Trident Code (A Lana Elkins Thriller)
Page 15
“Why, Mom?” Emma asked as soon as she answered.
“Where are you?”
“Tanesa’s.”
Thank God. “I’m glad you’re not alone.”
“No, Esme’s here. And so is Dad,” she added hesitantly.
Lana didn’t want her daughter feeling torn between her parents, especially at a time like this. “I’m happy for you, if he can be of any help.”
“Not exactly, Mom,” Emma said impatiently. “I’m going in the other room,” she said to the others.
“What is it, hon?” Lana asked.
“He and Esme got into an argument. She didn’t appreciate him saying this whole missile thing was nothing but a big conspiracy, like the moon shot.”
“No, I can’t imagine she did.”
First, through Emma, Lana had learned that Esme did not suffer fools gladly. Second, through research, Lana had found out that Esme’s brother was an astrophysicist who had played a key role in the success of the Apollo 11 moon landing. In fact, he’d counted Neil Armstrong among his closest friends. Lana asked if Tanesa’s mom had mentioned any of that.
“All of it.”
“And your dad said?”
“That lots of people got duped by the moon landing and he figured lots of people would get duped by this, too.”
“Emma, this is very, very real. I am so sorry to have to say that.”
“I know that, Mom.” Emma started to cry.
“Go ahead, tell me,” Lana said, checking her watch, knowing she had to get back in that room soon.
“It’s just so, I don’t know, embarrassing to have him say crap like that. I mean, it’s one thing sitting around and talking about stuff, but Esme must think we’re all idiots, and I really respect her, Mom.”
“I promise you that Esme doesn’t think you are an idiot.” Lana left the rest of what she could have said remain unspoken.
“Where are you? I wish you were here,” Emma said.
“I’m at work. I wish I were with you, too.”
“Will I see you tomorrow, Mom?”
“Yes, you will. You’re going to stay there tonight, right?”
“I’m not staying with him,” Emma said angrily.
“I understand.”
“I doubt he will,” her daughter said.
“Don’t worry about that. I love you.”
“You, too, Mom.”
Lana took a deep breath and cleared her own eyes, recognizing that she’d nimbly sidestepped Emma’s first question: Why, Mom? That would have taken more time than the moment allowed—and more horrors than she wanted to visit upon her daughter at a time like this.
Down to less than thirty seconds again in Holmes’s office. As Lana walked back into the room, the Aegis missile interceptor plunged into the sea more than two hundred miles from the Trident II. They knew immediately that it failed because tracking devices showed it vanish from the screen. But the Trident II was very much aloft, charted every moment by the military’s high-resolution defense system.
“What happened?” Holmes asked, sounding numb.
Admiral Deming looked up from his computer. “It looks like the hackers were ready for Aegis because a geostationary satellite that we needed to pinpoint the Trident II was hit with a denial-of-service attack.”
The final seconds were approaching fast.
Lana took her seat, feeling as numb as Holmes had sounded. She imagined what it would be like at the Amundsen-Scott research station right now, or one of Antarctica’s other facilities. Prayer vigils were reportedly being held at many of them, certainly at Amundsen-Scott, which only mirrored what was also taking place in churches, mosques, synagogues, and temples all around the world.
She wondered if the vigils in Antarctica were well attended. The scientists she knew were the least likely to find hope or solace in prayer. But she understood the impulse. While she was unlikely to ever pray to some omnipotent power—about whom she had the gravest doubts—to save her own life, she’d learned the hard way that when Emma was in danger, she’d crawl across miles of broken glass to try to curry the favor of a creator.
It hit her right then: Emma’s life might well be on the line.
Lana squeezed her eyes shut and offered prayer, drawn from the distant annals of childhood.
The digital readout slipped from 1 to 0.
The countdown ended.
The nightmare began.
PART II
CHAPTER 14
GALINA REACHED 160 KILOMETERS per hour so quickly that the speed scared her, but not as much as the car tailing her, keeping pace like a panther after its prey. She picked up her pace to 180, about 110 miles per hour. The beast still clung to her trail three car lengths back, an extremely short distance at these speeds.
She had no faith that he would ever give up. He was too tenacious. Had to be a cop, but he hadn’t put on his flashers. She had PP’s money, a lot of it. Does he know that? If he searched the car, he’d find out fast enough—and steal it. Cash in an envelope? It would be her word against his, and she didn’t figure hers would be worth much with the powers-that-be these days. Namely, Oleg. And if it weren’t a police officer behind her? That could be even worse. A hired thug answerable to no one but Oleg.
But she had that small gun in her right hand. She glanced at it gleaming in the reflected light from the dashboard. Blue steel dark as midnight. Murky as murder. Bleak as the soul who would use it.
She couldn’t kill. She was for peace. She’d been a regional director for Greenpeace, for Christ’s sakes. Peace on earth. Peace with the earth. She couldn’t use a gun.
Galina rested it on the passenger seat.
“Mommy, why are we going so fast?”
She’s awake.
“We’re not going so fast, Alexandra. It’s a different car, that’s all. It’s newer so it seems faster. Go back to sleep.”
