by Ronie Kendig
“Dude! Seriously?”
Cardinal turned. Eyed Candyman across the grounds. “If you want to find Aspen, find General Tselekova.”
Burnett stepped into the open. Hands stuffed in his pant pockets, he frowned. A frown that said a lot. Said he knew what was happening.
Arms wide, Candyman shrugged. “Who the heck is that?”
“My father.”
Thirty-Five
Warbling plucked at her hearing. A steady vibration wormed through her being, each microbounce jarring her further awake. Her head thundered. She swallowed, and her ears screamed in protest. She winced and curled in—at least tried. Only then did she realize she couldn’t move her arms. She tugged but felt something holding her by the wrists.
She tried to open her eyes…but as she lifted from the fog of sleep, she felt her whole body rising. What on earth? Her eyes—she couldn’t see. No…no, something covered her eyes. A dart of fear mingled with adrenaline as she remembered being in the safe house. Remembered her brother and Dane—Cardinal—going at it. The explosion…then…
Dizzying images. Being…
She grimaced as pain smacked her head.
Why couldn’t she remember it clearly? Crazy wobbly. The world just seemed to be on fast-forward and reverse combined, images and memories shifting and colliding.
Being flung around.
She shook her head. If something was tied around her eyes, could she get it off? Aspen tried rubbing her head against whatever it was. Not the floor. Too soft. The swish of the fabric spoke of leather or vinyl.
Her shoulder dug into something. Ached.
Again, she dragged her head over the material. Lifted and used her shoulder to—Light peeked in under the mask.
Aspen tensed and stilled.
Airplane. She knew that much instantly. How did she get on an airplane? And why?
Voices skidded into the cabin. Hurried footsteps.
Aspen dropped back, her stomach lurching at the sight of a man in black looming over her. He bent closer, a needle in his hand.
“No.” Her voice faded out as she slumped back, feeling a strange warmth spiraling through her arm. Her muscles went limp. Again, her head swam in that thick ocean of confusion.
“Sir, I think you need to hear this.”
Lance looked across the room where Hastings had been interrogating the previously unconscious man for information. Two hours. He’d been in country for two hours, and things had gone south in a handbasket. He hoisted himself off the chair and lumbered over to the room. It took every effort of mental energy not to just turn around and go home. He didn’t have that luxury.
Neither did Cardinal, but he’d left. Curse that man! Handling him was like trying to contain a fire with your bare hands. He’d known that for years. But he’d been willing to put in the hours, the exhaustion, the aggravation. And it’d paid off. Until today.
As he crossed the room, Lance spotted Timbrel. She’d been working Candyman down for the last twenty minutes since Cardinal had beaten the path of least resistance out of here.
Lance entered the room.
Hastings stood beside the man handcuffed to a pipe that held no function other than being convenient for interrogations.
“My name,” the man began, his face a little bloodied, “is Austin Courtland.”
“Well crap.” Lance wanted to curse. “You’re an enemy of the state, Mr. Courtland.”
“No, sir. I’m its patriot.”
“Do tell, and while you’re telling, explain why you no longer look like Austin Courtland. Ya know what? On second thought, I don’t care.”
“I went off the grid because I came upon the operation to hide the yellowcake. I couldn’t ascertain who was involved and who wasn’t, so I had to wait it out.”
“And that took you eight months?”
“Yes, sir. But…the woman—”
“What woman?”
“My girlfriend—well, I thought she was. Discovered a couple of days ago that she’s a Russian operative.”
Lance muttered his mom’s Catholic oaths. “Russian, so that’s where you got those thugs that hit my men?”
Courtland stared hard. “Yes, sir.”
“That is some seriously bad news, Courtland.”
He gave a slow, contemplative nod. “And now, they have my sister.”
Unswayed by the man’s sudden surge of patriotism and familial duty, Lance shook his head. “Don’t tell me what I already know. You left your mentor and handler in the lurch. You abandoned protocol. That tells me I can’t trust you—”
“I saw Cardinal down here with Admiral Kuhn. I had to assume collusion.”
