by Justine Davis, Amy J. Fetzer, Katherine Garbera, Meredith Fletcher, Catherine Mann
Riley was getting a bad feeling about the missing agents. The people they were up against, the people Lee Craig represented as well as the Russian Mafiya and Ivanovitch’s SVR unit, knew far more than the Agency could guess.
Elle Petrenko spoke Russian rapidly into a borrowed satellite phone.
Riley didn’t understand the language well enough to follow the conversation. Russia had never been a main theater of operations for him. He stared through the front windshield, watching the other vans in front of him and the dark mass of the Caspian Sea even farther out.
Elle said she knew where Ivanovitch would be. Riley chose to believe that. Thinking anything else, with Sam St. John out there and exposed to hostile guns, was too much. He had no choice but to believe they could save her. He caught the eyes of the SEAL driver in the rearview mirror.
“Do you speak Russian, sir?” the driver asked.
“No,” Riley admitted.
“She’s talking to her control. A man named Khukhlov.”
Riley had heard the name and recognized it from Ivanovitch’s files. Pitor Khukhlov was one of the old spymasters from the KGB days. He had a good reputation as a man who could be dealt with, one who kept his country’s interests close to heart. But he was also one who had fiercely embraced Communism and still believed in it.
“Khukhlov doesn’t have any teams in the area,” the SEAL said. “Too much chance of exposure to Ivanovitch’s troops. He kept his people pulled back, but they’re en route now. They should be here in the next ten or fifteen minutes.”
Turning to the woman at his side, Riley said, “I don’t want Khukhlov putting his people into this operation.”
Elle looked at him and stopped speaking.
Riley heard the man’s voice at the other end of the phone connection.
“This is our operation,” Elle said. “The SVR’s.”
“No,” Riley said. “Not as long as I’ve got one of my people on the ground inside a potential bloodbath.”
“You put her there,” Elle accused.
“And I’ll get her back,” Riley said. Or die trying.
“And what will you do to achieve that?” Elle arched an eyebrow at him, and Riley was instantly reminded of Sam St. John. “Fight with us, as well?”
“If I have to.”
The man at the other end of the conversation spoke English. “Let me talk with the agent, Elle.”
“Of course.” Elle handed the phone over.
“General Khukhlov,” Riley said as he put the phone to his ear.
“Special Agent McLane.” Khukhlov had an old man’s voice, brittle and dry. “We have a scheduling problem it seems, no?”
“No,” Riley agreed. “I’ve got an agent inside. I’m going to bring her out before she gets caught in a cross fire.”
“I understand your concerns,” Khukhlov said, “but I have my own problems in this matter. A rogue agent like Ivanovitch can do a lot of harm if he is allowed to go free.”
“I understand that,” Riley said. “I know that he was acquiring American-made weapons on the black market and selling to Lee Craig and his associates.”
“Some of those weapons,” Khukhlov admitted. “There are a great number of weapons that Craig’s associates brought in before Ivanovitch became involved.”
The driver directed the car along the winding, uneven two-lane road down to the sea’s edge and the harbor proper. Elle took a pair of night-vision binoculars and scanned the wharves.
“We’re going to get there before you,” Riley said.
“It would be best if you waited.”
“I can’t.”
Khukhlov sighed. “Because you put her in place, into this dangerous situation.”
“Yes.”
“The responsibility of leadership is never an easy burden to bear. I have put plenty of my own people in harm’s way, and I have lost some of them over the years.”
Riley’s hand tightened on the phone. “I don’t want to lose this one.”
“I understand. But when you and your fellow agents invade Craig’s operation, you could scatter them. I want them all in one spot.”
“I’m not traveling with CIA agents,” Riley said. “I’ve got a squad of U.S. Navy SEALs specially trained in counterterrorist tactics. We’ve got orders to terminate with extreme prejudice anyone who stands in the way of getting Sam—our agent—back.”