The car was inching closer, only one length back. He had his brights on. They filled up the rearview mirror, like the blazing eyes of a nightmare. Up ahead was a four-lane highway. She had no training for taking the long curving on-ramp at high speed, but she feared slowing down at all.
She glanced back, remembering that her daughter was lying down. Not strapped in.
“Alexandra, sit up and put your seatbelt on right now.”
“Mommy, I’m too tired.”
“Do it, Alexandra. It’s very important, please.” Her foot pressed down even harder: 255 kilometers per hour.
Alexandra fiddled with the belt. Galina heard Alexandra’s seatbelt click shut. “Good girl.”
They raced by the sign for the turnoff: “1km.” If she’d blinked, she would have missed it.
But then she hit the turn so soon—in such a flash of highway markers—that she felt the Porsche slipping, sliding. Little wonder: she’d slowed only to 130 in a 70-kilometer-per-hour zone.
The unknown vehicle hung on her bumper as g-forces jammed Galina’s shoulder against the door.
Jesus, don’t roll it.
And then she slowed just enough that the Macan seemed to take ownership of the curve. Galina realized PP had given her the right car, at least for this. The small SUV had a racer’s heart. Her tires squealed, but the radials held the road.
She peeled onto the four-lane highway and pressed harder on the gas, bolting right back up to 255 kilometers per hour. Like the Autobahn, but better. Not a car in sight, not at this hour. She no longer felt fearful of the car’s performance.
That was when the police lights came on, ending the mystery. Not a bubble top. She would have seen that in profile. The flashing lights were hidden in the grill. She thought it might be the Federal Security Service. But who knew anymore? And just that quickly the mystery deepened. It could even be private security.
Galina slowed, watching the speedometer needle recede to
the left. She looked for a place to pull over. No challenge there—paved shoulder as far as she could see. No excuse for any further delay.
When the speedometer dipped to under sixty, she let the Macan roll to a stop. Still no other cars in sight. Her mama used to say the Russian night was “quiet and dark as the inside of an oyster, where the pearls come to life.”
Galina had lots of doubts about pearls right then.
Put away the gun. It was still on the seat next to her, but she thought it would look suspicious if she leaned over to slip it into the glove box, like she was actually pulling out a gun. Instead, she tucked the small pistol under her right thigh.
The papers. PP said they were in the glove box. She could get them out. That would be legitimate. Have them ready. She reached into the glove box and felt around. There was the envelope with the cash, a comb, pen, the owner’s manual, and the registration sealed neatly in a clear plastic pouch.
She sat back with it, ready to hand it over. But they would want more than papers. Whoever they were, they hadn’t been sitting in the shadows waiting to check the registration. Don’t kid yourself. Then she realized she could have put away the gun when she was digging around in there. She didn’t dare now. It would look supremely suspicious if she started going through the glove box again.
She glanced back at Alexandra. There was no fooling her daughter. She looked petrified; oddly, that made Alexandra seem more alert, more alive than she’d been in weeks.
In the rearview, she saw the man get out of his car. The vehicle looked American, like a wide-bodied Chrysler, but that seemed unlikely. The big sellers, at least in Moscow, were the German, Japanese, and Korean makes.
And then she gripped both sides of her seat. Not the Federal Security Service. Not unless they were hiring the worst breed of thugs, because the man approaching the Macan was Tattoo.
He tapped on her window, surprisingly gentle, then waved his hand in small circles for her to roll it down. She feared he’d grab her neck as soon as she did and choke the life right out of her.
Cooperate. Don’t piss him off.
She pressed the window control. It rolled down. A low hum. Cool air. The window disappeared. Tattoo bent over, resting his meaty arms on the door, his face no more than eight inches from hers. He hadn’t shaved in at least a couple of days. She tried to hand him the registration. He shook his head, as if to say, “Don’t bother.”
“Galina Bortnik. And Alexandra.” He smiled at her daughter. “See, I never forget a pretty girl’s name.”
It appalled Galina that he’d remembered. She studied Alexandra’s reaction in the rearview. No reaction at all. Flat affect with her eyes frozen on her mother.
“What are you doing driving like a maniac in the middle of the night, Galina? You must be high on drugs. Is your mommy using drugs, Alexandra?” He sucked on an imaginary pipe.
Apparently, he thought that was funny. He prodded Galina’s shoulder and said, “Laugh.”
She did not laugh.
“What kind of drugs did you take to make you drive so fast, Galina Bortnik? You should tell me. Whatever I find, it won’t go well for you. And I will conduct a very careful search of your car. And you. Or maybe you’re one of those drug users who has her little girl hide the drugs. I can search her, too. Did she do that to you?” he asked Alexandra. “Use you like a drug mule? Bad mommy.”
“I’ve never used drugs. Ever.”
“Yes,” he patted her shoulder. “You look like such a good mother.” He left his hand on her. The weight unnerved Galina. A shudder passed through her. “But we all know that even good mothers make mistakes. And I think you have made some very big mistakes lately. What do you think, Galina?”
