Deeper Than Red (Red Returning Trilogy) (26 page)

A few blocks before the apartment they called a safe house, which Felix found laughable for the ease with which he’d found it, the girl ducked into a small, leafy park. He paused at the entrance to it and watched her exit onto a sidewalk a half block away. Racing to the corner she’d just turned, he suddenly lurched to a halt. At the curb just ahead of him, she’d stopped at a small navy-blue sedan. She now flung open the passenger door and crawled inside. The door closed and Felix knew he had no means to follow, but the car didn’t move.

From the back of it, Felix could only see the dark profile of a man turned to face the girl. As Felix hung back behind shrubbery at the edge of the park, he watched the two in the car talk, their attention often drifting to those who passed by them. Moments later, the girl got out and resumed her hurried pace along the sidewalk. But not before Felix saw her slip something inside the bag slung over her shoulder. It appeared to be a packet of some sort.

Desperate to identify the driver, Felix was about to risk stepping into the open when, during a lull in the traffic, the car pulled from the curb, did an immediate U-turn, and headed Felix’s way, the driver’s side now facing him. Even partially hidden behind leafy branches, he had no trouble recognizing the man at the wheel.

Maxum Morozov!

T
ravis Noland had barely launched Tuesday’s seamless agenda when his secretary appeared at the open door, a large envelope in her hand. The president only glanced her way, then back at the documents awaiting his signature. When he didn’t hear anything from her, he looked back. “Rona?”

Only when she raised the envelope for his attention did the chill set in. She approached his desk and laid the envelope squarely before him. A diplomatic pouch from the Russian Embassy. There was no need to feign indifference with Rona Arant. She’d served too long beside him in the trenches, including this one. “I’ll be at my desk, sir.” She hesitated only a moment for a response, which didn’t come. “I’ll hold your calls,” she added, then left, closing the door behind her.

He stared down at the envelope marked like the other one:
Of personal interest to the President of the United States.
The same handwriting, same elegant stationery. Drawing a long, stabilizing breath, he broke the seal and withdrew one folded page, its edges sharp as he opened it and read:

The president read it once more then laid it calmly on his desk and rose. Moving to the window behind him, he looked toward the Capitol, though he couldn’t see the sun-washed dome, the majestic mount. The
temple!

How many presidents before had declared war? How many fought an enemy they couldn’t find? Travis Noland pounded a fist into his open palm.
But God willing, we will!

The president returned to his desk and grabbed the phone. “Rona, get Salabane and Bragg in here immediately. And tell them to—”

“Sir, Director Salabane just arrived. He’s waiting to see you.”

“Send him in. But I need Bragg, too.”

FBI Director Rick Salabane wasted no time reaching the president. Closing the door firmly behind him, he approached Noland, now seated at the desk. “Sir, we have just received reliable intelligence regarding Ivan Volynski.”

The president couldn’t mask his surprise, but rebounded quickly. “Go ahead, Rick.”

For the next few minutes, the director related the reconnaissance efforts of Henry Bower and the name of the person he’d overheard Vandoren address by phone.
Ivan.

The president felt strangely relieved for even scant confirmation related to the cryptic messages he’d already received. He chose to withhold news of the most recent one until Salabane was finished.

“Our agents have sent the hazmat suit to Miami for testing, and we’re tracking surveillance cameras for a tractor-trailer rig leaving the vicinity about five this morning. Only problem is, Anhinga Bay doesn’t have a camera. We’re having to estimate departure time, speed, and direction—north or south, no other way to head from there—and try to catch up with the rig at the next available camera. But we’ve got no license number and not much of a description. We do have every weigh station in and outside of the Keys ordered to inspect every rig.”

“You believe it’s a bomb?”

“Our agents down there sure do, sir.”

“What’s happening with Vandoren?”

Salabane shook his head. “It’s best we just hover and watch him right now. I know that’s hard, but we can’t afford to send in the troops and run him off. He’s our pathway to Ivan, who could be anywhere on the planet with his finger on the trigger. No, for now we just watch Vandoren. He’ll make a move soon, I’m sure.”

The president squinted at a spot on the ceiling, then at Salabane. “And Henry Bower got close enough to hear him call Ivan’s name,” he repeated.

“That’s right, sir. It seems Bower exhibited more initiative than our agents.” Noland heard the irritation.

“But Liesl’s not theirs,” Noland reminded him, then stood up. “Regarding that, I want her and Max Morozov on immediate lockdown, wherever they are. They’ll scream and kick, but do it. Tell them it’s only temporary.”

The president pulled the envelope he’d received that morning from his drawer. “Now, there’s something you need to see.” The president handed over the single page of … what? Rambling verse? The babble of a fool? No. Travis Noland knew exactly what it was. His phantom brother’s declaration of war.

A
fter watching Erica wind her way out of the Holocaust memorial, Max returned to the others still in the museum below ground.

“Is she all right?” Liesl asked when he approached.

“Oh, sure. She’s not feeling well, I guess. All this was too much for her.” He noticed Cade looking curiously at him. “Anything wrong?” Max asked him.

“How much does she know about you? What you and Ben do?”

Max shook his head. “Nothing. She thinks all the guards are for us celebrities.” He laughed faintly.

