“Your assistance in this matter,” the police chief continued stiffly, “has been of great importance to the Russian people in ridding our great nation of agitators who seek to—”
The man to his left tapped him again, shook his head curtly, and then motioned slightly to Dan. The police chief cut off his speech, turned toward the door, and waved several officers in. Dan recognized them as the men who had wrist- and handcuffed him. They shuffled forward to uncuff him, one on each side.
As they did so, the man to the police chief’s left leaned down and spoke to Dobrynin. “And thank you, comrade,” he said, “for helping us curtail the insurgence of Alpha from our great nation.”
Dobrynin’s expression looked as if he were staring into the face of God, but it was diminished by Dan elbowing him.
“Ask him if they tested the floor for Kirby’s blood.”
Dobrynin’s frozen expression still managed to convey that he didn’t want to. Nevertheless, he did, in as quick and deferential a manner as he could.
It was the man with the burnt ear’s turn to grow still, then obviously ponder the suggestion. He didn’t answer. He merely gave a slight nod as if saying, good idea. Then he looked at the three policemen with an expression that communicated that they had better have any necessary tests done by the time they saw him again or else they would be shot, then hanged.
He straightened as the police scurried away, and wiped off the jacket of his suit with both hands, as if ridding it of crumbs.
“Now, if this minor misunderstanding has reached its satisfactory conclusion,” he said in perfect English, “please follow me. We have a car waiting to take you to your destination.”
The car was waiting for them at the back, private, exit—one obviously used by personages the police didn’t want anyone else to know about—and was not a riot van. It was an Aurus Cortege, the official model of the Russian government’s state garage.
As Dan approached, he judged its pedigree. Six-point-six liter V-twelve engine, eight hundred horse power, armor plating, bulletproof glass, at least five tons. Its brand name consisted of the first syllable of the Latin word for gold combined with the first syllable of the mother country.
Then, Dan realized why they had kept him waiting in the interrogation room for so long. The forces-that-be had been waiting for night to fall.
The man with the burnt ear left them at the vehicle, after shaking Smith’s hand. The three stepped into the expansive, expensive rear seats, then an innocuous, anonymous young man in a suit got behind the wheel and started the engine.
“Do you know who that was?” Dobrynin blurted with excitement, then snapped off the words after Smith’s right hand shot up as if it were trying to cut the Russian in half.
Smith, Morgan, and Dobrynin remained stone silent during the rest of the ride to the southwest of Moscow University. They remained stone silent as they walked through the tunnels of Stalin City. They remained stone silent as the Flying Fox dropped out of the inky sky. They remained stone silent as they climbed aboard.
But as the hatch sealed and Palecto shot back into the atmosphere, Dan beat everyone to the punch with his first words.
“They weren’t Alpha.”
Chapter 39
“More hired help,” Dan groused as Conley guided the Flying Fox southeast over Kazakhstan. “I’m beginning to think Alpha is just a call center with a very long list of every thug in the world.”
“What makes you think they were hired help?” Smith wondered, watching Dan as he washed off the last of his makeup disguise.
“Would you use an old pistol if you had needle, laser, or air guns at your disposal?” Dan countered as he reached for his freshly laundered and pressed dark gray Zeta suit. “Sure, they obviously were instructed to make some sort of definitive statement that none of us were safe anywhere …” Dan stopped and turned toward Dobrynin, who was wolfing down a chateaubriand for two. “Did we ever find out who the woman and little girl were?”
Dobrynin stopped in mid-bite, looking as if the cook of the manor had turned the kitchen lights on to catch him stealing a midnight snack. “The ones at the shooter’s table?” he inquired around the meat. Dan pulled the t-shirt over his head. “Hostages,” Dobrynin said after laboriously swallowing his latest mouthful. “According to the police statements General Sannikov had them send me…” He glanced at Smith. “That’s the man who came in with you.”
“I know,” Smith said.
“Of course,” Dobrynin agreed. “Of course you do.”
