Selena caught the implications immediately. He'd been called before she had. Never mind that she was the lead operative, or that she had the most at stake. They'd stuck to the old boy's network, hadn't they?
She stood before he reached the table. "You heard."
"I was on my way back," he said, by way of acknowledgment.
His irritation was evident enough that she couldn't help but say, "This is a good thing, yes?"
It took him by surprise. "Of course. I just…I thought I had a lead. I don't like getting pulled off the trail."
And oddly, she found she could understand him for once. "I guess I know what you mean." She capped her fizzy water and stuck it in the voluminous side pocket of her long coat, shrugging the coat on. Never waste safe water. "I just had the feeling…I think we would have gotten somewhere tonight. But now we don't have to." She'd report Mr. Russian to the station chief and let him follow through if he wanted.
Because she and Cole would be on the way home.
Together.
SHORTLY BEFORE EIGHT and well after dark, Cole left the phone, tucked away in his pile of rocks, turned on so the GPS would lead the pickup team right to it. He'd found himself a nice little vantage point, a truly excellent alley that the proprietors of both little market booths on either side had turned into additional storage space. It came complete with rickety old metal shelves that definitely looked G.I. surplus, an oddball of an old metal desk and haphazard stacks of produce crates. Plenty of places to hunker out of sight, and he'd already stashed his courier bag.
Though he'd given up hunkering some hours ago, and now sat with his butt on the hard ground, straightening first this leg and then that from his cross-legged position just to keep the blood flowing. Had he been anywhere else he could have found himself a glass of whiskey and a private corner to pour it over his side, but this little edge of Suwan was mostly Muslim and as dry as any eastern Kentucky county.
So instead he waited, feeling the moments tick by as the dull, steady throb of fever invaded, as Aymal was up to who-knew-what with Cole's gun several hours of travel on foot and by bus away. This better be worth it moments, because they cost so much in the big picture.
And here came some motorbikes. Suspiciously stealthy, those little road bikes, their engines purring more than putt-putting. They would have made for a crowded ride to the exfiltration transport, but they'd also weave easily through these streets, making steady progress instead of getting jammed up in the tight spots. Not that this particular area had a problem with traffic, unless one counted foot and bike traffic.
For a moment he thought they looked clear, that they'd managed to get here without any parasite problems. But of course he should have kept those thoughts locked away, for moving more slowly came a small produce-carrying vehicle not much different from the Russian Niva he'd recently stolen.
Okay, so the vehicle came from a different direction than the motorbikes. There was plenty of reason for a produce truck to inch along the streets of this area. Two tiny family restaurants, a lawyer's office and the two fresh-food markets between which he'd chosen to camp out…it had reason to be a busy little place, which is exactly why he'd chosen it rather than the residential neighborhood that started just one street over.
But not quite enough reason for such vehicles to be in the same place at the same time as Cole expected his connection to show up. Tsk, he mentally admonished the motorbikes. You were followed.
The bikes turned down an alley parallel to the one Cole occupied and purred right up to the rock formation, circling it. They stopped long enough to shout a few words at each other, and one of them got off his bike.
He had an unpleasantly familiar form, even in the partial-moon darkness. A silhouette suitable for a B-movie action star.
Betzer. Aka Hammer. Aka the guy who had led the ambush two days earlier.
Well, frog guts on a stick. They weren't followed at all. They were the followers—and they'd somehow gotten there first.
As if to emphasize the significance of the situation, the motorbike twins reacted to the sight of the trucklet headlights by mounting up and scooting off—but their superbly tuned, overpowered engines cut suddenly rather than fading, and Cole knew they were still nearby. By then the truck was parked and two men in local dress eased behind the buildings to cast a wider circle in the vague area of the rock formation. Now and then they called out, but not loudly. Surreptitiously, as you'd expect from good spooks.
Cole squelched the impulse to go to them. They were compromised, and he didn't know how, or in how many ways. They were being watched by men who were perfectly capable of picking off the two agents, hauling Cole in to some slimy little HQ for questioning, and then going after Aymal. Or they might just bide their time and hang back, ready to ambush yet another exfiltration.
No, he'd bide his own time. Stay hidden. Get back to Aymal and take them to Oguzka where they could dig in and Cole could scare up a little antiseptic and maybe even medical care. A good solid meal or two wouldn't go amiss, either. Maybe he could even blame his wooziness on too many missed meals—though he wasn't sure which was a bigger blow to his ego, going tilty for missing a few meals under trying circumstances or because a damned little nothing of a flesh wound had gone bad. He mustered up his most stoic, John Wayne-sounding voice and muttered to himself, "It's just a damned flesh wound." So far.
Chapter 12
Selena wore her loose Berzhaani tunic and flowing slacks and had hastily packed the rest of her things into the carry-on the CIA had so thoughtfully prepared for her. Practicality demanded the cargos and a warm shirt, but practicality be damned. Her work here was over, and soon she'd see Cole. There was no need to wear anything other than what she thought would make his eyes smile, crinkling slightly at the corners in a mix of amusement and appreciation.
