Heart Strike

by Cooper-Posey, Tracy

  “More than,” she admitted.

  “That will change if you let the air in under the coat and blanket,” he warned her. He slowed the car.

  It was a normal suburban street, with single dwelling houses and yards with high fences, many of them rusty corrugated iron.

  The car halted beside one of the high fences.

  “Where is this?”

  “Nowhere,” he said. “I turned randomly.” He didn’t turn the engine off. He was keeping the heater running. With a grunt, he reclined his seat and stretched and twisted, his spine popping. Then he turned on his side and rested his head on his arm. His gaze met hers. “Sleep, if you want,” he told her. “When it is a better hour, we will find breakfast. First, though, I must think.”

  “You’re not going to sleep?”

  He shook his head. “Someone must stay awake.”

  “Do you want the blanket?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Should you lie down like that, if you can’t sleep?”

  “I won’t fall asleep,” he said, sounding certain of himself.

  Fabian twisted carefully and laid the seat back, then turned onto her side like Mischa. It was a less comfortable position than it appeared to be. No wonder he was certain he wouldn’t sleep.

  He was studying her. Fabian pushed her filthy hair aside. It smelled dreadful. “I desperately need a shower,” she admitted. “I must look awful.”

  “I was just thinking you look wonderful for a woman who threw herself in the river from the middle deck of an ocean-going container ship.”

  She grimaced. “That was just the middle deck?” She shuddered. “I think I lived a couple of lifetimes on the way down.”

  His face shifted. “So did I.”

  “You saw me?”

  He nodded. Then, softly. “Close your eyes. You’re very tired.”

  “I can’t possibly sleep,” she whispered…

  …and woke with a jerk when Mischa shook her shoulder. It was broad daylight. She blinked and sat up.

  Mischa had already straightened his seat.

  Fabian inclined the seat back to normal and wrinkled her nose as her movements sent a wave of river water smells wafting from inside the coat.

  “Fabian…?”

  She looked at him. He was staring through the windscreen.

  “Did you come to any decisions?” she asked.

  “I did…but they depend upon a couple of things. Do you know a woman called Parvana?”

  “Dima. Yes. She is an old friend of my fathers.”

  “And much more than that,” Mischa added. “She’s here in Ukraine. Probably in Kiev by now.”

  “Dima is here?”

  “I thought she might be looking for you. Now I know she is a friend of your father’s, I know she is looking for you.” He put the car in gear. “Do up your seat belt.”

  She clipped the belt closed. “Where are we going?” God, she hoped wherever it was, it had a bathroom.

  He steered through the narrow streets at a sedate pace, taking lots of turns. “I headed north last night because the border and Belarus is only an hour away, just on the other side of the Chernobyl park. Now I’ve had a chance to think, though, I’ve changed my mind.”

  “Probably just as well,” Fabian murmured. “I don’t have my passport anymore.” The men who had taken her had stripped everything from her pockets. For all she knew, her suitcase was still in the trunk of the taxi which had abducted her.

  “Passports wouldn’t have been an issue,” he said dismissively. “Only, crossing without formalities would put us both into Belarus authority cross-hairs and I think we have enough complications right now.” He braked at an intersection with a main road. It was possibly the road they had used to get here, only none of it looked familiar to Fabian.

  He eased into the light traffic. Fabian remembered it was Sunday morning of a long weekend. “What is the public holiday?” she asked.

  “Day of the Defender,” he replied. “To honor those who have fought for Ukraine.”

  “Veteran’s day,” she interpreted. “There’ll be parades?”

  “Marches and festivals. It will help, having many people on the streets.”

  “Help with what?”

  “Finding your friend Parvana.”

  “Dima? Isn’t everyone else looking for us also in the city?”

  “Yes.”

  Fabian studied him. “Why Dima?” she asked. “You could deliver me to the American Embassy. Once I’m passed the gate, I’m on US soil.”