Smith glanced at Dan. “Alexey Demyan Sannikov. Head of Directorate ‘A’, also known as Alfa—the counterterrorism task force of the Federal Security Service.”
“Also known as the FSB,” Dobrynin burbled.
Dan and Smith looked back at the chewing Russian at the same time and said in unison, “I know.”
Dobrynin hastily went back to stuffing his face. He may have mumbled “You owe me a Coke,” but Dan couldn’t be sure.
“Apparently,” Smith told Dan patiently, “the man showed the mother and daughter the gun and forced them to sit with him.”
“Well, that explains the woman’s expression,” Dan mused as he slipped on the dark gray slacks. “The little girl must’ve thought it was a game.”
“Some game,” Dobrynin muttered.
“Yeah,” Dan agreed, hefting and studying his Walther PPK. “I realize wearing visored helmets in a toy store would be something of a giveaway, but Alpha couldn’t be bothered to outfit their hired help with bulletproof jackets? I only shot those two in the chests to prevent any innocent bystanders from getting hurt by ricocheting bullets and shards of skull.”
Smith went on. “Yes, our guess is that Kirby, or whoever was running him, chose the toy mall because they thought you wouldn’t start shooting in there. Apparently they thought that would make it easier to kill you.”
Dobrynin sat up, chortling. “They don’t know him very well, do they?” He smiled at Smith. “They do now, da?”
Dan ignored the compliment. “So,” he continued, putting the PPK down and picking up the jacket. “It’s me again. I gather Alpha and company don’t necessarily believe you when you maintain I don’t have the Threat Assessment Software on me.”
Smith sighed. “Cobra, the people I deal with don’t believe anything I say. They don’t believe anything they say. They don’t believe anything.”
Dan was frustrated as he picked the Walther back up. But he still didn’t shove it into his shoulder holster. “Linc,” he said to the air. “The new ordnance ready?”
There was no answer.
“Linc?”
Still no answer. The three Zeta ops on board converged their gaze onto their recruiter. Their recruiter stretched his arms and legs in a self-conscious way.
“Lincoln Shepard will not reply,” he said calmly. “Nor will Lily Randall, Karen O’Neal, Scott Renard, or any of his staff. We are cut off from them.”
Dan looked pointedly at his PPK, eliciting a smile from Smith.
“That won’t be necessary, Cobra,” the tall, older, man said affably, though his eyes were as cold as dry ice. “You see, I couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps the opposite forces were tracking you through some other method. A method a bit more …old-fashioned, shall we say?”
“I knew it!” they all heard Conley exclaim from the piloting position. They all turned to face each other as the lanky helmsman snapped his fingers. “Yeah, Dan, remember when we were bellyaching about all this new nano nonsense we had to try figuring out? I was beginning to think they were tracking you with radioactive lint or something.”
Dan let his mind wander back to everything that had happened to him and his family since he had turned the Mustang around the corner of his street. He remembered how he’d felt when he saw the power of the bombs, the hologram, and the weapons. He realized how they had made him fe
el he was dealing with something he didn’t know or understand.
“You mean…,” he started.
“Well, let’s put it this way, Cobra,” Smith said, bending down to put his elbows on his thighs and his chin on his fists. “If you wanted to track someone close—say, your wife. Not nice, I know, but say you had to for some reason. How would you do it?”
Dan stood straight, picked up his gun, and stuck it in his shoulder holster. “I’d go to her best friend and convince her to inform me of her every move.”
Smith smiled, his eyes crinkling, and leaned back, his arms wide. “There we go,” he said. “You and Diana even discussed it after the Boston T-party.”
Conley guffawed at the play-on-words Smith had made from the similarity between tea and “T” for Transit, which is what Boston called their subway system.
Smith returned his attention to Dan. “How did Alpha know you were in the bowels of Boston …unless someone told them?”
The already quiet Palecto interior got even more quiet.