Dobry took the wait more restlessly than she, checking the laptop for e-mail every five minutes and fitfully staring at the hotel phone as though it might leap up and bite him.
"Are you expecting a call?" Selena finally asked him, her tone making it clear that she meant other than the one they both expected—but that particular call should come in on one of their two cells, not the hotel phone.
She herself had done her wrap-up communicating already, letting both Allori and Delphi know that she was outgoing, and dropping Delphi the scant tidbit her Russian friend had left her with at Agabaji's.
Dobry responded with a blank look, then shook his head. "No," he said. "Just wishing we were done with this." He'd kept his padding and his eyebrows and contacts, having decided to maintain his cover appearance until all was truly said and done. He'd arrived with and briefly worn his own Dobry-face and not drawn any attention, but with Goff now firmly established as Selena's companion, he might well draw notice if he changed back.
"Done with would be good," Selena agreed, feeling the twitter in her own stomach. She needed busywork; she thought about going back down to the Plush to see if Betzer had stirred up any information, just for the heck of it. He'd been out when Dobry was there earlier, and Dobry had made himself content to gossip and nurse drinks with a few of the other regulars. Or maybe Dobry knew more about the implications of the Russian's words—
No. Sit. Stay.
Patience.
When her cell phone rang she grabbed for it in the most undignified manner possible. The phone identified the caller—Station Chief TRAMMEL—and she flipped it open. "Do you have him? Them? Where—"
"No." The man's tone was flat and cutting, and stopped Selena short.
She floundered for a response, and then didn't have the chance to make it. TRAMMEL said, "He wasn't there. I don't know what the hell kind of game he's playing…his phone was there, turned on only a few moments before our people got there—and off again just as they arrived. He had plenty of time to make the connection."
"He wasn't…" She couldn't quite finish the question and, as she glanced at Dobry, saw understanding cross his face.
"N
ot there?" he asked, and she could have sworn she saw hope rising in his features before he shuttered down into anger, cursing in emotional punctuation. Or maybe not, not with her whole world revolving around the angry voice in her ear.
She interrupted it. Not wise, but she did it, driven by sudden comprehension. He'd called for help, and hadn't shown…but his phone was there. He'd done it on purpose. Because he didn't trust them.
"It was a test," she told him, nearly blurting the words.
"A test?" The words came rife with unspoken meaning, things like I hope you're kidding and this better be damned good and he wasted my resources on a test?
"Aymal's travel plans have been interrupted twice, and both times the Agency got the raw end of the deal. Why should Cole trust that it wouldn't happen again?"
Silence. And then more irritation. "If he'd been there, this would be over. There was no interference this evening."
Whoops, she'd stepped on his Agency pride. So she was careful when she said, "Cole was there. He would have come out if it had been safe."
The silence this time came across as more thoughtful. "I'll debrief my people when they return. If you're right…"
Selena didn't need him to finish the thought. If she was right, then Cole was right. There was leakage somewhere. The station chief had best do more than brief his people…he'd better start looking for a double agent.
And Selena would look for Cole. She was already up, already unzipping her suitcase while Dobry watched, gleaning everything he needed from her reaction to the conversation. "Where?" she asked. "Where were you supposed to meet him?"
And after TRAMMEL told her, she hung up the phone and sank down on the bed, thoughts tumbling around inside her head.
"We're staying?" Dobry demanded, and looked eager for it.
"We're staying," Selena confirmed, absent in tone and her mind hunting the elusive memory that tickled at it. Just north of west, the station chief had told her.
It wouldn't have been where Cole had stashed Aymal. It would have been somewhere within hours, but a position he didn't mind exposing.
Except she had a sudden moment of self-doubt, an inner quailing. What if I'm wrong about that?
If she proceeded on those assumptions and she was indeed wrong, she could well search everywhere but where Cole had hidden himself and his human package away.
What if I can't predict him at all?
What if her wants and needs and mixed-up, shell-shocked condition had scrambled her inner sense of things? If she had no sense of self, how could she have a sense of Cole?
Stop it, she told herself, hunting that teeth-baring confidence she needed. And north of west. And then, trickling in as though they belonged, her Russian friend's words from earlier in the evening: Go back to where it all started, American lady.
He hadn't been talking about Cole. He'd been talking about her. Where her story had all started, here in Berzhaan eight months earlier.
"Oguzka," she said to Dobry. "We're going to Oguzka."
BOY, DID HE WANT A DRINK.
Just water, sweet water…or warm bitter water, or rotten egg-smelly water or…
Okay, maybe not flat-out scummy water.
Cole waited for the Agency operatives to quit poking around, and then he waited for them to move off to the side and call in a report that would no doubt also end up in unfriendly hands. He didn't have to be in earshot to know the content of that report. No sign of Cole Jones and his human package.
Yeah, no kidding. Figure it out, people. You weren't alone.
He'd trusted the Agency to be secure. He'd trusted his old buddies to help, not betray. He'd trusted Aymal to clean a stupid little bullet tunnel that shouldn't ever have been more than an annoyance.
