Shadow Zone (9 page)

“My feelings exactly. That’s why I thought he might have been in touch.” Baker tilted his head to one side. “Are you sure there’s nothing you want to tell me?”

Hannah closed her eyes. More violence, more killing . . . Naturally Kirov was involved.

“Ms. Bryson?”

Her eyes flicked opened. “No. I have nothing more to tell you. What about this eyewitness? Maybe you should spend more time with him.”

“I’d like nothing more. His name is Sam Debney. Do you know him?”

“No.”

“He was in a Venice hospital for a couple of days last week, terrified for his life. He wanted protection, and apparently he was quite talkative.”

“Protection from Kirov?”

“No, from Gadaire. Two of Gadaire’s men worked Debney over pretty good. He almost died, and he probably would have if your friend Kirov hadn’t stepped in and eliminated them. Those are the men in the photos I just showed you.”

“As I told you, Kirov tends to kill people who deserve it.”

“And as I told you, he’s no white knight. He wanted information from Debney, and he was willing to let him bleed to death if he didn’t get it.”

“Information about Marinth again. What exactly did he want to know?”

“Debney didn’t say. He was holding back that little tidbit in exchange for protection from us. In the end, he gave us the slip. He walked right out of the hospital in scrubs.”

“Funny that he was able to pull that off under your noses. Maybe he was right in thinking that you didn’t have much to offer in the way of protective services.”

Baker raised his hands in surrender. “I think I’ve had my chops busted enough for one night. I’m becoming irritated. If Kirov gets in touch with you for any reason, we ask that you let us know.” Baker handed her his card, then another one to Melis.

Hannah shrugged. “Fine, but I really don’t expect to hear from him.”

“We think you will. Aside from his personal relationship with you, Ms. Bryson, he’s apparently very interested in Marinth. You and Ms. Nemid here have more knowledge of it than just about anyone. I suspect you’ll hear from Kirov sooner than later.” He turned and headed for the door. “And you’d be wise to share anything he tells you with us. I’d hate to have to consider you an accomplice in this dirty business. I could make things very difficult for you.”

The threat lingered in the air after the door shut behind him.

“Ugly.” Hannah turned to Melis, who was very pale, her expression shocked. “It’s going to be okay, Melis. I feel the same way. I was over the moon when I thought that trellis could tell the end of the story. No, maybe not the same. Your emotional investment was a hell of a lot bigger than mine. But I wanted it to happen. Dammit, the answer was in our hands. No one is going to cheat us out of it.”

“Well, it’s not in our hands now.” Melis raised shaking fingers to her temple. “It seems impossible. What the hell is going on?”

“We’ll find out.”

“Yes, we will.” She stared Hannah in the eye. “And one of the things I have to find out is about your friend, Nicholas Kirov. I’m going to know a good deal more about him before we go any farther. For one thing, you didn’t mention that he leaves dead bodies in his wake.”

“It’s not quite—”

“Hannah, you’re not being fair. I was respecting your privacy, but this is about Marinth. I have to
know.
And you’re going to tell me.”

Hannah hesitated. Why was she still trying to protect Kirov? It had been instinctive with Baker, but Melis had a perfect right to know about someone who might be an accomplice in stealing that trellis. Lord, she hoped Kirov was clean. “You’re right, I’m not being fair. Okay, let’s go on deck, and I’ll tell you what I know about Kirov.” She grabbed two glasses of wine from a tray on the counter. “I don’t know about you, but I need a drink.”

“I need something to put the starch back in me.” Melis took the glass and opened the door. “Though I’m not sure this will do the trick.”

Hannah wasn’t sure either. But to talk about Kirov she would have to talk about Conner, and she could use all the insulation alcohol or anything else would offier her.

The moonlight was bright on the water and, as she reached the railing, she could see the lights of Baker’s boat as it picked up speed and left the
Copernicus
.

“Talk to me.” Melis leaned her arms on the rail. “Kirov.”

“You know that Conner was murdered aboard a Russian nuclear sub,
Silent Thunder,
that I’d been hired to go over with a fine-tooth comb and make sure it would be safe as a museum exhibit.”

“Yes.”