“Even so, you’re talking about a high-profile operation. There will be a lot of fallout involved in this. Either way, your government and mine are going to be dealing with the presence of dead agents and soldiers in Suwan, of operations conducted without the permission of the prime minister. In addition to a large shipment of weapons.”
“That’s your mess.”
“True, but your government will be viewed dimly for not notifying Prime Minister Razidae and allowing him to police his own country’s affairs.”
“We’re prepared to deal with that.”
“Of course you are.” Khukhlov sounded somewhat sarcastic. “These days the United States pursues the course of the champion to the world every given moment.”
“We have a difference of opinion,” Riley said. “I just see it as us doing a job that we’re ready, willing and able to fulfill.”
The car rolled to a stop at the sea’s edge.
“I’ve got to go,” Riley said.
There was a moment of silence, long enough that Riley started to suspect Khukhulov had simply hung up and the sound of that hadn’t touched his ears. Then Khukhlov asked, “Is this woman of yours Elle Petrenko’s sister?”
Riley hesitated. “Given everything that I understand about the situation, I believe so.”
“Thank God. All those years ago, I thought we had lost her. The KGB killed Boris and Anya, ordered their deaths as double agents, and they almost intercepted the children as they were ferried through the lifeline Boris had set up. There was much confusion, much death. I was with the squad that recovered Elle, and later I placed her with her foster family. Her parents were friends of mine. But we had no way of knowing that little Natasha had survived the attack.”
“You attacked those children?”
“The people who were trying to get out of the country with them, yes.” Khukhlov paused. “I have carried the guilt of Natasha Leonov’s death for many years. I am glad that it can be eased now.”
“You didn’t try to find her?”
“No. We believed she was dead. And the Americans who took her would not have trusted us, anyway. We had reported the Leonovs and both their children dead. Those days were very…strained. Then, during the confusion when Communism was rejected in my country, there was no time to follow up on Natasha Leonov. She was just gone. Until tonight. Does she remember her sister?”
“I don’t think so. Sam’s had a hard life. She was raised pretty much as an orphan. No family. She didn’t have what Elle obviously had.”
“That is too bad.” Khukhlov paused. “I will do this for you, Special Agent McLane, seeing as how I am also trying to rectify an old wrong—and I am near to retirement anyway if my government does not approve of my choices in this matter. I will hold my people back until you are able to get Elle’s sister out of harm’s way. Then we will descend upon Colonel Ivanovitch with all the wrath of the Old Testament.”
“I understand, General,” Riley said. “Thank you.”
“Should this turn out all right,” Khukhlov said, “I will stand you to a glass of vodka.”
“As long as I buy the second round.” Riley broke the connection and followed Elle out of the car.
Elle peered out at the sea. “It’s gone,” she said.
“What’s gone?” Riley asked.
“The ship. The ship Ivanovitch had moored here.”
“What’s the name?”
“Fisherhawk. She’s a cargo ship out of Ekerem, Russia. Much construction is going on there these days to revitalize the port.”
Anxiety shot through Riley as he relayed the news to Co
mmander Novak and the SEAL team. Riley looked out across the harbor, feeling the enormity of the task before him. The harbor was filled with ships, and not all of them bore names that were easily legible or at all. And he didn’t know what Fisherhawk looked like in the Cyrillic alphabet.
“The ship must have been moved,” Elle said as she jogged along the wharves and looked at the ships. “We’ll need a boat to search for them out on the water.”
“Wait.” Riley walked to the back of the sedan and opened the trunk. He removed a duffel that contained gear Novak and his SEALs had parceled out. The duffels contained assault rifles and other gear that equipped the men for a full-fledged battlefield. He took two packs out of the trunk and passed one over to Elle. “Weapons.”
Elle accepted the duffel with a nod, checked inside and quickly slung the bag over her shoulder.
“Now let’s find a boat.” She set off at once.
Riley followed her down to the water, trailed by the SEAL who had driven the car. Glancing around, he saw that Novak had assigned his teams to acquire boats, as well. Thankfully, the time was late enough at night that most of the owners were gone and no one hailed security.
