The waiter bowed. “Of course, ma’am.”

  She finished the rest of her coffee and rose, eying the area from behind her sunglasses. She spotted no one suspicious, but if they were well trained, she shouldn’t be able to. Only her new agent knew she was here today, and it had her concerned someone had intercepted him and forced him to reveal where she was. If she had gone in to take that call, would she have been killed or captured, out of sight of the throngs on the street?

  She slung her purse over her shoulder and reached inside, gripping her sidearm as she walked toward where she had parked. Someone whistled to her right and she turned her head slightly, her eyes doing the rest of the work, and when she saw who it was, she wasn’t sure whether she should be pissed off or relieved.

  The young agent who was to have met her fifteen minutes ago, was standing in the shadows of an alley. He beckoned her deeper into the darkness, and she turned to follow. She wasn’t worried. She trusted him, and he had given no indication he was in trouble, which suggested he wasn’t the bait for a trap. She stepped into the alleyway and peered into the shadows.

  “Over here, ma’am.”

  She made her way deeper into the rapidly darkening alley and found him standing over a hog-tied body.

  “I was on my way to meet you when I spotted this guy paying a little too much attention to you. I did a walk by and felt he was carrying. I lifted his wallet and it shows he’s working for the Russians. I know we’re not technically adversaries anymore, however, from what I’ve heard about you, you were certainly a thorn in their side for quite a few years, and maybe one of them from the old days recognized you and decided to get some overdue justice.”

  She took the wallet and checked the ID. Then chuckled. “Arkady?”

  The man grunted an affirmative through his gag.

  “Let him up. He’s an old friend.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The young agent cut Arkady’s bonds then helped him to his feet. Arkady tore the rag out of his mouth, a rag unfortunately made from one of his shirt sleeves.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  Arkady brushed himself off as best he could. “I most certainly am not! I’ve been humiliated!”

  She laughed again. “I thought you’d be used to that by now.”

  Arkady glared at her, then burst out laughing. He stepped forward, his arms extended, and grabbed her. They hugged each other for a moment, still laughing, pleasant memories flooding through both of them, she was sure. They let go and she stepped back, motioning toward him. “Meet Arkady Gudonov. He was one of our assets in Moscow for years. We met more times than I care to remember.”

  The young man bowed his head. “I’m sorry, sir. I just saw you eyeballing her a little too closely.”

  Arkady turned to the young man. “I hadn’t seen her in at least twenty years.” He returned his gaze toward her. “You’ve changed your hair. I wasn’t sure if it was you, that’s why I was staring so intently. The next thing I know, this son of a bitch has a gun pressed against my ribs, takes me in here, pistol whips me, hog-ties me, and stuffs my mouth with my own damn shirt. Is that any way to greet an old friend?”

  She shrugged. “It depends on that friend’s intentions. The last time I saw you was in my bed, and the next morning you were gone without a word.”

  He smiled sheepishly. “Those were different times.”

  “Yes, they were. Now, Arkady, I have business with this young man, but why don’t you call my hotel later? I’m staying at the Poem, room three-oh-eight.”

  “It’ll be my pleasure.” He eyed her agent. “Will he be there?”

  She smiled. “One never knows where men like him are at any given moment.”

  Arkady tilted his head back. “Ah, I see. He’s one of those.” He held his hand out to the young agent. “Thank you for not killing me.”

  The man shook Arkady’s hand, smiling. “Thank you for not resisting and making me.”

  Arkady roared with laughter and let go of the man’s hand, heading back to the street. He glanced over his shoulder at her. “I’ll call you this evening. We’ll have dinner.”

  “Looking forward to it.” She held out her hand to the young man. “Perhaps now, we can formally meet?”

  He smiled, taking her hand. “Dylan Kane, ma’am. Pleased to meet you.”

