Dangerous to Hold (34 page)

“Try not to start the party without me, Cowboy. I'll get out of here yet. Hey, I'm sitting on a couple of megatons of explosives, aren't I?”

Three startled males responded to that one simultaneously. Nate and David conceded the airwaves to Adam, who gave Maggie several explicit instructions, only one of which had to do with sitting on her hands until they got an extraction team to pull her and Worthington out of that damned hole.

Nate signed off a few seconds later, his eyes thoughtful. With a squadron of AC-130 Spectre gunships backing him up, he could hold off anything the White Wolf threw at Karistan, with plenty of firepower left over.

What he wouldn't be able to hold off was Alex's fury when he told her that the United States, in the person of Nate Sloan, was preempting every one of her options when it came to deciding Karistan's future.

There was no way he could leave that decoder in her hands, not with tensions about to escalate from here to Sunday. Nor could he stand by while Alex put herself in harm's way. She was good, too damn good, with that Enfield and that knife of hers, but she didn't have Nate's combat skills or even Maggie Sinclair's training. Somehow, he had to convince her to trust him enough to see them through the battle that was about to erupt.

Wishing Maggie was here to assist in what he feared would be a dangerous situation, Nate smiled grimly at the thought of her and Alex together. Talk about a combination of brains, beauty, and sheer determination.

When this was all over, Nate promised himself silently as he kneed Red into a gallop, he was going to enjoy watching those two meet.

 

When this was all over, Maggie promised herself a half hour later, she was never,
never,
going down into anything round and dark and sixty feet deep again.

Flattening her palms against the concrete wall behind her, she stayed as far back as possible from the edge of the narrow catwalk that circled the inside of the silo like a dog collar. Craning her neck, she peered up through the eerie greenish gloom.

Richard had managed to activate one of the auxiliary lights in the silo. It had just enough wattage to illuminate the huge, round, white-painted missile a few feet from Maggie's nose and to show the vague shadow of Richard's boots above her.

The boots were perched on the top rung of the ladder that
climbed the height of the silo. An occasional grunt told Maggie the young scientist was still wrestling with the manual levers that were supposed to open the overhead hatch when the pneudraulic systems failed.

“Any luck?” she called into the echoing murkiness. The boots swiveled on the ladder as he bent to peer down at her.

“The hatch cover won't budge.”

“Richard, be careful. Don't twist like that. You might—Oh, my God!”

Horrified, Maggie saw one of his boots slip off the rung completely. He jerked upright to clutch at the ladder, causing the other foot to lose its hold, as well. While his hands scrambled for a grip on the slippery metal, his shins whacked against the lower rungs.

Instinctively Maggie grabbed for the rung nearest to her. There were only three feet of space between the concrete wall and the gleaming surface of the missile. If she hung on to the ladder with one hand and braced the other against the missile, she might be able to break Richard's fall with her body.

“I'm…I'm okay,” he called out a moment later. “I'm coming down.”

Swallowing heavily, Maggie reclaimed her spot on the catwalk. Richard had told her that the narrow steel platform encircling the silo could be raised and lowered to allow maintenance on the missile. At this moment, however, it hovered some forty feet above ground zero, as he had ghoulishly termed it.

She edged sideways to make room for Richard on the metal platform. His face, tinted chartreuse by the light, scrunched up in frustration.

“I simply don't understand why the hatch won't open. The manual systems are completely independent of the pneudraulic lifts.”

He slumped back against the concrete wall, making Maggie quiver with the need to grab at him. Those big feet of his could slide off the narrow catwalk just as easily as the ladder.

“Can't you think of something to make it work?” she
snapped, her eye on the minuscule distance between his feet and oblivion.

“Why don't
you
think of something?” he shot back. “You got us into this. God, I can't believe I let you talk me into faking a nuclear fuel spill!”

Maggie arched a brow. “As I recall, you didn't need much talking.”

“I must have been out of my mind!” He speared a hand through his hair. “That's what happens when the endocrine system fluctuates. The overproduction of bodily fluids, particularly the hormonal serums, can upset the chemical bal—”

“Look, could we finish this discussion some other time? We've got other things to worry about right now besides your hormonal serums.”

