Authors: Blair Bancroft
“They will kill you,” Arkadi said flatly. “The terrorists are even greater fanatics than you, and Leonov would kill his mother if the money was good enough.” Petrovski stopped, frowned. “Why are you here, Seryozha? What can possibly be worth the risk? Being with the American screams that you have betrayed the Organization. Nephew or no, I should order your execution on the spot. You know that, yet you are here.” He waited, his steady gaze never leaving Sergei’s face.
Sergei took a deep breath. “I have a story to tell . . .” Arkadi’s frown deepened as Sergei told his tale, from his summons to a meeting with Massoud and Leonov—a meeting he could not remember—to the flight from the burning resort in Wyoming.
“
Bozhe moi
,” the older man breathed when Sergei finished. “You were the only one of us at that meeting, the only one who knows the final arrangements.”
“So I was there?”
“Yes. When you went missing, we traced your movements. You were there. Your car was gone, but one of Leonov’s lookouts talked.” Arkadi shook his head. “Not a strong man. Leonov should be more careful.”
“Did you trace me to Bellvue?”
“No. When the trail went cold, we assumed you were dead. Leonov said you left the meeting unhindered but, naturally, we did not believe him.”
Sergei groaned. “So I know how and when the bomb meets the isotope, and I cannot remember.”
“You made an unexplained trip to Florida just before the meeting, if that’s any help. Do you remember?”
Sergei shut his eyes, frowning. “Florida? I thought I had only forgotten the meeting. But a trip to Florida? This is not good.”
“A quick trip. One day. Perhaps it is something you do not want to remember. The mind is a strange thing, keeping you away from bad things.”
“That may be why I took a beating,” Sergei said. Silence enveloped their small portion of the lounge as he searched his mind for stubbornly reluctant memories. “I arranged for the U-236,” he said at last. “It was the only way I could stay in the inner circle. I went to Florida to finalize the deal.”
“And . . .?”
“I am not sure. “Perhaps I was supposed to take the U-236 to the meeting.”
“What did you do with it, Seryozha?” Arkadi snapped.
He’d never seen his uncle’s eyes that hard. That intent. Was he friend or foe? Did he want to stop the Angel of Death, or had Arkadi flipped to the other side? The price that would be paid for the isotope and the expertise that went with it was astronomical. A small country’s national budget.
But the soulless in the
organizatsiya
, those who followed Boris Leonov, saw the bomb as a grievous wound to America, a blow that would curry favor with the rejuvenated aggressiveness in Mother Russia. It would also leave an extraordinarily vulnerable America for the Organization to plunder. And Arkadi, who could also be greedy? It was perhaps best he truly didn’t know what happened to the bomb’s catalyst, U-236.
“I don’t know,” Sergei told him. “It’s gone. I guess the beating took more out of me than I thought.”
“You always lied well, Seryozha. Almost I believe you. But you are my blood, and I still have a remnant of honor left. So what do you want of me? You would not take this risk for the few words we have already exchanged.”
Sergei didn’t have to force a smile. It was beginning to look as if he was going to survive the encounter with his uncle.
If there weren’t a dozen men waiting to take him out when he left the bar.
He looked Arkadi straight in the eye. “I want you to spread the word that I remember nothing. That I contacted you because I was told Sergei Tokarev is a known member of the East Coast
Organizatsiya
. I am solely on a quest to find myself. I know nothing of a rogue group in the Brotherhood, of terrorists, bombs, or isotopes. I did not know you were my uncle until you told me.”
Petrovski nodded. “You always had the brain of a Machiavelli, even when you were a child.”
“Will you do it?”
For the space of five seconds, which seemed like five minutes, Arkadi Petrovski considered the question. “For the sake of the family,” he said at last. “And because I like you. And because I have not fallen so low that I relish the idea of women and children incinerated and a hundred square miles irradiated with poison.” Petrovski shrugged. “After all, I cannot make money off dead men.”