“Assume.” Lance grunted. “You know what assuming does, right, Courtland?”
The man gritted his teeth. “Let me help find her, General. I can do this.”
Yeah, right. And Lance was a monkey’s uncle. “Nothing doing.” Like he would really put the lives of one of his best operatives and an innocent civilian woman on the line. “I can’t trust you, and I have more experienced assets than you.”
“The best bet you had walked out of here.” Courtland jutted his jaw. “I’m the next bet.”
“No, that dog is. And you’re going back to Virginia like Kuhn.” Lance pivoted and stalked out of the room. He’d managed to get Kuhn strung up on charges related to his obstruction of justice and collusion with the enemy to transport fissile material. He just had to make sure it stuck.
Man, he just didn’t have time for anything. He just didn’t care. Didn’t want to stand in there and listen to that traitor spout off his puffed-up, vain-riddled reasons for dereliction of duty. An asset going rogue on shifty information told him the man couldn’t be trusted. Told him the man was no longer fit for duty.
Demons had a way of sneaking up on you, especially ones from the past. If this was what was truly happening, then they were in deep kimchi.
Tselekova. Lance Burnett sat with his head in his hands. God have mercy on Aspen! But they had a chance—a prayer, if one liked to think along those lines, and right now he couldn’t afford to offend—with the dog. If they could just rig a few favors, get over there with Talon, they might have a chance to get Aspen back. Cardinal gave them the name to go after. They had the dog…
“Talon, heel!” Hogan stood a few feet away. Her voice had been firm. Authoritative.
The yellow Lab hunkered and inched closer to the wall beneath the table. Head down, he trembled.
“It’s no use,” Hastings said.
“You’re no use,” Timbrel shot back, glowering.
“I could just kill that man,” Candyman said, pacing and muttering. He’d been primed since Cardinal left an hour ago. In that time, they’d formulated a plan.
“What’s with Kuhn?”
Lance checked his watch. “Should be en route, in protective custody, back to Virginia.” Did he sound smug? That sorry excuse for an officer had put lives at risk—but worse, entire countries at the hands of brutal dictators. Lance couldn’t wrap his mind around it. The very thing they were trained and seasoned to thwart and interrupt—corruption, crimes against humanity—Payne had perpetuated.
Lance dropped into the chair and focused on Hogan, a tough girl who approached animals with more consideration than she did people. Lance nearly grinned. He kinda liked this woman.
“Hogan.” He motioned to the dog. “Do we have a prayer?”
She lowered herself to her knees. “I don’t know. Clearly that percussion grenade affected him, but I am pretty sure he could detect Aspen’s panic. Imagine being able to sense that but not being able to do anything about it, when he’s trained to protect at all times?”
“Yeah.” Candyman stomped closer. “I can relate to that real well.”
“Why don’t you come off your testosterone trip and help—”
Candyman pounded the pavement to Hastings. “You want to go there? Do you really want to go there?”
Lance sat up, knowing by the look in Candyman’s f
ace that things were about to get ugly. It wasn’t personal—well, it was personal. Candyman had failed to protect an asset. The guy would go ballistic on anyone right now, Lance imagined.
Hogan darted between the two. “Hey.” When Candyman tried to skirt her, she shoved him back. “Hey! Get a grip.”
“I’ll get a grip all right,” he mumbled as he skulked away from the others, led off by Hogan like a dog on a lead. His eyes shot RPGs at Smith and Hastings, who took up sides with each other.
The two stood off to the side, and though Lance was no expert, he thought they acted a little cozy. A thought struck him. He stood. “Hogan.”
Hand on Candyman’s arm, she looked at Lance.
“What was the sitrep with Aspen and Cardinal?”
“He was a sleazy scumbag who deserv—”
“Hey!” Timbrel nudged Candyman’s chest. “Stop.” She looked back to Lance. “Well on their way to the altar if Aspen had any say about it.”
Heat churned through Lance’s gut. He came off the chair. “Oh man.” He swiped a hand over his weary face. He angled toward Hogan again. “You’re sure—the feelings were mutual?”