He leaned his head back against the wall for a moment, expelling a long, slow breath. When he faced Maggie again, his green face was softened by a look of apology.

“I'm sorry, Megan. I shouldn't blame my lapse in judgment on you. I'm not usually swayed by illogic, nor do I normally indulge in irresponsible acts. But you're…well, you must know you're impossible for any man to resist. And when you mentioned this ruse might delay an attack on Karistan, I felt obligated to help.”

Maggie wasn't sure whether to be offended, flattered, or amused. Deciding on the latter, she gave him a small grin.

“Maybe you won't think it was so irresponsible or illogical when I tell you that our little ruse worked. We bought enough time for a squadron of Spectre gunships to deploy from Germany.”

His face settled into a thoughtful frown.

“I thought I heard you talking while I was up on the ladder,” he said slowly. “To receive that kind of information, I must assume you have some kind of a satellite transceiver on your person. A small, but powerful one. With at least twenty gigahertz of power to penetrate this level of concrete density.”

“Something like that.”

“Then I may also assume you're not a geologist?”

“Not even a rock collector,” she admitted.

“Who are you?”

“I can't tell you that. But I can tell you that there's a team on the way to Balminsk to get us out of here.” Her grin faded as the realities of a possible hostile extraction filtered through her mind. “I don't suppose you know how to use a .22?”

She reached under her shirt and slipped her Smith and Wesson out of the holster nestled at her waist.

“I know how to use a .22, a .38, a .45, and any caliber rifle you care to name,” Richard replied quietly.

At her quick, startled look, he lifted one shoulder. “I'm no stranger to violence. I shot a man when I was six years old. In the kneecap. By luck, more than by aim, but it disabled him enough for me to get away. I made sure luck wouldn't be a factor in my aim after that.”

Maggie stared up into his green-tinted face. Richard might have lost the tip of his pinkie when he was kidnapped as a child, but he'd gained a confidence few people would exhibit with the threat of violence staring them in the face. Without a word, she passed him the .22. He checked the magazine with careful expertise, then tucked it into his jacket pocket.

Maggie assembled the arsenal of other weapons supplied by OMEGA, then propped her shoulders against the wall beside Richard. She glanced up at the shrouded tip of the missile, shivering a bit as she thought of the warhead encased in the cone.

“Isn't it ironic that we've got all that explosive power within a few feet of us and we can't use it to blow that hatch?”

Richard followed her line of sight, then looked up at the circular steel silo cover. “I suppose we could,” he said slowly. “Blow it, I mean.”

“
What?
No, I don't think that's a good idea. Really, Richard, I was just making small talk. You know, the idle chitchat everyone indulges in when they're stuck in a nuclear missile silo.”

He pushed his shoulders off the wall and leaned over to peer down into the murky depths. “It could be done,” he murmured.

Maggie grabbed his arm and hauled him back. “Richard, listen to me! This is
not
a good idea!”

“Just how much do you know about physics, Megan?”

“I remember exactly two things from high school! One, for every action there's an equal and opposite reaction. Two…” She waved a hand wildly. “I forget the second. Richard, I swear, if you go
near
that warhead I'll…I'll…”

“I have no intention of touching the warhead.” He wrapped his hands around her upper arms. “I'm talking about imploding the pneudraulic systems. They're simply mechanisms, really. Quite similar in concept to hydraulics.”

“Oh, that helps.”

He grinned, his white teeth startling in his green-tinted face. “When gas pressure trapped in the pneudraulic cylinder expands, it forces up the lift, which in turn raises the hatch. The more gas, the greater the force when it expands.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “So?”

“So this missile has three stages. Three separate rockets, to launch the warhead into an orbital trajectory.”

“So?”

“So each of those stages has a separate motor.”

“So
what,
Richard?”

“So the motors require periodic inspection and maintenance. Which is done through their separate hatches. Which lift via pneudraulic canisters. Four per hatch.”

He gave her a little shake.

