The Omega Team: Precious Cargo (Kindle Worlds Novella) (6 page)

The clerk pushed the change and the tickets across the wood counter then leaned forward. The view she provided was impressive, but vulgar. The deep scoop of her snug shirt showcased the kind of cleavage Mila would never have unless she paid for it.

“The train for Smila will leave in an hour.” The woman leaned even farther over the counter and pointed toward the platform. “That’s where you’ll want to stand to catch it.”

“Banana peel,” Duke said in Ukrainian as he picked up the change and the tickets, causing the clerk to giggle once again.

He tucked Mila’s hand into the crook of his arm and strode to the glass doors at the front of the station.

“And now we go to the restaurant down the street.”

The mention of a place to eat had the butterflies in her belly immediately shifting from dancing to yelling for dinner, pitchforks waving in their tiny little fists.

“Great. I’m starving.”

“Sorry, darlin’. This next stop isn’t for food, it’s for business. We’re going there to meet a man. I hope like hell he’s there.”

They walked a few blocks to the restaurant, Duke fairly certain they weren’t being followed. After opening the door, they went in and were immediately surrounded by the smell of cooking borscht, that mother of all Ukrainian foods. The aroma took Duke back to his grandmother and the small kitchen she ruled deep in the heart of Louisiana swampland. Unlike his friends, whose grandparents were born and raised in the South, his
baba
had come from Russia. A mail-order bride. Her English had been as good as his grandfather’s Russian, which was terrible, but somehow the two managed to live happily together for over sixty years.

Baba had cooked the traditional Ukrainian meal every Saturday, and they ate on the beet root, cabbage and tomato soup for several days thereafter. Breakfast, lunch and dinner. When anyone in the family got a cold, Baba had forced borscht down their throats, convinced the food had curative powers beyond those found in chicken noodle soup. No one had ever ended up in a hospital for anything other than broken bones. Perhaps there was something to her theory.

Mila dragged her feet as they meandered their way around crowded tables covered with checkered clothes, mounds of food and bottles of beer.

“Are you sure we don’t have time for a quick bite? Maybe a drink?”

If her voice hadn’t done the job pleading her case, her eyes would have sealed the deal. Unfortunately, they had to meet a man about a car. At least, he hoped they would meet the man. If Laramie hadn’t been able to reach his local contact from the CIA, he’d be forced to come up with a plan B on how best to get to the hotel that evening and the airport in the morning.

“Nope. We gotta keep going.”

Don’t let me down, Boy Scout. Don’t let me down.

He led her past the restrooms and into the kitchen. Heads popped up from behind sinks filled with dirty dishes and stoves topped with steaming pots and pans. They hustled through the busy room unchallenged and exited the building through the back door.

Across the dark parking lot, Duke spotted a man leaning against a car. A long stream of smoke floated from the cigarette he puffed on and then disappeared into the night sky.

“Wait here,” he said. “Let me check this out.”

Before he stepped down the short landing to the asphalt, Duke looked around the open area and patted his side. Other than the man smoking on the far end of the lot, he saw no one. His gun was still there, exactly where he wanted it to be, cocked, locked and ready to rock.

As he came closer, the car the man rested against became clearer. The vehicle was a genuine piece of crap. Boxy, four doors and built sometime in the eighties. The ugly relic of the past was painted a shade of green that could only be described as baby puke. Or at least the spots in between the areas not eaten away by rust were green. There was no way the car could have been a beauty, even when it came off the factory floor.

“You thinking about selling this thing?” Duke asked in Ukrainian to the leaning man when he got within earshot.

“It’s a junker,” the man responded, also in Ukrainian. He flicked his cigarette and stood. “But it still runs good, once you get it started.” He adjusted his cap, revealing more of his face. “It can get you where you want to go, as long as it’s not too far.”

Tall, muscular and lean, the man had a good two inches on Duke, though he wasn’t as big. He had no facial hair and the wisps peeking out from his hat appeared to be light brown, possibly a dirty blond. In the bad lighting, it was hard to tell. Overall, the man was nondescript. The perfect type for CIA.