Candyman frowned, easing away from Hogan. “What’s on your mind, General?”
“Trouble.” He grinned. “A Russian storm named Nikol Tselekova.”
Thirty-Six
Oppression.
Despite the late hour, the heat held its fist-hold oppression on the city, much the way this situation did on his heart and life. Cardinal sat on the beach, staring out over the night-darkened waters.
He had her. Cardinal knew that the colonel—wait. He’s a general now. Cardinal smirked. Though the man had risen in rank, he would always sit at the lower rank in Cardinal’s mind. Colonel. It’d been the only noun he’d been allowed to use in reference to the man. If he called him father, Cardinal got a beating.
But one didn’t use a nice term such as that with a man like Colonel Vasily Tselekova.
I thought I escaped him.
There was no escape from a past like that. It shaped his life. More like disfigured his life. The same blood that drove his father to be a cruel, hard taskmaster pumped through Cardinal’s veins. For the last two decades, he’d worked to master it. Master the anger. The rage.
He wanted nothing more than to become a better man than the colonel.
Tonight, he completely failed. The way he’d unleashed on Courtland.
Breathing hurt as the memories assailed him. How he felt the feeding frenzy off the pain and fear in the man’s face. The bloody nose.
The busted lip fed the demons chomping on the chains he’d wrapped them in.
Cardinal roughed a hand over his face and eyes. I let him out. Let the beast out. Failure. Weakness.
“You are weak, Nikol. I must do this. Can’t you see? Weak men fail.”
Cardinal tilted his head back and opened his mouth, searching for a clear breath. Not one stifled by the suffocating, brutal past that so often felt closer than his next breath. Head in his hands, Cardinal tried to block the barrage of memories. He allowed his mind to settle on one.
“Don’t let them make you weak, Nikol. Show them who’s in control. Show them who has the power. Make them obey you, or get rid of them.” The colonel knelt in front of him. Held his shoulders. “You are my son. Destined for great, great things. Great power! Just like me.” He shook Nikol. “You see this, yes?”
But Nikol’s eyes drifted to the window. To the place where the angel flew.
“No!” The colonel jerked him. “She is where she belongs. You are where you belong—with me. Da?”
There was only one acceptable answer. “Da.”
“I failed her, God.” Completely. Utterly. Stood there while the colonel threw her to her death. I could’ve stopped him. But he hadn’t.
Just like now.
No. It was different. There was no proof this was the colonel.
The devil was in the details—quite literally. He couldn’t deny that this had the colonel written all over it. He’d taken Aspen. That’s where she was. In Russia. It was the only plausible explanation with the presence of Austin’s Russian girlfriend. The Russian lettering on the yellowcake crates. BELARUS.
Hand fisted and on his knee, he stared up at the stars. Let the fury build. Why? Why take Aspen? There were many more high-value targets there. Austin. Admiral Kuhn.
Why didn’t he just take me?
Control. This was about control. About making Cardinal come crawling on his knees. Admit he’d been wrong. Made a mistake. Cower and show his weakness groveling over a woman.
No, he wouldn’t grovel to that man. Never. He wouldn’t give the colonel what he wanted. He wouldn’t satisfy the sick need for control and power. That meant he couldn’t go after Aspen. In his career, he’d made it a Cardinal rule to never, ever play into someone’s hands. He’d walked and turned the tables. Turned the power.
God…I can’t…go back there. I just can’t.
Where were the stained-glass windows and peaceful flickering candles when he desperately needed them?
“I am here.”
Warmth spread through his chest. “God…?” What an idiot. Do you think God cares about you? He has a universe to run.
An image, searing and terrifying, of Aspen lying dead on a bed of springlike grass ripped through Cardinal’s mind. He tensed, tucked his chin, waiting for the image to pass.
Blood…in her blond hair.
Lips dry, cracked.
He squeezed his eyes.
Her arm outstretched. To him.
“No,” he ground out. The surreal tapestry spread out before him. Panned out. Not just the ground. The surroundings. Crosses. Stone houses. A wrought-iron fence. Headstones.