“Smoke and mirrors,” Smith told them. “Since we’re dazzled by the lasers, we stop thinking about the traitors, and moles, and sleepers, and, to borrow another Revolutionary War term, the turncoats.”
“Is that why the R-comms are cut off?” Dan asked.
“Oh yes,” Smith informed them. “Linc and Lily made some believable excuse, backed by Scott and a few others. Rest assured our communication devices will be back on by the time we land.”
“Shepard, Randall, and Renard,” Conley rumbled from the pilot’s post. “That leaves…”
“Open your mind, Cougar,” Smith suggested as he concentrated on Cobra. “Someone told Alpha who was coming and going, as well as how many and where. So Diana and I gave different information to the only ones who knew all that. Information designed to point directly at them depending upon the result of their appraisal.”
After that bombshell, quiet reigned supreme inside the Flying Fox. Even Dobrynin forgot to chew.
“So,” Dan said. “You know who it is?”
Smith agreed. “Thanks to you, and Tarakan here.” Smith acknowledged Dobrynin. “We know. But Alpha doesn’t know we know.”
Dan started to smile, but then the smile faded. Whether Alpha was a call center for thugs or not, they still wanted every Zeta dead. “So what are we going to do with that information?”
Smith motioned for everyone to sit down. “We are going to have a Zeta summit,” he told them as they took positions around him. “A top-secret summit for every remaining member of Zeta to make a last stand—secure in the knowledge that Alpha could have no idea where or when it’s taking place.”
Cobra and Cougar shared a glance, knowing full well that they were walking into an ambush inside an ambush, and everyone had better be ready for it.
“And where and when is it taking place?” Dan asked.
Smith looked at him. “As soon as we land,” he informed them. “In Taiwan.”
Chapter 40
Dan looked at Smith in disbelief and a little concern when he saw where Conley was landing. It was in a perfectly trimmed section of the bamboo forest, shaped exactly like the Flying Fox, just outside Gaoxing Didian. Lulu’s Happiness Place—the place where her parents had died.
“Why didn’t you tell me we were going here?” Dan asked his boss of bosses.
Smith didn’t look at him as he replied. But at least he did reply. “Old habits die hard for a reason, Cobra,” he said. “The more I know, and the less others know, the better it’s been for me.” He looked over at Dan with a grim smile. “Just like the mystery of death. Everyone finds out eventually.”
Valery Dobrynin, meanwhile, marveled at the cunning expertise of the landing spot. It was placed in a cove, essentially hidden from view of the densely wooded hill the hot springs resort spa nestled upon. And it was expertly groomed to leave a flat surface that was exactly big enough for Palecto to slip in like a glove. Once the stealth craft landed, it was basically invisible to everyone unless they swung directly above it.
“Been busy while we were in Russian stir, huh?” Dan asked the Zeta pilot as Conley made the exacting, tricky landing like he was slipping a coin into a jukebox.
“Got to do something while you’re shooting up a toy store,” Cougar quipped.
“And while Alpha might do many things to us,” Smith added as he prepared the hatch for disembarking, “waiting isn’t one of them.” He punched the prep button on the lowering handle so it could measure the distance to the ground. As it calculated the occupants’ weights and heights, Smith looked back at Dan. “Would you care to go first in case you’d like to gauge our hostess’s mood?”
Dan was going to defer to his superior, but then thought again. “Might not be a bad idea,” he judged. As he stepped in front of Smith, he gave him the disclaimer. “She might control herself, but I can’t say the same about any of the family’s friends.”
The hatch slid open and Dan stuck his head out into a semi-circular bamboo tower that left just enough room for his body. It was like a tailor-made airport exit crafted by an artisan. Looking down from there he saw Lo Liu waiting under the wing, wearing her “work clothes” of loose white shirt, black pants, and Chinese slippers, her hair in a tight ponytail.
Dan exited the way he had upon first landing in Taiwan, the handle bringing him gently down, then rolling silently back up. As Dobrynin prepared his descent, the American and Taiwanese agent locked eyes.