He squeezed her shoulder. His hand felt big as an oven mitt. As hot, too. He started kneading her flesh. The tips of his long fat fingers reached the top of her breast.
“Please stop.”
“I don’t think you want me to stop, Galina, because if I stop I’m going to have to do other things. But since you asked, I guess it’s time to get started. Unlock your door.”
When she hesitated, afraid he’d grab her breast if she turned toward him, he reached in, unlocked the door, and swung it open.
She didn’t move, not even her eyes. They were still on him. His gaze was on her chest, the breast he’d been touching. Then his gaze drifted to her legs. She pulled her modest skirt over her knees, as though he might not notice if she did it casually. But almost all women know better. So did Galina. Men like Tattoo always noticed. He smiled and crouched down. She thought of the way his car had trailed her like a panther. He seemed like a huge predator now, ready to spring at her.
“I told you, didn’t I? One thing leads to another.”
With that he put his hand on her thigh. “I heard you have such soft skin. Yes, you do . . .”
“Please stop that.” She tried to push him away.
He seized her hand, his grip so hard it felt like he could crush her fingers if he chose to. In another quick movement, he reached across her and unsnapped her seatbelt. Then he swept her skirt up onto her legs, exposing her underpants. When she tried to push the hem back down, he grabbed her hand again and shook his head. “One thing does what, Galina Bortnik?” When she shook her head, he answered for her. “Leads to another. That’s right.”
He sniffed the air loudly, closing his eyes for just a second, as if he were savoring a scent he couldn’t possibly smell.
He tormented her with another whiskery smile. “I have to search the car for contraband. I’m going to have to search you, too. It’s standard police protocol when we have such a reckless driver. I’m also going to have to search Alexandra. You were endangering such a nice girl.”
The fine hairs rose on Galina’s neck. A paused followed in which he said nothing. Galina could hardly breathe.
Then he seized her leg like it was an axe handle and pulled it so hard he swung her halfway around in her seat. He held her leg out the door.
Instinctively, she drew the other one to it—and felt the pistol exposed by her side.
Her hand fell to it. She gripped it, but kept it down. It looked as though she were bolstering herself because of the awkward angle he’d put her in. And she was bolstering herself, but not because of that. She pointed the pistol in his face.
Now he froze.
“Get your hands off me and back away slowly.”
“Galina, you’re making this very bad. This won’t turn out good for you now.”
“It was never going to turn out good for me so quit saying that.”
His hand dropped away from her leg. She pulled her skirt down. “I said to back up.”
He did, but remained hunched over, as though he were still leaning on the door—or getting ready to attack her.
Shoot him. Just do it.
Still, she couldn’t pull the trigger—until he lunged for her gun hand. She fired into his broad belly and watched him sink to his knees. Fearing he would pitch forward, she pulled her legs back toward the car.
He did come forward—with unbridled fury. He grabbed the waistband of her skirt. She fired again, and that was when she learned the small gun was a single-shot derringer. Just enough ammo to make him a madman.
He dragged himself toward her, ripping off her skirt. She leaned back into the car but he had her by the legs.
She sat forward and bashed him in the face with the butt of the small pistol, drawing blood from his cheek. Alexandra screamed.
“She’s next,” Tattoo swore.
Galina hit him again. He grabbed her hand and started crawling up her body, using her limbs like a ladder.
She couldn’t pull away. He gripped her shoulders next. Galina threw herself back toward the passenger door, breaking his hold, but the weight of him still pressed against her legs. They felt like they’d been sunk in cement.
Galina tried to tell her to stop but couldn’t talk. Couldn’t breathe. He was strangling her.
He pushed himself up and backhanded Alexandra so hard the frail girl slammed into the backseat, shocked so deeply that her wail didn’t come for seconds. But she’d bought Galina a few quick breaths.
“You little bitch.” He grabbed for Alexandra. She ducked. Thank God. But then he lunged partway over the seat for the girl.
Though pinned by his other hand, Galina reached for the glove box, fingers scrabbling to get inside, then grabbed the pen. She jammed it into the bullet hole as far as she could, jerked it back and forth and thrust it deeper still.
Tattoo howled. His eyes widened, and he grabbed her hand, pushing it away. She let him—and left the pen in his gut.
He pressed her hand against the passenger door and held it there, panting and creating the macabre appearance of a man having sex in a car.
Blood spilled copiously from his wound now. She must have hit an artery.
His grip on her hand weakened.
Die! Die!
He let go of her. She tried to push him away. He groaned loudly. She realized he’d been groaning since she’d stabbed the bullet wound. And then he clamped his hand back on her neck. A final seizure of murderous violence, as if he were determined to take her with him.
She tried to turn away, but he outweighed her by at least two hundred pounds.
He pushed down, cutting off the last of her air. But he began to shake and she heard a croaky sound rise from his throat. Then he shook so hard he rolled over, jamming himself between the seat and dash. He stopped moving.
Galina opened the passenger door and pulled her legs out from under him, falling onto the paved shoulder in her haste to get out.