The man kept his hands to his sides. Though he looked casual, Duke understood the stance. The man had a gun and could draw it with no problem, if needed.

“I’m looking for a guy named Paco. You heard of him?”

The name was what Laramie had told Duke to use. A common enough name in Spain, but hardly one used in Ukraine.

The man smiled. “I have. I’m his uncle Sam.”

The sequence of words was complete. He’d found his guy. Laramie had pulled through.

Duke stretched out his arm, offering his hand. “Gunnison. Former Army Special Forces.”

“Dupree. Former CIA.” He grabbed Duke’s hand and shook. “I understand you need to borrow a car for the evening.”

“That’s the way of it.”

“Then she’s all yours.” He slid his hand into his pocket, pulled out a single key on a key ring, then twirled the key around a finger. “So how do you know Laramie?”

“We’re working on an assignment together. You?”

“He’s an old coworker of mine. I owe him a favor or two.”

“Well, looks like I’m in debt to him now too.”

An all-knowing smile crossed Dupree’s face.

Favors and debts. Two ways friends were tested and things got done, especially for military types.

“I’m sure Laramie’s only doing his job. He’s a good guy, and one hell of an agent. Or he used to be. Shame he left.”

“I can’t say that I know that much about him.”

“For the sake of simplicity, let’s just say the man is about as close to a real-life James Bond as you’ll ever meet.” Dupree absentmindedly tossed the key into the air and caught it. “Laramie knows his stuff, backwards and forwards. He also knows just about everyone worth knowing. He’s a good guy to have on your side.”

So, there was more to the Boy Scout than met the eye. He’d have to ask Laramie to fill him in when they were safe in Budapest.

“Good to know. Thanks.” Duke waved Mila over. “I brought a date.”

Dupree glanced over to Mila as she navigated to where they stood.

“She’s one hell of a date. I don’t suppose she has a sister.”

“Sorry. One and done, and this one is all mine.”

When Mila arrived, they exchanged quick pleasantries, then Dupree handed Duke the key.

“Leave her in the parking lot at the airport. She’s pretty easy to spot. I’ve got another set of keys, so just put those in the glove compartment and lock her up. I doubt anyone will think twice about breaking in and stealing her. If they do, good riddance.”

“Will do.”

“There’s also a room key under the driver’s seat. You’re checked in at the hotel Laramie suggested. All you need to do is get there and park. You’re set.”

Ah, nothing better than a plan that comes together.

Duke opened the passenger door and Mila slipped in. Before walking around to the driver’s side, he once again extended his hand to Dupree.

“Thanks. I now owe
you
one.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” They shook, but Dupree held on and pulled Duke close enough to speak directly in his ear. “Be careful. If Ivanov is the guy you’re dealing with, then you’ll have your hands full. He’s a real piece of work. Nobody you want to cross hairs with. Right now he’s in the middle of a territorial battle with Dmytro Kozak, the local crime boss. Kozak isn’t as big time as Ivanov, but he’s been around a good long while. He’s not gotten as old as he is because he’s a dummy, and he’s not too keen on Ivanov trying to cut into his local business. Those gentlemen are two parts to a time bomb just waiting to explode.”

“Great. Any other sage advice?”

Dupree shifted his gaze to where Mila sat in the car and slapped Duke on the back.

“No advice, but a request. If your date decides to take someone else to the prom, be sure to give her my number.”

Duke grinned, jumped in the driver’s seat and drove away.

Lutsk wasn’t a big city. It boasted a population of over two-hundred thousand residents and had a decent enough railway station and airport, but was a far cry from Kiev and even Odessa in terms of size and prestige. Thus the hotel choices they had in town were somewhat limited, and there wasn’t much available
outside
of town for miles. Laramie, who had completed several missions in the area, knew the local landscape better and therefore called the shots. Had they all been in Crimea or eastern Ukraine, Duke’s playground, he would have taken over.

Considering how much had been accomplished in the short time he and Mila had been gone, Laramie had proven his worth. But as Duke scoped out the hotel the Boy Scout had sent them to, he couldn’t help questioning the man’s taste.

