need you here. Fast. Five minutes? Good, one of the lads will be waiting at the main entrance.”
“Five minutes?” Lauren asked, confused.
“Before any action, especially here in England, we put the doc on standby. He and his team are waiting nearby,” Reggie said. “We’ll get Kristof checked out in no time.”
“You know he has cancer, right?” Lauren asked.
“Yes,” Reggie said. “I also know that to be safe, I’d like us out of this house before sunrise.”
“You can take Abigail and Stephanie someplace secure?”
“Of course,” Reggie said.
“I need to know that at the first sign of trouble, you’ll get them in the hands of the State Department. You’re well aware that Stephanie’s uncle is Ambassador William VanGelder, and wherever he is, he’ll move the universe to protect his family. It’ll bring the United States government into our business, which is not ideal, but we can deal with them. Do I have your word that you’ll do this?”
“Yes, I swear that I’ll abide by your wishes.”
“Thank you,” Lauren said. “In that case, I think I’ll go to Poland.”
“One moment, please,” Reggie said. “I’m not sure who is going where at this point. I do know you’re not going anywhere by yourself.”
“I can hear both of you,” Kristof bellowed. “I’m a little winded, not on my deathbed. We’ll all go as planned.”
“No,” Marta said. “You’re going to get a full workup, and I’m not leaving your side until you do. I’m going to sit right here until you agree with what I say. Do you understand me?”
“I’ll get the checkup, but only if you and Trevor get to Wroclaw and find out who’s doing this,” Kristof said. “Reggie, I’ve chartered a plane for the flight to Wroclaw—a Hawker 800—and it’s waiting at Luton. That leaves Lauren’s Gulfstream on twenty-four-hour standby for you if you need to leave England. Trevor, I’ve arranged to have some additional inventory made available to you upon your arrival. Marta knows the details.”
Reggie cocked his head as a transmission came through his headset. He said something in return and then gestured to Trevor. “The doc is here. Can you help the men get Kristof ready for transport? I’ll start making the arrangements for the rest of us to move out.”
“I agree we need to leave the house, but I think we all need to make sure that Kristof is doing okay before we leave England for Poland,” Lauren said, happy that Marta and Trevor both nodded in agreement. “We’ll get everyone where they’re supposed to be, then we’ll leave.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
INSIDE THE TWIN Otter, a row of single seats ran down the left side, double seats on the right, and a narrow aisle in the center. Donovan sat in one of the single front seats; Michael plopped down across from him. Although the airplane had been in the heated hangar all night, the walk from the lounge to the flight line was brutal. There was little to no wind, but the air was frigid. Warming from an overnight low of twenty-eight below zero, the daytime high wouldn’t reach ten below, and then the temperature would plunge again. Donovan, like the others, wore layers of fleece covered by a heavy insulated snowmobile suit. Gloves and wool watch caps were standard, as the cold immediately assaulted any exposed skin. Each painful inhalation was followed by clouds of condensation upon exhaling.
Donovan fought off an involuntary shiver and wondered why anything or anyone would live in this extreme climate. When the passenger door latched shut, he watched as Paul and Lonny donned headsets and quickly went through a checklist, culminating in the right engine spooling up to start. The Twin Otter was a high-wing design, which kept the engines and propellers well above the ground, an added plus for off-airport operations. With unobstructed visibility below, Donovan studied the landing gear. Attached to each strut was a tire and an adjustable ski. With the ski retracted, they would roll smoothly on the concrete. When they were ready to land on the snow and ice of the lake, Paul would lower the skis and the airplane would touch down on what amounted to three sleds.
Once the right engine revved up to speed, immediately the left engine began its start cycle. Once both engines and propellers were checked, the Twin Otter pivoted and moved across the ramp to the taxiway. In a nontypical arrangement, both throttles hung from the overhead panel, and Donovan watched as Paul, seemingly relaxed and in control, casually reached up and manipulated them as they maneuvered toward the active runway.
Across the aisle, Michael was trying to sift through a large envelope while still wearing his gloves. Donovan turned and looked down the aisle. Montero was seated behind Michael, and across from her sat Sofya, a worried expression on what little of her face he could see. Rick and Jesse sat in the next row, and both were looking out their windows. Their gear, secured by heavy cargo webbing, was stacked in the rear of the plane.
“We’ve been cleared for takeoff,” Lonny’s voiced sounded over the cabin speakers. “Everyone double-check that your seat belts are fastened.”