Sergei nodded, satisfied. Uncle Arkadi would not let him down. “How many are watching, do you think?”
“From the Italians we learned the rule of
omerta
. You can be sure my people are more silent than the weak Americans at Homeland Security. So my answer is, ‘None.’ My men did not talk. It is unlikely the hotel staff would know there is money to be made on the present location of one of their most frequent guests. So, no, I do not think they have found you yet. Take your woman and go before they do.”
“Can we leave it ’til morning?” For a moment Sergei allowed himself to look wistful.
“Ah, to be young again. I give you tonight. My men will guard you well.” Arkadi poured a third round of vodka. “To love. And a night in a soft bed.” They clicked shot glasses, drank, slammed the glasses down in unison.
Sergei walked back into the light. Vee was not the only one fortunate in her relatives. Not that he was one hundred percent certain of the old man, but at the moment Arkadi was the closest thing he had to a friend in a world that had been spinning out of control ever since the forgotten meeting in New York. Armageddon was a Hail Mary pass he intercepted . . . or didn’t. The ball was in the air, and he didn’t even know where the game was.
And if he ended up in the right place at the right time, when they untangled the pile, which player would be holding the ball?
Or would the question be moot?
Because they were all dead.
Ahead of him, Sergei saw Vee perched on a stool, shoulder to shoulder with Vanya. Warmth flooded through him. The hunt was on. And he wasn’t alone.
Chapter 13
A nod of thanks, which Vanya reciprocated with a flashing grin, and Sergei settled onto the high stool next to Vee. She did not look at him, did not acknowledge the swift brush of his lips over her cheek. Offering the female dealer his most charming smile, Sergei laid a hundred dollar bill on the table. More blasé about his damaged face than Uncle Arkadi, she handed Sergei his chips with the warmth he was accustomed to receiving from women of all ages.
Except Valentina Frost, who was definitely living up to her name.
Nichevo
. If she did not wish to enjoy herself, too bad. He had won a few hours’ respite, and he planned to take full advantage of it. They were skating on thin ice, he and Ms Valentina Frost, but that added to the thrill of the chase. With the immediate threat of execution lifted, his blood could surge with pleasure instead of fear. He could catch his breath. Gamble, make plans. Make love, perhaps. Sergei’s lips curled in a secret smile as he asked for a card. Whatever was bothering her, she would get over it. He would make sure of that.
An hour later and four hundred dollars richer, Sergei gathered his chips, tipped the dealer, and watched while Vee dropped a respectable number of chips into her stylish evening purse. “Let’s cash out and get you some more clothes,” he offered. A stiff-necked nod was her only response.
Bozhe moi, what had he done?
Vee’s stone face was mild compared to her expression when they finally returned to their room to find Vanya standing outside the door. Uncle Arkadi’s bodyguard held out a key card. “Completely clean,” he said in Russian. “No bugs. Boss says I’m to stay out here all night. You probably saw Ilya by the elevator, and Oleg’s got the stairs.” He gave Vee an amiable nod. “So rest easy. But Boss says it’s best you go by first light.”
Sergei took the card, shook Vanya’s hand, and ushered Vee inside their room, very much aware that her fit of pique had expanded into seething fury.
What now?
Still standing in the entry hall, she tossed the bags with their new purchases onto the sofa in the sunken sitting area below and swung round to face him, eyes blazing. “I thought we were partners, or at least working together for a common cause. But to you I’m nothing but an ornament, the little woman to be parked at the blackjack table and remembered when it’s convenient.”
When she stopped to draw breath, Sergei managed, “But Petrovski would speak only with me—”
“How do you think I felt when that great
thug
sat down next to me? How could I know who he was? Though his type was recognizable enough. I figured he was there to kill me or kidnap me—”
“Didn’t he tell you—”
“When he leaned close to my ear, I could only think he was going to shoot me, stab me, or bite my ear off.”
Govnó!