  47 |

  Unknown Location Present Day

  Thorn groaned. Her head pounded and her mouth was dry, the after-effects of whatever it was they had injected her with still lingering. Something had woken her up, and a stinging cheek suggested the cause.

  “Wake up!”

  Her face stung anew and her ears rang as she was smacked hard on the cheek, a familiar feeling from her past, and definitely what had woken her. She kept her eyes closed and pretended she was still barely conscious as she used her other senses to gather as much information as she could about her current situation. The smell of jet fuel was gone, replaced by an almost sterile odor. She caught a waft of something just before she was smacked again. Whoever was waking her up had particularly bad taste in cologne.

  It told her he was either single, or his partner was in her teens or early twenties. The overly powerful floral scent, so heavy it overwhelmed the senses with a sickly aftertaste, was popular among that crowd, exacerbated by spraying it on so thick, it would water the eyes of those around them. Perfumes weren’t meant for you to enjoy, it was for those around you. And she had learned early on in her youth that just because she couldn’t smell the perfume didn’t mean others couldn’t. There was nothing worse than getting on an elevator with someone who didn’t understand that a couple of sprays were enough.

  Her interrogator, whoever it was, had poor taste, but at least hadn’t soaked himself in it. In this business, it was never wise to wear a distinctive scent recognizable days, weeks, or even months later, because typically one wore the same cologne or perfume repeatedly, and one’s body’s reaction to the scent would alter it in a distinctive way, like a fingerprint, identifying you long past some critical encounter. She wore perfumes herself, but she owned dozens, and always traveled with at least half a dozen different selections. If she were on a mission, she never wore them, and varied her body care products, using different shampoos, conditioners, and lotions.

  It was a bit of a pain in the ass, but it helped protect her.

  She was struck again, the agitation in her assailant’s voice growing, the strength of the smack even more so. The sounds of the airport were gone, and she had to assume she had reached whatever destination was to be her final resting place. But there was nothing more to be gained by being hit yet again. She opened her eyes. “I’m awake.”

  A gruff-looking man with chiseled features stepped back, frowning at her through his Clooney-length beard. He was wearing a tight black t-shirt that revealed his rippling muscles and too many tattoos that revealed his history. He was clearly Russian from the Cyrillic writing revealed just below the neckline of his shirt, and half a tattoo visible just below his left sleeve indicated he was current or former Spetsnaz.

  Not someone to be messed with.

  Spetsnaz were Russia’s elite counter-terrorism unit, essentially their version of Delta. And while she believed Delta was better trained, the advantage Spetsnaz had over any NATO Special Forces unit, was that they had no rules of engagement. They wouldn’t hesitate to kill anyone in their way, civilian casualties simply not a concern for them. They were willing to blunder into a situation and attempt to resolve it quickly rather than successfully, a prime example the Moscow theater hostage situation, where the Spetsnaz unit that gassed the theater to knock out the terrorists ended up killing over 200 of the hostages instead. It was something NATO Special Forces would never do.

  But none of that mattered at this moment. All that mattered was that if she were indeed in the hands of Spetsnaz, or mercenaries that had once been members of the brutal unit, she could expect no mercy. That could play to her advantage or disadvantage, depending on what outcome she wanted. If they intended to torture her, they wouldn’t hold back, and she wouldn’t outlast them while hoping for a rescue. But she could also use that to break early and give them false intel that might delay things.

  The door opened to the small bare room she was in. It was too clean, too orderly, for it to have been purpose-built. If anything, it appeared to be a room in a modern office building. She examined the room carefully, taking in everything from the light switches to the electrical outlets, everything confirming she was where she expected.

  Russia.

  A man entered, as equally menacing in appearance as her malodorous captor, however sporting a broad smile, no doubt meant to put her at ease before he would startle her with a sudden change in demeanor. He would alternate between those moods, trying to break her mentally, so she’d want to defy one persona to satisfy the other. Fortunately, she was trained for this, and would be ready for it.