  “For the same reason I didn’t want you processed with the other women on the ship last night,” he said. He kept his gaze on the road. “It is an unfortunate fact that corruption is alive and well in Ukraine. My people are aware you know about the Kobra, now, and—”

  “How would they know that?” Fabian asked, alarmed.

  He didn’t answer at once. Then he said softly, “because I failed to clean up properly. Ilari will be singing like a bird, now.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense at all.”

  “I know. And I don’t have time for long explanations.” He shook his head. “You can’t go to the Embassy. I don’t know who’s hands you’ll end up in and there are some people there who are not what they seem to be. Do you understand?” His glance was sharp.

  Fabian’s gut cramped. “Russian agents…”

  He didn’t reply to that. Instead, he said; “You can’t afford to be processed by anyone. Not here. And if I go near your embassy, they will tie me up in knots which will keep me immobilized for weeks, and I have things to do.”

  Fabian stared at him. “I was thinking, if you just dropped me there…”

  Mischa rolled his eyes. “Perhaps, even push you from the car as I swing by?”

  “Well, you could brake, I suppose.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t get anywhere near the embassy, do you understand? My face will send up alarms. They know who I am, Fabian. The CIA and I have been playing tag for years in this city.”

  Fabian sat back, absorbing that.

  “So, we can’t cross the border, can’t use Ukraine, Russian or American authorities, or any of the normal channels. That leaves your friend Dima. She knows what is going on and why everyone is making what appears to be completely irrational decisions.”

  “Like taking an American back to your apartment for three nights?” she asked softly.

  “That, and she knows about the Kobra. All the crazy things which have happened in the last few days are because of him, because of the legacy he left behind. That’s why she’s here, Fabian. She knows what you know. She’s read the same files. Maybe she compiled them. It’s the only reason she would come after you. Dima Parvana is the woman I must reach. She won’t trip me up.”

  “If we can’t reach out with a cellphone or the Internet—”

  “God no!” he breathed.

  “Then finding her won’t be easy. You said everyone was looking for you.”

  “And you, too, Fabian,” he said, his voice low. “By now, they’ll know you’re with me.” He hesitated. “My people will take that as a direct and irreversible statement. They will resent it, and they will do anything to stop us from reaching your Dima.”

  Fabian shuddered. “You speak as though you have no future here.”

  “Neither of us do,” he said bleakly. “There is not much chance of any future at all, unless we can play this exactly right.”

  [14]

  Darnytskyi District, Left Bank, Kiev.

  Scott, Agata and Leander returned an hour later, all three from different directions.

  Scott leaned against the side of the car, his hands in his coat pocket, and blew out a breath. “There was a woman in the apartment. Towels hanging straight and dirty sheets. Nothing that says it’s her, though. There was an address written in grease pencil beside the phone. I sent Noah and Quinn to check the address out.”

  Leander leaned on the roof and bent to speak through the open window. “H
e’s monastic. Been alone long enough to have efficient habits. Only…” He frowned.

  “What?” Dima prodded him.

  “There was nothing in the fridge and a pile of fresh vegetables on the chopping block. It looked like meal preparations were interrupted.”

  “Something goosed them,” Dima said.

  “Not my point,” Leander said easily. “It’s his apartment. He was cooking. For her.”

  Dima nodded. “Back to the hotel. I need to think about this.”

  “What’s to think about?” Scott said. “Whatever the guy is, everything says he didn’t have an agenda—not with Fabian.”

  “At least, not the kind we thought,” Leander murmured.

  Quinn leaned through the seats. “Piá Blanca took a room in a little hotel on the right bank, boss. One night—night before last. One person only.”

  Dima looked at Scott. “And that changes the story.”

  Scott scrubbed at his hair. “Okay, back to the hotel. Maybe Noah and Quinn will have something which actually makes sense.”