The Twin Otter made two quick turns, and Paul reached up and gripped the throttles in the unmistakable way a pilot does when it’s time to advance them for takeoff. The twin turboprops roared to full power, and the Twin Otter rumbled down the runway. The high-lift wings coupled with the dense arctic air served to shorten the takeoff roll, and the Twin Otter lifted free from the runway and climbed out steeply. The morning sun cast its orange light in the Canadian sky, and as far as Donovan could see, the ground was covered with snow. He caught a glimpse of Hudson Bay and saw no open water, just a solid sheet of ice that fanned out until it touched the horizon.
The Twin Otter, while efficient, wasn’t particularly fast. Paul leveled the unpressurized airplane at 4500 feet, and Donovan could see over Lonny’s shoulder that their speed was right at 140 knots, which made it about an hour’s flying time to the lake. Once they’d put Churchill well behind them, they’d inform the crew of the new destination. Donovan surveyed the view out the window and found he was enjoying the low-altitude vista. The Gulfstream typically cruised seven or eight miles above the ground at speeds approaching 600 miles per hour, and the sensation of speed was muted. Below him he could see individual trees, lakes, details of the frozen terrain. Mostly, Donovan realized, it felt good to finally be traveling to the lake.
“Here’s the best angle,” Michael said as he finally wrestled the contents out of the envelope and handed Donovan a high-resolution image taken from the Galileo. Though shot in the dead of night, the synthetic aperture camera had captured and constructed a detailed black-and-white image of the lake. Donovan glanced at the data block to find true north and immediately began to identify separate features. The surface where the 737 had broken through was a slightly different shade of white compared to the surrounding ice. The only evidence of anything amiss was the tire tracks from both the Boeing and the Gulfstream still clearly visible in the snow. Confirmation that no snow had fallen since they’d left. He studied the neighboring lake and the cabin they’d discovered, as well as the frozen river that separated the two. Donovan pictured the different approach paths the Twin Otter would probably fly, and he decided that it would be unlikely for the charter crew to notice anything.
“I’m going up front,” Michael said as he finished jotting some coordinates on a piece of paper and glanced at his watch.
“Break a leg,” Donovan said as Michael unbuckled his seat belt to go to the cockpit. Donovan was confident that Michael would sell the change of destination to the pilots without raising any suspicion. He gave a quick backwards glance at Montero, and she, too, was watching what was happening. Donovan saw Lonny laugh, and Michael shrugged and was smiling as he turned to return to his seat. A few seconds later, the Twin Otter banked to the right.
“Just for the record, I am a highly trained Gulfstream captain, but I may have made a small error.” Mich
ael spoke loud enough for everyone to hear, as he held up both hands in surrender. “My bad. It turns out I may have transposed some numbers when I initially gave the coordinates to the crew. I promise we’re headed in the right direction now.”
Donovan smiled. Leave it to Michael to make a calculated course change into a joke that had everyone laughing. Michael had once explained that no one feels manipulated or deceived when they’re laughing. As they traveled the corrected course, Donovan turned his attention to the images taken from the Galileo. Each time he thought through the events of their first rendezvous with the Boeing, he tried to picture what had really happened inside the 737. Each time, he imagined a different scenario. He ended up staring at the discolored ice where the Boeing sank and realized that anything could have happened.
Mild turbulence shook the Twin Otter, followed by a shift in the sound of the engines. Donovan looked up and a quick glance outside told him that Paul was starting a gentle descent. Donovan turned his attention back to the image that perplexed him most. It was where they’d tracked the object that fell from the Boeing. He could see where some snow had been knocked from the tops of the trees, but in no way was it conclusive. From what he gathered, trying to see through the treetops, the forest floor seemed littered with deadfall. He spotted what looked like large tree trunks as well as an assortment of limbs scattered on top of each other and then covered with snow. It would be hard going to get to where the object had come to a rest, though if anyone could power through that mess, it was Michael and Montero.
The propellers changed pitch and the Twin Otter banked left. Donovan watched as Paul’s hands went to the overhead panel, pushing the propeller controls forward in preparation for landing. Another sound reached Donovan’s ears, and he looked down and realized that the landing gear had been configured for the snow; the tires were up and out of the way so that the skis would touch first. Lonny was reading from a laminated checklist when Donovan felt the gentle rise as the flaps were lowered. The cold morning air seemed to mute the sound of the engines, and Donovan cinched his seat belt tighter as they descended closer to the tops of the trees. They flashed over the forest that bordered the frozen lake, and the Twin Otter descended until the main skis lightly touched down in the snow, followed by the nose. The Twin Otter shook and rattled as Paul used the power to keep the airplane moving along the frozen surface until Donovan spotted the cabin tucked back in the trees. Paul allowed the Twin Otter to settle in the snow until he and Lonny finally brought the airplane to a stop. Moments later, both engines were shut down, and the propellers slowed and gradually stopped spinning.
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