Elle stepped aboard a luxury powerboat that had seen better days. The SEAL cast off the lines from the mooring cleats as Elle hot-wired the engine, then he hopped aboard as she got underway.
Riley stood near the pilot’s wheel beside Elle and unpacked the M4A1 assault rifles, Kevlar vests and extra ammunition. Then he scanned the harbor with the night-vision binoculars.
“Do you love her?” Elle asked over the roar of the engines.
Surprised, Riley turned to face the Russian agent. “What?”
“Do you love her? Do you love my sister?” Elle spoke the term as if still trying to get used to it.
“I care about your sister. We haven’t seen eye-to-eye on a lot of things.” Riley remembered the night in Sam’s cell when she’d attempted to seduce him. There had been a lot of sleepless nights and sweat-soaked sheets in two countries since that time. But he’d never forgotten how it felt to cup Sam’s flesh and claim it as his own.
Looking at him, her hair flying around her head in the wind, Elle nodded in satisfaction. “You do love her. Or you will. I can see it in your face. Russian women, we know these things. Love is one of the greatest tragedies of life. You never get to truly choose those you fall in love with. Or when. It can all be so inconvenient.” She spoke as though she knew firsthand what she was talking about.
“It wouldn’t matter anyway. Sam St. John can’t get rid of me fast enough.”
“Don’t be so quick to judge. When I was going to kill you in the alley, she threw herself to your rescue.”
“It was one agent coming to the rescue of another,” Riley said. “I’m doing the same thing for Sam St. John now.”
Elle showed him a brief smile. “Exactly my point. And since you are able to love her, I have hopes that I, too, can love her. These things do not always work out like that. Especially when facing more than twenty years of separation.”
And all that depends on whether we can save her, Riley thought. But he didn’t give voice to his doubts and fears. He pulled the night-vision binoculars back to his eyes and resumed his search.
After only a few minutes, Ivanovitch guided the motor sailer to a small cargo ship anchored out in the harbor. The ship was old, covered with barnacles and peeling paint. Her running lights were dim. Sam knew the ship would hardly have rated a second glance in Suwan’s harbor.
Ivanovitch cut the engines and expertly guided the motor sailer up along the cargo ship. Crewmen aboard the cargo ship threw lines down and quickly tied the boat alongside. Afterward, they threw down a rope ladder.
The Cipher went first, then Ivanovitch followed. Sam went after that, feeling her body ache and resist the demands she made on it. The rough hemp of the rope ladder bit into her hands.
“The weapons are stowed below,” Ivanovitch was saying as she gained the deck. “The explosives have already been set.”
Explosives? A warning tingle shot through Sam. What explosives? But she made herself remain silent. She gazed around the ship, noting that the crew was in excess of a dozen members, which was quite large for a ship sitting at anchor in a harbor. All of them were armed with pistols, and a few of them carried assault rifles and shotguns.
Ivanovitch led the way belowdecks. The darkness in the cargo hold was held back by electric lanterns. The ship held a musty stench, like old death mixed with foot odor.
Crates occupied a lot of the ship’s cargo area, but not all of the space was filled.
“You have what I asked for?” the Cipher asked.
“Of course.” Ivanovitch stepped toward the nearest crate and took a crowbar from a wall mounting nearby. He put the flat end of the crowbar under the nearest crate and pried the lid off.
Inside the crate, packed in silicon pebbles, a row of M-16A2 assault rifles lay neatly stacked. The sheen of gun oil clung to the barrels.
Ivanovitch continued through the crates, opening them up one after the other like a salesman eager to show off his wares. Sam stood in stunned wonder as LAWs, light anti-tank weapon rocket tubes, M-60 machine guns, American grenades and other weapons were revealed.
“Very good,” the Cipher complimented.
Sam stood her ground, feeling the roll of the sea echoed in the slight movement of the cargo ship fighting the anchor and the tide. She kept her fist around the butt of the 9mm. Despite his ease around her, she got the definite feeling that the Cipher knew she was holding a weapon. The pain in her lip was distracting, but she remained focused.