  Mischa was still smiling when he closed the door of the telephone booth and plugged in the stone-cold fall back credit card which lived in the back of his wallet, under the lining. Fabian’s astonishment over an honest-to-goodness phone booth was cute. For a seasoned traveler, she had some unexpectedly naïve pockets.

  “I spend my days in villages on the sides of mountains which never had phone booths to start with,” she’d said defensively.

  He closed his eyes and dredged up the number from dim memory, using the mnemonics which had helped him memorize it in the first place. Then he tapped out the number and listened to it ring.

  Voicemail cut in. It was an impersonal canned message.

  He hung up and tried again.

  On the fourth try, the phone was answered straight away. “This had better be good, whoever this is,” Bohdan Ivanov snarled.

  “It’s your friend with the beautiful lady,” Mischa said.

  Bohdan sucked in a quick, startled breath. “Wait.”

  Mischa listened to the background noise change from raucous voices and murmuring to muffled silence.

  “You’re shitting me, right?” Bohdan breathed into the phone. “Was it you at the wharf last night, with the scope? The women they’re interviewing keep talking about a woman with a limp who went overboard…”

  “It’s complicated,” Mischa assured him.

  “God’s feet, it is. I’ve got Americans breathing down my neck.”

  “And more than that,” Mischa added.

  “Only Americans.”

  “They say.”

  Mischa listened to Bohdan’s heavy breath. “Fuck,” the detective said softly. “You’re in trouble.”

  “Up to my neck.”

  “We’re even, remember,” Bohdan said quickly.

  “I’m not asking for a favor. I’m asking you to save our lives.”

  Silence.

  “It isn’t difficult,” Mischa added. “I need you to plaster her face all over everything. Mine, too. TV, radio, Internet. Facebook. Civil alert systems. The biggest fuss you can make, as loudly as you can.”

  “That’s nuts. You guys hate the sunlight.”

  “It’s all I have left. If the world is looking at us, it neutralizes a lot of people who hate the sunlight as much as me.” He paused. “A token of faith, to prove how serious I am. We’ll be at the Kalinsky Hotel tonight. You can send your best, pick us both up, earn medals and call it a good night. Or you can let us make a run for it, while you scream at the top of your lungs and never quite catch us.”

  Bohdan bellowed out a heavy sigh. “I’m gonna need something serious enough to justify that sort of noise.”

  “You can start with armed car-jacking and take it from there.”

  “Is that true?” Bohdan said sharply.

  “In ten minutes’ time, it will be.” Mischa hung up.

  Fabian kept the coat wrapped around her tightly not because it was cold, but because it kept the stench of stale river water from wafting too strongly. She leaned against the Toyota, with her face up to the sun. They were on the outskirts of Kiev, where the houses had yards, most of them with weeds and struggling grass. The trees were spindly.

  And the streets still had call boxes.

  “Not everyone has cellphones here,” Mischa had pointed out. He was coming back to the car, now, his expression grim. “Ready?”

  “I guess,” she said, not at all certain if she was ready for this at all.

  He lifted his sweater and pulled out the nickel-plated Glock, then bent and fired a shot up into the belly of the car. Then he moved over to her and put himself in front of her. “Look away.”

  She could already smell fumes. She turned away and cringed as Mischa fired again. This time the shot was followed by a low woofing sound. When she looked back, flames licked up the side of the Toyota, blistering the paint. “It didn’t blow up.”

  “It will when the flames reach the petrol tank.” Mischa took her hand and walked swiftly to the intersection, just ahead, the Glock in his other hand, held down low by his side.

  The burning car drew attention. An old utility truck with an official logo on the side slowed, the driver peering at the Toyota, his eyes wide.

  A dark sedan, a model which Fabian didn’t recognize, came into the intersection from the other direction.

  Mischa strode out into the intersection, directly in front of the slowing car, and raised his gun to point at the driver.

  The driver stopped and wisely raised his hands.

  Mischa waved the gun.

  The man hastily scrambled out of the car, his hands up high.

  “Get in,” Mischa told Fabian, as he rounded the hood, heading for the driver’s side.