“The cemetery,” he whispered. Fire wormed through his stomach and squirmed into his chest. No…no, he couldn’t.
They aren’t the same.
He pushed the thoughts back. Pushed the past into the great oblivion from which it’d escaped.
“And the angel flew,” he heard himself say.
She had flown out that window. Terrifyingly eerie. Terrifyingly haunting. Watching her slide out of view. Frozen like marble to the spot in his bedroom. Staring at the hole in time and space that had held her not two seconds earlier. The thump—
Oh, God! Please…no…
He’d tried to forget. Tried to bury that memory. He’d stayed there. Right in his spot. Stared at the hole. Then the sharp glass glistening in the early morning light. And the colonel…
Cardinal tasted the bitter herb of vengeance. Yes, Colonel Tselekova took his mother from him. To make him stronger. So he wouldn’t be weak. And it’d worked—just not in the way the colonel expected.
He’d failed his mother. And going after Aspen, having to face the colonel, the man who’d bred him through a mistress…“I can’t. Don’t ask this of me. Send someone.” Anyone. Just not me.
“I do that all the time.”
Cardinal jerked to his feet, stunned to find a smelly beggar squatting a few feet from him. Scraggly beard matched scraggly hair. “Talking to myself, ya know? Or maybe talking to God when no one’s around. That way, I can ignore what I don’t want to hear.” A fisherman’s jacket hung on bony shoulders. A jacket? In this heat?
The man smiled, the moonlight catching a hopscotch pattern of teeth.
“Don’t worry, boy. I’m not going to hurt you.” He reached for a makeshift spit where a fish sparkled under the moon’s glow. “Say, can you hand me that plate?”
Cardinal frowned. “What pl—?”
A plate lay less than two feet from him.
Where did that come from?
“Couldja hurry?” The old man wagged his gnarly, dirty fingers. “It’s burning.”
Cardinal bent, retrieved the plate, and handed it to the homeless guy, then started to turn.
“You had dinner?” The man slid the fish from the spit and tugged the stick out. He patted himself down, each slap poofing a foul odor Cardi
nal’s way.
“Not hungry.” As if to defy him, his stomach growled. Loud.
The man cackled. “Sounds like your belly would disagree. C’mon.” He waved Cardinal back to himself. “Pop a squat. I won’t bite—and neither will this fella.” Another cackle. “Say, you got a knife?”
With an annoyed yet amused snort, Cardinal tugged his butterfly knife out, worked it open, then handed it over. Why he sat down, he didn’t know. Maybe it was the weariness. He just didn’t care anymore. And he was too tired to fight. Didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts. With the guilt.
The old man gave him a piece of wood on which half the fish waited.
“You look like you could take a load off your mind.” The man chomped into the flesh.
Cardinal wondered for a second what it was like to chew with half your teeth missing.
“I knew this fella once, when I was younger.” He waggled his eyebrows. “And had my looks about me still. He could talk a horse dead and never say a word.” The man ate more fish, grinning as he did, and nodded toward Cardinal. “I’m thinking you’re like that fella.”
“Maybe he didn’t have anything to say.” The fish proved tasty. Cardinal finished it off in just a couple of bites.
“Where you come from, Lone Stranger?”
Cardinal bunched his shoulders. “Everywhere, I guess.”
The man laughed, lifted his leg, and slapped it. “If that ain’t a sailor’s answer, I don’t know what is. I come from just beyond the horizon.” His eyes snapped at him, keen and inquisitive. “So. Don’t mean to pry—well, yes I do, I guess. I overheard you say you can’t do it. Mind if I ask what that is?”
Cardinal looked out at the water.
“Eh, don’t mind me. I get up in people’s business and make ’em mad.” He waved a hand around the beach. “It’s why I’m out here.” He laughed. “Can’t help it if I care about people. You know? I mean, what else is there? People…and animals.”
“Chaos. Corruption. Evil.”
“You got the right of it there.” The man clucked his tongue. Ate the last of his fish. “I seen a lot of that in my time.” He shook his head.