Gah. That'd teach him.
He shifted behind his stack of crates. Selena had never mentioned his butt being bony, but to judge by the feel of it against the cold ground after all this time, it most certainly was bony at that.
He'd have to encourage her to do a hands-on examination once he got out of this.
For a few moments he pondered just how he might manage that. He had Aymal stashed in Oguzka—not securely, not yet. And there was a road leading west, heading for the border. If he could round up some transport, his best chance might be to make his own run for that border—a rocky area of low, rugged mountains notorious for the ease with which people moved from one side to the other. Just people living their lives, mostly—visiting relatives, grabbing up the most convenient supplies—but in recent months there had been plenty of leftover Kemenis straggling away from the government that hunted them.
If he could get that far with Aymal, he could check in with a different station chief, bypassing the leaky communications problem altogether.
Yeah, that's a plan.
His disguise wouldn't last that long…the temporary contacts were on the way out, and sweat had already leached some color from his hair, hidden as most of it was under a sand-colored cotton kufi. A few days out in the sun without sunscreen and his skin would peel away the dye now staining it a light tea-brown.
It wouldn't matter, as long as his old pals weren't on his tail.
His side gave a warning kick of pain, and he put his hand over it. No, I haven't forgotten you. I'm just ignoring you.
He realized that the murmur of conversation had stopped, and shifted to peer around the crates, catching only the faintest motion in the darkness to confirm that the Agency guys had left. Yep, he was really on top of things tonight.
New first priority—after returning to Aymal, find a place to sleep. It looked like they'd have a long haul before them, and he'd do neither of them any good if he started out on three days without sleep.
Three days? Well, no fucking wonder he was woozy and stupid. Genius spy guy, that was Cole Jones.
He might have poked his head out then, but he didn't. He waited. The mercs, whoever the hell they were working for, had been interrupted. They might well return. So he waited a little longer, and indeed they came slinking back—without the bikes this time, and with no worries, apparently—not given the thorough way they searched over the area in which he'd left his GPS-enabled phone.
When they stopped to confer, Cole let himself creep closer, barely still under cover. A little turnabout eavesdropping seemed like fair play, all things considered.
"He's gone," said a voice Cole didn't know—a new member of the merc gang. Cole found himself wondering darkly whether this was a replacement for someone who'd dug his feet in over the new arrangement.
The tall one was Betzer, all right—with Betzer's lazy, deceptive voice and Betzer's confident stance, conveyed even as a dark blot in the night. "I doubt it," he said. "But I also doubt that he has Aymal anywhere in the vicinity. This was just Jones being cautious. If he ever intended to show, he meant to take the Agency to Aymal and not the other way around. No…he's here somewhere. Probably watching."
Closer than you think, dirtwad.
The other man made a noise of frustration. "We're running out of time," he said. "We need to get things in place for the capitol building."
The what? Something in Cole jerked to attention, fatigue forgotten. What about the capitol?
"You think Hafford'll come through on his end?"
Betzer snorted, a soft sound in the night. He rustled, struck a match, and briefly but clearly illuminated his face as he lit a cigarette.
You always were too quick to declare a situation clear so you could have your damned smoke. But this time, Cole welcomed it. Advantage, me.
Betzer inhaled hard enough to turn the end of the cigarette into a hotly glowing ember, then spoke around it. "Hafford will come through. Something's put the fear of…not God, I'd say, but the devil—into him. Have you seen him lately? Looks like he sees a ghost every time he passes a mirror. Whoever's behind the scenes on this one has their stuff together Good thing we went indie when we did."
So Betzer didn't even know who their new contract employer was. But Co
le heard the respect in his voice, knew it was no one to take lightly.
And what was this person planning for the capitol? The formerly besieged, newly restored capitol?
"Anyway," Betzer was saying, "it'll be fast and easy to put together. The Kemeni are for sale these days, or hadn't you noticed?"
His companion said drily, "The bastards don't seem hard to find, true enough."
"Anyway," Betzer grunted around the cigarette, "in this case, failure is good enough to be success. Practically all they have to do is get through the door."
They? The door of the capitol? What the hell…was Hafford in on the security renovations for the building? He was a decent guy. Cole couldn't imagine that he'd—
Then again, he hadn't imagined that Betzer would play him, either.
Life lessons suck.
The world chose that moment to swoop around him, and he dropped a hand to the ground to steady his crouch—not soon enough. He brushed a crate, cloth against rough wood.
Betzer wasn't stupid. Cole didn't even have to see the man's change in posture to know he'd hear that faint noise. Cole faded back into the darkness of the alley, intending to come out on the other side and scale the rickety wooden ladder up the side of the building, a roof dodge he'd scoped out when daylight still washed the old stone walls of these buildings.
He hadn't counted on stumbling, or on putting so much effort into breaking his fall in silence, rolling into it with every muscle in control. And that was it, that was his escape time gone with Betzer's cigarette already ground into the dirt behind him and both men coming on.
Comeback Page 11