  “Beverly Thorn. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

  She straightened herself in her chair. “Should I know you?”

  “My name might have passed your desk at some point, but I won’t take offense should you not recognize it.”

  “How can I recognize it if you haven’t told it to me?”

  He laughed. “I suppose there’s no harm in telling you. My name is Pavel Alexandrovich Borodin.”

  A chill ran through her for two reasons. One, the fact he had given her his name meant he had no intention of leaving her alive, and two, she did indeed recognize the name.

  “Colonel Borodin?”

  His arms spread wide and he smiled. “Ah, so you have heard of me. All good things, I trust.”

  She frowned. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say that.”

  The fact was, she had read nothing good about the man, beyond that the Russian leadership loved him. He had been a fixer. He and his team would be sent into the worst of situations. Not to resolve them peacefully, but to simply eliminate the problem. And often the problem included people remembering what had happened, so witnesses became casualties as well.

  But there was one thing she knew about him that she wasn’t sure of what to make.

  “I thought you had retired.”

  He smiled, revealing a single gold tooth where his left lateral incisor should be. It was a distinct feature any good spy would never have—you never wanted to be recognizable. Only people who intended to kill anyone who might recognize them later would have such an indulgence.

  “I decided that the pension provided by my previous position was insufficient.”

  It was a common problem in the Russian Army, where poor pay led to retention issues for some time in the post-Soviet Union era. At one point, they even had trouble paying their troops at all. For the average Russian soldier, that didn’t necessarily mean much when the prospects outside of the military were worse than within, but for a highly trained Special Forces operator such as Borodin, his skills were in demand around the world.

  The question now was who he was working for. Just because he had retired from the Russian military didn’t mean he wasn’t still working for the Russians. If Red Eagle had indeed taken the money already, then it wouldn’t be out of the question for the Russian President to hire men like this to recover the money, since he had stolen it from the Russian people, and wouldn’t want that to become known within official channels.

  “So, Colonel, who’s paying you today?”

  His smile broadened as he wagged a finger. “Nice try, madam, but I’ll be asking the questions today. Now, where is Red Eagle?”

  “Who?”

  He frowned, shaking his head. “Don’t for a moment think just because you’re a woman of a more advanced age, that I won’t unleash my man on you.”

  Her assailant’s hands balled into fists as he sucked in a noisy breath through his nose.

  She ignored the intimidation tactic and instead shrugged. “Beat me if you want, but I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”

  “You and I are both aware that you recruited Red Eagle in the early eighties. Eighty-three to be exact.”

  She hid her surprise at how good his intel was. “Did I now? Why don’t you tell me who Red Eagle is, and maybe I’ll be able to tell you if that’s true?”

  He glared at her, any hint of his former smile gone. “Like I said, I’ll be asking the questions.”

  She shrugged again. “If you’re not willing to tell me who we’re talking about, you can beat me until the cows come home, but it will do you no good. You told me his codename is Red Eagle, assuming he is a he. So, if I’m supposed to know who he is, what harm is there in telling me his name?”

  “His name is irrelevant. All I want to know is where I can find him.”

  She suppressed a smile. If he knew Red Eagle’s name, he would have said it. There was no point withholding that piece of information. If anything, it would strengthen his hand, as it would indicate they actually knew who Red Eagle was, rather than some accidentally discovered codename. If they didn’t know his name, then they knew nothing about him.

  The reference to when she had recruited him could be a guess, however, it was accurate. It had been 1983. The fact he knew that suggested the Soviets had been aware of Red Eagle in and around the time he had become active. But the fact they didn’t have a name meant they knew little else. This bit of intel strengthened her hand. It meant without her, they had no hope of finding him. The question she had was how had they found her? They knew exactly where she would be and when, and very few knew those details of her meeting with Morrison.

  “How did you find me?”