“You okay?” he asked.
She smiled thinly, but her eyes didn’t. “Like you said, I’d be dead already if he wanted that.” She looked up to try to catch a glimpse. “So I’m willing to give him the benefit of the doubt …for now.” She raised her hands to steady the Tarakan as he undulated down to the ground. “Especially after he called me while you were zanyat.”
At least Dan knew the R-comms were back on because he heard “occupied” while Dobrynin was smilingly saying to her, “Nice Russian.”
She smiled back. “Yaznayunemnogo.”
“I know a little bit,” Dan heard.
Then they all waited for Smith. He landed before her, with an honestly considerate expression.
“I’m sorry I waited this long to come back,” he said.
Her expression was noncommittal. “You’ve been busy,” she offered, then turned away while patting one of the bamboo stalks. “But if you had come back before this, you would have probably been impaled on one of these babies.”
Smith straightened, impressed, and smiled at Dan as Conley softly appeared among them. They all followed Lulu to the seemingly impregnable bamboo wall, but just as her nose touched it, she sidled left, revealing an optical illusion opening. As they wound their way toward a stone path southwest of the spa, they discovered that the entire copse was the bamboo equivalent of a hall of mirrors. Every path seemed like a dead-end until you were almost upon the turns.
Soon they were at the road, and then the gateway Dan remembered from last time. But it wasn’t until they were inside the spa that Dan saw they weren’t alone. What was left of Zeta—Linc, Karen, Lily, Alex, Jenny, and Diana, as well as Zeta’s compatriots Scott, Chilly, and Hot Shot—were already there, and were all wearing the dark gray outfits in seeming solidarity. Besides, the advanced material was about the only thing that took the area’s humidity in stride.
“Ready?” Smith asked. Both Diana and Lulu nodded. “Lead the way,” the man invited.
Diana and Lulu exchanged glances, then the latter stepped forward as the former motioned in deference. The rest followed her through the waiting room and into the spa. Dan noticed that all of the six square hot spring pools were capped with a textured teepee-like cover that made them all look like rustic sensory deprivation chambers. They certainly lowered the temperature in the usually steamy room.
Then they were past, and into the temple. Dan was just a bit
surprised that the walls and parts of the ceiling still remained covered with Lulu’s research. He was not surprised, however, that the parental shrines were exactly as they had been. The only thing that had changed, in fact, was that the long tables were now shifted a hundred and eighty degrees so they made one long counter, around which thirteen simple chairs had been placed.
Diana took the nearest chair just inside the door. Smith walked all the way to the head of the table and sat on the end, framed by the pictures of Lulu’s dead father and mother. The others took places around the sides. All except Lulu, who leaned, arms and ankles crossed, at the side of the door.
Smith waited until both Chilly and Hot Shot, sitting across from each other on either side of Diana, had put their laptops on the table. Hackers waited for nothing, even life-or-death summits. Once they were deep in liquid crystal war, Smith stood on no ceremony.
“So,” he said. “What do you do now?” He waited, taking time to look into every face around the table before continuing as if he wasn’t expecting an answer. “Zeta headquarters is destroyed.” He looked down the expanse to Diana.
She took her cue. “Since that time, every major fire and explosion investigation organization has pored over the site, trying to find the origin, cause, and arsonists. That includes the National Fire Protection Association, the National Association of Fire Investigators, and the International Association of Arson Investigators. When last we could check up on it, they had yet to find anything definite.”
Smith made a humming sound. “So, a new explosive, perhaps,” he surmised, then looked back at the table. “All of your homes are destroyed, correct?”
He looked at each Zeta operative as they nodded, until he got to Conley.
“No way of knowing,” the secretive pilot rumbled.
“For all intents and purposes, then,” Smith suggested. “So, you have no headquarters and no residences. The majority of remaining field operatives have taken refuge with Mr. Renard, who has kindly offered his sanctuary and assistance way beyond the call of duty.”
War of Shadows Page 27