“Don't you get it? The second-stage motor is only about four feet below where we're standing. If you hang on to me while I reach over the edge of the catwalk, I can open the hatch and extract the gas canisters. I'll then insert them into the lifts for the overhead hatch cover. With that extra firepower, we can blow the lid right off this silo.”

The absolute certainty in his dark eyes almost convinced
Maggie. She glanced sideways at the white shell of the missile and repressed a shudder.

“Are you sure there won't be any, uh, secondary explosions when the lid goes?”

“Positive. That sucker will shoot straight up in the air. The energy from the canisters will expel upward with it. Trust me.”

Maggie groaned. “Oh, Richard! Don't you know those are the last two words a woman wants to hear when a man's trying to talk her into something she knows she shouldn't be doing in the first place!”

N
ate kept Red to a hard, pounding gallop. He was still some miles from the Karistani camp when he caught sight of a dim figure ahead. His jaw hardening, he urged the stallion to even greater speed.

At the sound of drumming hoofbeats behind her, Alex twisted to look over her shoulder. She couldn't fail to identify Red's distinctive silhouette, even in the gathering dusk. Realizing that there was no way her gray could outrun the faster, stronger quarter horse, she pulled her mount around.

Nate was out of the saddle in a swift, surefooted leap, and he grabbed her reins, almost jerking them out of her hands. The startled gelding tried to dance away.

“Let go of my mount!”

“No way, lady. We need to talk.”

Her mount skittered sideways, its hooves raising a small cloud of dust.

“We've talked all we're going to! Let go of the reins.”

Her angry shout added to the gray's nervousness. Jerking its head back, it reared up against Nate's hold. As Alex fought
for balance, her arm swung in a wild arc, the braided whip slicing through the air.

When the
nagaika
descended, Nate raised a forearm. The tail hissed viciously as it whipped around his jacket sleeve. With a twist of his wrist, he caught the stock in his fist and gave it a hard yank.

Tethered by the loop around her wrist, Alex tumbled out of her saddle. With a startled cry, she landed in Nate's arms.

He held her easily, despite her furious struggling, and drew her up on her toes. “Listen to me, Alex. It turns out there wasn't any spill in Balminsk. The borders are open again.”

She stopped jerking against his hold. “What? When?”

“An hour ago, maybe less.”

She stared up at him, the planes of her face stark in the rising moonlight. Her breath puffed on the cool air in little pants as she fought to take in the implications of his news.

Nate's fingers dug into her arms, unconsciously communicating his own tension. “That means the situation here could get real nasty, real quick.”

“Is that why you came after me? To warn me?”

“That's one of the reasons.”

“Or because you wanted to secure the decoder?”

“That, too,” he told her with brutal honesty. “It's not something you need to be worrying about in the middle of a firefight. Left unsecured, something like that could make matters escalate out of control.”

She went utterly still. Shock widened her eyes to huge golden pools. “Escalate? My God, do you think I would allow that to happen? That I would try to…to actually arm the warheads? Even to save Karistan?”

“Of course not, you little idiot. But hasn't it occurred to you that the White Wolf might be after something other than cattle? That he might just want to get his hands on that bit of electronic gadgetry? You may not be planning to hold the world as a nuclear hostage, but he would.”

“He couldn't.”

The absolute certainty in her voice made Nate's eyes narrow. “Why not?”

She wrenched out of his hold. “Because the device is useless. I disabled it weeks ago.”

“Come on, Alex! We're not talking about a TV remote control here. You don't just unscrew it and take out the batteries.”

In answer, she dug into her pants pocket, pulled out the small black box and heaved it at him.

“Jesus!”

Nate jumped to catch the device, fumbling it several times, like a football player bobbling a poorly thrown pass. Although his rational mind told him there was no possibility of any disaster occurring if he dropped the thing, his subconscious wasn't taking any chances.

Alex watched his performance with a tight, derisive smile. “For your information, it
is
very similar to a TV remote control. I contacted an acquaintance—actually, the son of an acquaintance—and he told me how to open the casing and remove the transistors.”

“I don't believe this! You've been talking about nuclear devices with the son of an acquaintance!”

“Richard's a brilliant young physicist and engineer.”

“Richard?” Nate froze, the decoder clutched in both hands.