  Borodin sighed, exasperated. “How many times do I have to tell you, I’m the one asking the questions?” He looked at her assailant and flicked a finger at her. A right cross was swiftly delivered to her jaw, no quarter shown, the pain radiating through her skull as her world faded away.

  48 |

  Approaching Helsinki, Finland

  Kane stretched as the flight attendant, a fully vetted CIA staffer, woke him and Sherrie thirty minutes before landing. He yawned as he assessed his surroundings, something he did even at home.

  “Can I get either of you anything?”

  He patted his stomach. “Whatever you can rustle up that might be mistaken for a breakfast. I doubt we’re going to have time to grab anything once we hit the ground.”

  “Right away.” She disappeared into the galley as Kane activated his comm.

  “Control, this is Rabble-rouser. Status report, over.”

  Leroux’s welcome voice replied. “We’ve got one piece of juicy intel for you that you’re going to like.”

  Kane sat upright, his excitement apparently evident as Sherrie perked up as well. “Control, jack in Valkyrie so she can hear this, over.”

  “Just a second. Valkyrie, can you hear me?”

  “Five-by-five,” said Sherrie, giving a thumbs-up.

  “So, what do you have for us,” asked Kane.

  “A possible destination.”

  “I thought we already knew they had headed to St. Petersburg.”

  “Yes, we did, but we were assuming the reason they went there was because it was the only international flight out of Helsinki heading for Russia. Remember, their first escape attempt had them heading to Warsaw, though we suspected they would change their destination in the air.”

  “So, what’s this new bit of intel?”

  “During his interrogation, Wiltshire revealed he had illegally accessed the Handler Files.”

  Kane tensed. The Handler Files were extremely confidential, containing all of the details of what agents they were responsible for, foreign assets, aliases, and expenses. Only on extremely rare occasions, usually when something had gone horribly wrong, were they ever accessed. “How many?”

  “He’s only admitting to Thorn’s, but we don’t know if he’s trying to protect himself.”

  “What was he looking for in her file?”

  “Anything that might lead to Red Eagle’s identity. As soon as the Director found out, he gave me ‘my eyes only’ access to the financials.”

  Kane whistled as he leaned back. Every penny had to be accounted for in the CIA, though much of it was never revealed publicly. But internally, they had to know where the money was going and who was spending it for what. A smile spread as he realized exactly what Leroux must have discovered. “She bought a plane ticket, didn’t she?”

  “She did, and it was on the exact same flight we believe she actually went out on.”

  “You’re kidding me,” exclaimed Sherrie. “That’s quite the coincidence.”

  Kane shook his head. “Not really. Remember, there was only the one flight all day.”

  “Did she have anything else booked leaving St. Petersburg?”

  “Later today. She was supposed to overnight in St. Petersburg, and then she had a late flight to Warsaw.”

  Kane chewed his cheek as he parsed this new information. “So, that means she must be meeting Red Eagle today.”

  “Yes, unless we’re completely misinterpreting all this.”

  Kane shook his head. “I don’t think you are. It makes perfect sense. Time was of the essence here.”

  “But none of this tells us who Red Eagle is, does it?” Sherrie shifted to face him. “St. Petersburg is a big place. There’s no way we’re going to find him there. Hell, we don’t even know what he looks like.”

  “No,” agreed Kane. “We need to find Thorn. Any progress on that?”

  “We’ve been trying to track the hostiles in St. Petersburg, but it’s a slow process. There are not as many cameras there. We’ve got somebody on the ground that’s trying to track her down.”

  Kane checked his watch. “I don’t see any reason for us to land in Helsinki. Any chance of getting us rerouted to St. Petersburg?”

  “Not without it raising all kinds of red flags. There is today’s flight that’ll be leaving in about three hours. We can book you on that, or we can try to get a private charter arranged.”

  Kane mulled over the options for a moment. “A last-minute private charter might raise questions too. Get us a couple of tickets and have Delta on stand-by. Any chance of getting a couple of them in with us?”

 

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