  She hurried to the passenger side. The door unlocked as she reached for it and she slid into the car as Mischa closed the other door.

  He put the car in gear and tromped on the gas. “This is a piece of shit, but it will do for now.” The engine whined and the car slowly picked up speed.

  “What car is it?” she asked. “I don’t recognize it.”

  He rolled his eyes. “A Lada.”

  Fabian pressed her lips together. “It’s not a Mercedes, is it?”

  Dima walked in a tight little circle around the coffee table, listening to the rattle of keyboards.

  Scott put his laptop on the table and got to his feet. “No flights out under either name.”

  “The concierge said she asked for the airport,” Agata said, her tone firm.

  “Misdirection?” Dima asked herself.

  Scott crossed his arms. “From a civilian?”

  “With a professional giving her directions,” Dima replied. “He was making her dinner. What if he wined and dined her and seduced her in three days into going over?”

  “Fabian?” Lochan said, lifting his head from his laptop. “Not possible, boss. Not even for a second.”

  “She came here to find the Kobra,” Scott reminded Dima. “She pushed herself through a year of therapy and rehab in seven months, accessed classified records, found herself a fake passport, lied to everyone, just to get here to find the man who did that to her. It would take a lot to overcome that relentlessness.”

  “Not really,” Ren said softly.

  “Just love,” Dima added.

  Scott rolled his eyes. “In three days?”

  “Then a good simulation of love,” Ren said. “Guys can fake anything.”

  Scott tilted his head at her, with a grimace. “We’re not all Peter.”

  Ren subsided.

  “He was cooking dinner,” Leander said thoughtfully.

  Dima nodded. “Fabian is nobody’s fool. She spotted the Chinese coming at her. Maybe Sokolov had to strip down to the genuine bedrock to make it look convincing enough to fool her.”

  “Or maybe you’re making this way too complicated,” Scott said. “Occam’s Razor.”

  Dima smiled. “They really fell in love?�
��

  “Why not?” Scott asked, his tone reasonable. “Love always has shitty timing.”

  “Then why did she move to a hotel for the night, then cut off all trace of herself?”

  Scott blew out a breath. “Fuck…” he said softly and sat down again.

  The Kalinsky Hotel was elegant and airy, with polished marble underfoot. It also had gift shops lining a tunnel which led into the next building. One of them sold sweaters with Kiev landmarks on the front and sweatpants, too.

  “Small?” Mischa asked, gauging her size.

  “Medium, to fit over the brace,” she replied.

  He left her standing by the store doors, the coat held even more tightly around her, while he dealt with the store clerk. He came back carrying a paper bag with the store’s logo on it and picked up her hand again. “No sweat.”

  “I hope not. They’re new.”

  His smile lasted only a fraction of a second. “Now the interesting part.”

  They moved back along the tunnel to the hotel foyer once more and went up to the counter. One of the three desk clerks smiled enquiringly.

  Mischa spoke. She heard his last name among the quick words.

  “Sokolov?” the clerk said, looking surprised.

  She held her breath.

  Mischa didn’t react, although she suspected he was holding his, too. “Tak,” he said. Yes.

  The clerk beamed and spoke, moving away. He tapped on a door behind the counter, leaned in and said something. A quick exchange. Then he bent and came back to the counter carrying—

  “My suitcase!” Fabian said, as the clerk put it on the counter.

  The clerk waved his hand. “Voila!” he said, looking pleased with himself.

  “I don’t understand. How did it get here?” Fabian breathed.

  “Not now,” Mischa said shortly. He pulled out his wallet and handed over a credit card. Booking the room and getting keys went far more smoothly, now they had actual luggage and looked like normal travelers.

  Then Mischa picked up the case and they moved over to the elevator.

  Other passengers got on and left as they traveled up to the tenth floor, preventing them from talking. The hotel corridor was as anonymous as any American hotel and just as plush and quiet.