“Dr. Richard Worthington.”

“How do you know him?” He rapped the words, his mind racing with all kinds of wild possibilities.

“Not that it's any of your business, but his mother bought some of my early designs when I was just launching my own line. She invited me to their home—more of a fortress, really—and Richard had dinner with us. When I came back to Karistan, I called him for advice. He arranged to be part of the UN team so he could assess the situation and give me some suggestions regarding the nuclear reduction treaty.”

“Why in hell would you trust him, when you don't trust the representatives of the State Department?”

“Maybe because he has some ideas for Karistan's future that don't include growing rice!”

“Christ!” Nate muttered, hefting the black box in his hand. “I can't believe it. You've been bluffing all along. Remind me to stake you in poker against Willie one of these days. You'd clean him out.”

She sent him a look of mingled resentment and wariness. “I only need a few more days. Just until Richard gets here.”

It was as close as someone with her proud background would come to begging, Nate realized. She still simmered with anger over his deception, still eyed him with wariness and resentment, yet she would put aside her personal feelings in the face of the responsibilities she carried. The tightness around Nate's chest ratcheted up another notch.

Slowly, he held out his hand. As she reached for the small device, his fingers wrapped around hers.

“Even if I wanted to give you those few days, Alex, I can't. I'm not the only one who's called your bluff. The White Wolf has, too. If the reports I got tonight are accurate, you've just run out of time.”

Her face paled, and Nate lifted their intertwined hands until hers rested on his breastbone.

“You're not alone in this. Not by a long shot. There's backup firepower on the way. And until it arrives, I'm going to take a real active role in the camp's defense.” His hand tightened around hers. “I want your word you'll do exactly as I say, at least until help arrives.”

“I can't just turn over leadership of the host to you! Not now, not when…”

“I'm not asking you to abrogate your responsibilities. I know you wouldn't, in any case. But I've got more experience in what's coming down. Let me do this. Let me help you, Alex.”

She tugged at her hand. “Why? Why should you do this? You accomplished your mission. You got what you came for. Why don't you get out of here while you can?”

“Oh, no, Alex. I'm not leaving. And I haven't got everything I came for. Not by a long shot.”

He stood a heartbeat away, his face tipped with shadows and his long body radiating a tension that matched hers.

“I didn't realize when I rode onto the steppes that I was looking for you, Alexandra Danilova. I sure as hell didn't know I'd find you. But I was, and I did. And now that I have, I'm not about to lose you.”

 

They rode back to camp at a fast, ground-eating gallop.

Her mind whirling, Alex tried to absorb everything she'd learned, everything she'd felt, in the past few hours. The thought of Americans coming to Karistan's aid sent a rush of relief through her, tinged with the faintest touch of bitterness. Relief that her ragged band of warriors would have assistance in whatever occurred tonight. Bitterness that, once the crisis was over, the gunships would return to their base and Karistan would again face an uncertain future.

Alex didn't pretend to be any kind of an expert in world affairs, but she knew that this tiny country couldn't claim a superpower's attention for very long. There were too many crises all over the world, too many trouble spots erupting into war. U.S. forces were spread thin as it was. She couldn't expect them to stay in Karistan, not without an inducement.

The only inducement for keeping the West's attention on Karistan, the only bargaining chip she'd had, was those missiles and the wild card of the decoder. She'd played that wild-card as long as she could, knowing someone might call her bluff at any moment.

Someone had.

She slanted a quick glance at the man beside her. His face was taut with concentration, his eyes were narrowed on the dark plains ahead. He absorbed the impact of Red's pounding stride with an unconscious coordination.

Alex tried to whip up some of the anger and resentment she'd felt when she left the plateau outside the cave. The sense
of betrayal. The conviction that Nate had used her to get to the decoder.

She made a moue of disgust at her own choice of terms. Nate was right. He hadn't used her, any more than she had used him. They'd come together in a shattering explosion of need that had nothing to do with his mission to Karistan and everything to do with the attraction that arced between them. Had arced since the first moment they'd faced each other at either end of her rifle.