“All United States military hardware,” Ivanovitch declared. “Gleaned from the first Iraqi War as well as action against the Taliban in Afghanistan. The Americans flood areas with weapons, but they don’t always keep count of them.”
“You mentioned you had mined the ship,” the Cipher said.
Ivanovitch reached inside his jacket and took out a micro-miniaturized electronic device. “Yes. It is mined. After you mentioned what you had planned for the ship, I took the liberty of having the work done for you.”
“Very good.” The Cipher snapped his fingers. Two of his men walked the length of the ship, shone their lights around and returned.
“Everything looks good,” one of the men said.
“I leave the timing in your hands,” Ivanovitch said. “You can control all the detonators with the device I gave you, or you can control individual bombs.”
The Cipher pocketed the device. “Good enough, when the ship crashes into the harbor, I’ll set them off. Not everything will be blown up in the resulting explosions. Plenty of identifiable military hardware will remain to point the finger at the United States. But the damage all along the harbor will cost millions of dollars to rebuild. Since trade is such a big part of Berzhaan’s economy, they will be impacted financially as well as politically. I’d say that will set back negotiations with the United States for years if not decades.”
“At which point,” Ivanovitch said, “my superiors will offer me a commendation, at least, and a promotion almost certainly.”
Sam thought about the kind of damage the Cipher planned to wreak. She felt sick. Simply running the boat into the public areas would have caused a tremendous amount of damage, but the explosions that would follow would kill or maim dozens of people.
“No,” the Cipher said, “I’m afraid those days are behind you.”
Ivanovitch looked wary. “What are you talking about?”
“You’ve had a traitor in your midst, Colonel,” the Cipher said. “I’ve no doubt that she has already informed your superior about your secondary career.”
Ivanovitch’s eyes tracked to Sam. After all, she was the only female in the cargo area. She started to pull the pistol from the bag. Instead, she froze as a cold pistol barrel bumped up solidly against the back of her neck.
“Here, now,” a soft voice with a British accent said, “I’ll be after havin
g that.”
Sam released her hold on the pistol and the man took it from her.
“And I’ll be wanting you to put your hands on top of your head,” the man continued.
Cautiously Sam put her hands on her head. She didn’t lace her fingers, leaving her hands free.
“What are you talking about?” Ivanovitch demanded.
“Agent Elle Petrenko,” the Cipher said, “is working undercover for the SVR. Whatever she told you to get you to bring her inside this operation isn’t true. Her loyalties lie with the SVR. Not you. Not to the profits that she could be making working with us.”
For some reason, Sam took pride in that. Perhaps it only had to do with the fact that her double looked so much like her. Unfortunately, she was left to bear the consequences of her double’s integrity.
“As thorough as you are in your weapons delivery,” the Cipher said, “I’m just as thorough in checking out the people that I work with.”
The lights in the cargo hold suddenly dimmed. The cavernous roar of starting engines swelled to life.
Knowing that she had no choice, that her life was forfeit if she didn’t take chances, Sam lowered her left arm and spun backward. Her estimate of the man’s height behind her was dead-on. Her backfist caught him in the temple and turned his legs wobbly.
She caught the man’s pistol with her other hand, stripping it from his grip by pinching a nerve cluster between his thumb and forefinger. Still moving toward the exit from the cargo hold, she slid the pistol into her hand and swiveled around to shove the weapon at the Cipher and Ivanovitch.
Both men and the guards around them were in motion.
Sam squeezed off two shots, anyway, letting them know that she meant business and that she was definitely armed. The bullets smashed into the wooden crates containing the assault rifles and bricks of C-4 plastic explosive. She didn’t worry about the C-4 exploding; it would take a detonator to trigger it.
She stayed moving, flattening up against a stack of crates. Bullets slammed into the wooden surfaces. She felt the vibration of the impacts against her back.