The five-story building looked like one of the original structures to the town. Old. Tired. Needing a good update, if not an entire tear-down and rebuild. Thankfully their stay was only one night. As long as the bed was soft, the sheets were clean and the shower had plenty of hot water, they would manage.

Duke located the key under the seat. He hadn’t seen anything of the like in ages. The key wasn’t a card, like most places now used. Instead it was an actual metal key attached to a thin piece of lacquered wood, the name of the hotel painted on both sides.

They entered the building from the back, the only way in aside from the front door. Avoiding the elevator, which would have forced them to get far too close to the front desk, they took the stairs up to the second floor. There, marble tiles covered the hallway floor. Heavy oil paintings of Lutsk and the countryside hung on walls covered in red velvet wallpaper. Compared to the outside, the interior appeared quite updated, albeit strong smelling. At least it looked as though it had been renovated within the last fifty years.

They quietly made their way to the room and encountered a musty smell in the stuffy air that couldn’t be ignored. As they passed a canvas laundry cart outside a maid’s closet in the corridor, he discovered where the smell was emanating from. Damp towels speckled with mold were heaped into the cart. The damn mess had to have been sitting there for ages.

“Oph! That’s disgusting.” Mila waved a hand in front of her wrinkled nose.

“True,” he agreed, holding back a gag. “Hopefully everything else in this joint is a hell of a lot cleaner.”

He let out a sigh of relief when he unlocked the door and checked their room. The antique furnishings were a little ornate for his liking, but they were in good enough. A settee and a simple chair sat not far from an old console television. Across the room was a four-poster bed outfitted with comfortable-looking bedding. Two sets of French doors leading to Juliette balconies provided a nice view to the city. And, halle-freakin-lujah, there was no smell. No mold or mildew. The room would do. God knew he’d stayed in much worse places.

After locking the door and setting the security chain in place, for all the good it would do, he made a quick search of the closet, under the bed and in the bathroom. The place was empty. No bad guys. Nothing suspicious to worry about. No dirty linens.

“It’s not too bad.” Mila picked a piece of lint from the top of the chair and examined it. “This isn’t the Ritz, but we’re only here for a few hours.” Brushing her hands, she looked around the room then stopped when her eyes found the bed. Her gaze traveled quickly from the bed to Duke and back again.

“Are the sleeping arrangements going to be a problem?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“Ah, no. Not at all.” She tossed her purse onto the chair.

The slight quiver in her voice and the lack of color on her cheeks suggested something entirely different.

She continued glancing around and zeroed in on a brochure lying on a side table. She picked it up, her hand shaking slightly.

“They have room service. Thank God. I want an order of everything. And wine. I’m dying for a glass of wine.”

“And I’ve been dying for a chance to do this.”

Duke plucked the brochure from her grasp and pitched it, not caring where it landed. He grabbed hold of her arms and drew her close, reveling in her familiar scent. She wore the same perfume as she had in Crimea. The sweet floral fragrance triggered an ache deep within, taking him back to when they had first been together. Chemistry, passion, love. They had all three in spades, and he still desired her as much as he had then.

He leaned to cover her lips with his then stopped.

Mila hadn’t moved. Nor did she make an effort to return his affection. Other than a brief shiver that rippled down her back and arms, she stood still, her breathing fast and uneven.

He placed a hand on her chin then lifted, guiding her gaze to his. He searched those light brown eyes, hoping to find some indication of her feelings. There he saw shadows of fear and uncertainly lurking in the warm depths.

She was nervous. Most likely, she didn’t trust him. He couldn’t blame her.

As badly as he wanted to taste her sweet pink lips, he simply couldn’t. Not yet. He had to move slowly.

He let go of her chin.

“This is hard for me,” she whispered on a choppy exhale.

“I know.”

“A big part of me wants to rip off your shirt and pants, and toss you onto that bed.”

That revelation caused a zip of lust to shoot directly to his groin. He’d like to rip off her shirt and pants too, and then take as much time as he liked getting reacquainted with every inch of her delectable body.

“That sounds pretty good to me, darlin’. If you make a move, I won’t try to stop you.”

She sighed. “But there’s another part of me that realizes I don’t even know who you are. I’m not even sure if Duke is your real name.”