Alex had told herself she wanted to draw from his strength, if only for a few hours. Take comfort in his gentleness, if only for an afternoon. But now, with the world about to explode around them, she could admit that a few hours hadn't been enough. Not anywhere near enough.

He'd promised that they'd finish what was between them when this was all over. Alex tucked that promise away in a corner of her heart, knowing that it would give her something to hold on to in the desperate hours ahead.

 

When they rode into camp, the horses lathered and blowing, she felt a sharp sense of disorientation. The muffled laughter and sounds of singing took her by surprise. It took her a moment to remember that when she left, Anya had been happily rolling out pastries and Ivana had gone to collect honeycombs. So much had happened in the past few hours that the bright, sunny morning filled with the promise of a reprieve seemed a lifetime ago.

“So, cousin,” Katerina called out, coming forward. “It is time you returned.”

Her dark eyes shifted to Nate and seemed to go flat and hard for a moment. Alex dragged the reins over the gray's head, preparing to inform her cousin this was not the time for jealousies between them, but then the younger woman gave a small, defeated sigh.

“We have meat roasting, and fresh bread,” she said, her shoulders sagging. “Come, you must be hungry.”

“There's no time to eat,” Alex responded. “We have news
from the east, and it's not good. Tell Dimitri I must speak with him, if you would, and spread word for the men to gather their weapons. I'll meet with everyone in the square in ten minutes.”

She turned to pass the reins to one of the men who'd appeared at her side. For an instant, the enormity of what was about to happen washed over her. Her hand trembled, the leather leads shook.

A strong, steady hand took the reins from her grasp. Giving both Red and the gray into the care of the waiting man, Nate stood before her.

“Remember, you're not alone in this.”

She flashed him a quick, uncertain look.

“You'll never be alone again, Alex,” he told her quietly, then took her arm and turned her toward the camp. “Let's go talk to Dimitri.”

The gray-bearded lieutenant listened without comment as Alex quickly outlined the situation.

“So,” she finished, “if the White Wolf leads a force of any size into Karistan, these Spectre gunships with their infrared scopes will detect them and give us warning. If only small bands come, from different directions, as they have done in the past, they'll be more difficult to detect. Then we must rely, as we have before, on our sentries to signal the alert and our men to hold the camp until Nate calls in the air cover.”

“We can hold them off until the gunship arrives,
ataman.
” Although Dimitri spoke to Alex, his eyes were on the man standing at her shoulder.

With a wry smile, Alex translated his words for Nate. Since the moment the aged lieutenant had joined them, she'd felt the subtle shift of power from her to Nate. Not so much a lessening of her authority as a recognition that another shared it. Dimitri knew these gunships would come because of the man beside her. He understood that the
Amerikanski
could control and direct their firepower. Whether she wanted to or not, she now shared the burden that had been given her.

As the two men bent over the sketches Alex had drawn of the camp's defenses, Katerina stepped out of the shadows.

“What if we do not fight with the men of Balminsk?”

“What are you saying?” Alex asked sharply.

“What if we give them that which they seek? What if we end this ceaseless feud?”

“You would have me just hand over our cattle? Our grazing lands?”

“We…the women…we don't wish to see more bloodshed. We want none of this, 'Zandra.”

“It's only this night, Katerina. Just this night. You'll be safe. You'll go to the ice caves, with the other women, until it's over.”

She shook her head. “It is already over. We don't wish to live like this anymore. We take the children and we leave in the morning for the lowlands.”

Alex felt Nate's presence behind her.

“Do we have a problem?”

Slowly, her heart aching, Alex translated for him.

 

For Alex, the few hours were a blur of tension and terror, relief and regret.

Nate organized the men. Petr Borodín, who had won renown and a chestful of medals for his activities as a saboteur during World War II, took fiendish delight in helping Nate plant what he called perimeter defenses.

Dimitri sent men with flares and weapons to guard the cattle, while others saddled the horses and tied their reins in strings of six, as had the Cossacks of old, to make it easier to lead them through battle if necessary.

Mikhail and a heavily armed squad shepherded the women and children to the protection of the ice cave…all except Katerina, who refused to leave. She would stay, she insisted, because she was of Karistan. For this night, at least.