“Conner and I were pawns. The CIA knew there was a map on the sub that was going to draw Pavski, a Russian bureaucrat who had been climbing the political ladder in Russia during the last days of the Cold War. He had been responsible for the release of a bacterial agent that caused the deaths of
Silent Thunder
’s entire crew during a training exercise. The CIA knew
Silent Thunder
was going to be targeted, and they let us take the job anyway.” She gazed out at the sea. “Conner was alone on the sub when Pavski’s men came. They blew his head off.”

“Dear God, Hannah.”

She took a drink of wine. “And the CIA wouldn’t tell me anything. It was classified. I wanted to kill them.”

“I can see why.”

“So I went after Pavski myself.” She looked at Melis. “And I ran across Nicholas Kirov, who had been after Pavski and the men on his committee for years. He taught himself to be an assassin. He’d teamed up with the CIA so that he’d be under their protection when he took out those politicians who had made
Silent Thunder
a death ship. He’d found and disposed of them all by the time I met him. Except for Pavski. He was the last and the one most responsible for all those horrible deaths. Kirov was after him.”

“And so were you.”

“It seemed intelligent to team up with him. He knew everything about Pavski. Everything about
Silent Thunder
. He was a man who would never stop until he’d killed Pavski.” She took another drink. “I don’t blame him. Pavski was responsible for the death of his wife, he’d made him go on the run. He was to blame for the death of Kirov’s entire crew.”

“Kirov’s crew?”

“Kirov was captain of the
Silent Thunder
.” She finished her wine. “He loved that sub, loved his crew, loved his wife. When I met him, it had all been taken away from him. His crew had suffered a horrible death from a bacterial agent set loose in his sub; his wife had been murdered by Russian agents trying to find him. But he was still the most remarkable man I’ve ever met.”

“Even though you said he’d trained himself to be an assassin?”

“I didn’t care. He could help me find Conner’s killer.” She looked back at the ocean. “And he did. We found him together. I owe him more than I can say. And I trusted him, Melis.” She grimaced. “Well, sometimes I had problems with that, but when it counted, he was there for me.”

“You were under great strain.”

“And my judgment was impaired?” She shrugged. “It’s possible. But it didn’t matter to me at the time.” She paused. “I’ve worked shoulder to shoulder with men all my life because of my profession. I’ve never met a man who I’d rather have with me in a tight corner. He saved my life, Melis. Twice.”

“It seems the partnership is over,” Melis said dryly. “And you may trust him, but I don’t. I can’t. He’s clearly in this mess up to his neck.”

Hannah couldn’t deny that when the sight of the bodies in those photographs were still fresh in her memory. “Then I have to find out why and if he knows anything we can use to get that trellis back.”

“We have to find out,” Melis corrected. “It’s my battle.”

“The hell it is.” She started to turn away. “I fought those crazy dolphins down there for that trellis, and I’m not letting any two-legged jackasses take it away.”

“Even if the jackass’s name is Kirov?”

She glanced back over her shoulder. “I didn’t deserve that. Particularly if it’s Kirov.”

“Sorry, I’m upset. I know you wouldn’t be anything but straightforward with me.” She paused. “But there’s one other thing I have to know so that I can put suspicion behind me. Were you lovers, Hannah?”

“Did we go to bed together? No. Would it have happened if I hadn’t still been in mourning for Conner and not able to think of anything else? Possibly. Kirov is sexy as hell. Very male. Very confident. Charisma galore. Sort of Sean Connery meets Harrison Ford.” She met Melis’s gaze. “But our relationship was founded on revenge, and I guarantee that Kirov won’t be able to persuade me to hurt you or Marinth by luring me into the sack.”

“I know that wouldn’t happen,” Melis said quietly. “But I had to have all the facts.”

“You have a right to a little suspicion.” Although that question had hurt. It probably shouldn’t have stung her. In Melis’s position, she would have wanted to make sure that she knew everything that was going on. She moved down the deck. “It’s my job to clear this up so that you don’t have to worry about Kirov any longer.”

“Where are you going?”

“To call for transport.” She started down the steps to the cabins. “And I have to pack.”

Cobh, Ireland
1:10
A.M.

Nicholas Kirov leaned forward and listened to the footsteps in the hallway. Driscoll?

He listened for a moment longer, then heard a woman’s voice chattering into her cell phone. Her footsteps grew louder, then softer as they receded into the distance.