“I am sorry—”
“No, you’re not. You do as you damn well please. You’re a loner with no concept of working as a team. I’m just another tool you can use or toss away as it suits you. You tell me nothing. I am a cipher. Zip. Nada. Zero. You didn’t even give me a keycard of my own,” she added on something close to a hiccup. “I couldn’t go back to the room. Did you think
I
was going to bug the place? With
what
? We escaped Wyoming with nothing
but the clothes on our backs.”
She paused, struck a dramatic pose, eyes shining with the light of discovery. “Ah! I was supposed to rendezvous with my DHS black ops team and let them do the dirty work. And just what was the supposed to gain? Do you suppose they think you talk in your sleep? Or do you suppose I want them checking up on how well I whore for my country? Well, you’re crazy, Tokarev! I see it all now. When you want back-up, I’m useful. But when you think I might work against you, I’m shut out. Well, let me tell you, Sergei-Seryozha-Nick, or whoever the hell you are, we work
together
or we don’t work at all. I won’t be dressed up like a Barbie doll and ‘parked’ while you make all the decisions, all the plans, and maybe drag me along behind when you recall my existence—”
He shut her up by the simple expedient of pulling her close, shoving her face into his chest, and holding her there, one hand behind her head, the other behind her back. “You will be quiet and listen!”
She brought up her knee, and stars exploded. Doubling over in agony, he could only swear in his head. Agony kept him from any sound beyond a stifled moan. Miserable woman, didn’t she understand he was only trying to protect her?
Hands on her hips, she glared at him. “I stuck my neck out so you could fly free, get your act together, and find a way out of this mess.
You
are the VIP in need of protection.
I
am your minder. I don’t give a damn what you have to do to find your answers, but you’ll keep me up to speed every step of the way.
Every step
. Do. You. Understand?”
While Sergei struggled for enough breath to respond, she added, “And sometimes you actually have to listen to my opinion or—heaven forbid!—take orders from me. You are no more omnipotent than I am, or we wouldn’t be trying to save a whole city or whatever while running for our lives. We’re up shit creek, and, believe me, you ain’t gonna solve this one all by yourself.”
“I . . . already agreed . . . to that,” Seryozha gasped
“And evidently forgot it the very next instant.”
“You have injured the only part of me that wasn’t already bruised.”
“
Idiót!
You’re lucky I didn’t hit you on top of your bandaged head! Maybe that’s what’s needed to knock some sense into you.”
He considered. “Maybe you should do it. Remembering is what’s needed.”
Vee drew a deep breath and dropped her hands to her sides. “I’m tempted,” she muttered. “But mad as I am, I can’t bring myself to do it. With the luck we’ve been having, you’d probably pop back into limbo, remembering nothing. And then where would we be?”
Seryozha straightened up, using the fence around the conversation pit for leverage. He eyed the curved loveseat in the pit below, its plush surface almost completely obscured by shopping bags. Falling back on the false front of Sergei Tokarev, he easily summoned his most authentic wounded male whine. “There is bag, from earlier, you not open.” He let his eyes shift to a bright silver bag with a famous logo sitting on the floor between the sofa and the coffee table.
Vee arched an eyebrow. “You anticipated you were going to need a peace offering?”
Sergei shrugged and abandoned Tokarev. “I thought you
’d
like it.”
Vee’s anger dwindled. She might have over-reacted. Just a tad. Or was she, once again, allowing him to play with her head? Slipping back into following his Alpha male lead, even if it got them both killed?
A shiver shook her.
“Look in the bag, Valentina. We have only a short time before dawn.”
Back to
Seryozha. If he didn’t stop yo-yoing between personas . . .
Stalling for time, unsure which way the conversation was going, Vee stalked down the two steps to the sitting area, picked up the bag, and peeked inside. A whoosh of breath before her hands crumpled the
lavender
tissue paper layered over Seryozha’s gift, hiding it from sight. She stood there, swaying slightly, eyes closed, mind numb.