Not yet, he thought. Soon.

Kirov leaned back into the large leather easy chair and glanced around the small living room of the modest two-bedroom flat. The lights were off, but a streetlight outside the window cast enough illumination for him to see fairly well. The flat was located in Cobh’s working-class Holy Ground neighborhood, a community immortalized in an old sea shanty that had somehow found its way to crew members with whom he’d served in the Soviet Navy.

Kirov looked at the frayed carpet and water stains on the ceiling. He had expected to find better living quarters for the great Martin Driscoll.

Of course, anyone would probably expect that, which may have been the point. If Driscoll wanted to keep himself hidden, this would be an excellent choice for him. Kirov remembered some of the shabby places
he
had lived when he didn’t want to be found. Places that made this flat look like a mansion. Places that—

More footsteps in the hallway. Heavier this time. A man’s footsteps.

Keys jingling outside. The lock turned, and the door opened wide.

A man with silver hair was silhouetted in the hallway, wearing a denim coat with a large fleece collar. Driscoll.

The man closed the door. He froze. “Who’s there? Charlie?”

He paused, waiting for an answer. Driscoll cursed and flipped the light switch and dove to the side.

“No lights. I removed the bulbs,” Kirov said.

Driscoll was on the floor, crawling behind the couch. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“Relax, Driscoll.”

“Who in the hell is Driscoll?”

“Do you really want to play it that way? We both know who you are, and I really don’t want to waste any more of our time than I have to.”

“I don’t know who sent you, but I can make it worth your while to forget you ever found me.”

Kirov chuckled. “You think I’m here to kill you?”

“It had occurred to me.”

“I know about your difficulties with the Brogan crime family. Trust me, I couldn’t be less interested in their problems.”

“Then who are you?” Driscoll was inching toward a small oak cabinet.

“If you’re going for the derringer in the drawer, it’s not there anymore. You should really have had it on you.” Kirov held up the gun, silhouetting it against the window. “But then violence isn’t really your area of expertise, is it?”

“Dammit, if you’re not here to blow a hole in me, what are you doing here?”

“I know this is a rather disturbing way to approach you. I’ll give the gun back after I’m finished.”

“Finished with what?”

“I have a business proposal for you.”

Even in the dim apartment, Kirov could see the annoyance on Driscoll’s face. “Cripes. You’re one of those.”

“One of what?”

Driscoll shook his head. “You’re here to lure the master thief out of retirement for one last job, right? One last score that will let me get out of the game once and for all. That’s it, isn’t it?”

“Not quite.” Kirov laid the gun down on an end table. “But close enough, I suppose.”

“You’re wasting your time. I don’t do that anymore. And if I did, I wouldn’t be hiring myself out to a lowlife who breaks into my flat and scares me half to death.”

He was beginning to like Driscoll. He was honest and had no false bravado. “It seemed to be the thing to do at the time. I didn’t want to waste time, and catching you off guard was a way to cut to the chase. I apologize.”

“I’m not believing this. This was all so that you could ask me to pull a job . . .”

“It’s not just any job. I knew you couldn’t be tempted unless the stakes were high enough. I guarantee that the stakes are going to interest you. This could be of huge benefit to you.”

“Huge, eh?” Driscoll’s voice was bitter. “It’s always huge, isn’t it? The last time I heard that, I ended up on the run from the most dangerous organized crime family in Europe. So get the hell out of here with your huge score.”

“I can’t do that. I’m afraid I’ve left the situation in a bit of a mess. I detest disorder. I have to straighten it out.”

“Screw your mess. Just get out of here.”

“You don’t understand.” Kirov stood, switched on a lamp on the table beside him, and walked toward the closet. He opened the door to reveal a young, dark-haired man who was bound and gagged, his hands strapped over his head and hooked on the support beam of a high shelf.

Driscoll’s eyes widened. “Charlie!”

“He got here half an hour before you did,” Kirov said. “I invited him to sit down and join me, but it seems he was only interested in killing me.”

“Because he’s a smart kid.”

Driscoll pulled the tape from the young man’s mouth, and a string of Irish-accented obscenities tumbled out. He glared at Kirov. “I’ll still kill ’im, just say the word!”