“Why do you ask?” Liesl asked her husband, her arm locked through his.

Cade seemed to weigh his words, then opt for a simple. “Just curious.”

Max was about to press him on that when one of the guards clamped a firm hand on his shoulder and urged him aside.

“Sir, we have to leave now. I just got orders to move you and Miss Bower to cover immediately.”

“What’s going on?” Max demanded with alarm.

“I’m not at liberty to say right now, sir. Just come with us. There’s a car waiting.”

Max turned to see the other guard speaking with Liesl. He saw the same shock in her face as she turned it toward Cade first, then Max. He motioned for her to comply.

Bypassing the elevator from the museum, the guards ushered them up the stairs and made them wait inside the door until an all-clear signal came from someone outside. The same car and driver that had whisked them from the airport now waited in the street, its engine running, an agent stationed outside the vehicle.

When they arrived at the apartment, Ben and Anna were already there. Erica was not. “Either one of you seen Erica?” Max asked tightly. His annoyance at her behavior had turned to fear for her being out there alone, especially now, though he still didn’t know the cause for this dash to safety.

Ben motioned for Max to follow him into his and Anna’s bedroom at the end of the hall. “What’s going on?” Max asked once they were alone, but his ear was tuned to the front door. Surely she’d return soon.

“It’s looking more like a WMD loose in the States, coming out of that little hole in the Keys, they think. They also ‘think’ they’ve traced a still-breathing Ivan there.” Ben frowned. “Too much half information for my taste, but the feds are all over it now. Ava too. I just got off the phone with her.” Ben rubbed his forehead. “You won’t believe who uncovered all that.”

Max waited, in no mood to entertain a guess.

“Liesl’s dad,” Ben said straightaway.

“What!” Max reacted too loudly.

Ben hushed him, then added. “And Cade’s grandfather.”

Seconds later, a knock came at the door, and Max was sure who it was. “You might as well explain it to her,” he sighed. “She’ll know soon enough.”

Ben opened the door to find Liesl standing with her arms folded, her expression ironclad. “This is going to end,” she said. “You’re both too big for a secret clubhouse. Now tell me what’s happening?”

Ben gathered her, Anna, and Cade into the bedroom and closed the door. The guards didn’t need to hear it all. Ben and Max unfolded the gist of the last twenty-four hours in the Florida Keys, ending with the surprise intervention of two familiar fishermen.

Liesl and Cade reacted as expected. Drop-mouthed and unbelieving. “Dad?” Liesl cried. “Ian?” Both hands flew to her face, as if she suddenly had to support her head. “How did they … What did they …”

Cade stopped her with a steady grip on her arm, then turned squarely on Ben. “Are they hurt?” his tone demanded. Max had not heard that from him before.

“No,” Ben said.

“Are they in danger?” Cade asked, still focused hard on Ben.

“Not if they pull out of there and let the FBI do their work.”

Cade openly searched Ben’s face. After a moment, he said, “They’re not going anywhere. I don’t know what led them to that particular place, but my guess is they’re on a mission to save Liesl. And probably you, too, Max.”

Max looked curiously at him. “How do you know that?”

“No one knows my grandfather like I do.” He looked deep into Liesl’s eyes. “And Henry Bower would leap into hell itself to save his daughter.” He looked between Ben and Max. “They’re bloodhounds, both of them. And nobody’s getting them off the scent.”

Liesl moved toward the window and looked out. Max watched her head bow slightly and knew she was praying. He wondered at the change that had come over her, this drawing close to a god whom Max had always considered remote.

A door slammed in the living room.

Max jumped as if jerked from sleep.
Erica!

“Excuse me,” he uttered and left the room, the door open. She was crossing toward the kitchen when he emerged from the hall. She stopped and seemed to cautiously judge his expression, then peered around him, looking surprised at those gathered in the bedroom behind him. He scrambled for an excuse, knowing he couldn’t share the recent conversation with her. She would have to know they were on lockdown, though. What would that do to her? Send her packing?

“Erica, there’s been a development in this, uh, perceived threat to Liesl’s safety, and perhaps mine. I can’t share the details with you, and I know this whole security thing has upset you, even sent you running away this afternoon.”

She raised a small hand. “No, Max. I told you I just didn’t feel well. I even stopped on the way here to buy aspirin.” She fished a new bottle from her bag and held it up as if he might require evidence. “Just a headache, though.”

Max tried to read her, but couldn’t. He wondered if he ever had, accurately. Or only what he’d wanted to read.

“What are you all doing?” she asked directly.

“Discussing what to do next.”

“About what?”

Max shook his head. There was no point in soft-footing it. “We have to remain here under guard for a while. Maybe a day or so.”

“Why?”

“You deserve to know that, Erica, but I can’t tell you.”

“There seems to be a lot of things you can’t tell me.”

He watched her closely, but didn’t respond.

“You can’t tell me what you do at night when you’re not teaching lessons or rehearsing. You can’t tell me where you go sometimes on weekends, or why Ben Hafner leaves you texts at odd hours of the night. You can’t—”

“Wait a minute.” Something sparked inside him. “How would you know that?”

She answered without so much thought. “You showed me a photo he sent from the beach one time, then got up to check on dinner. I shouldn’t have, I guess, but I was just scrolling through when I noticed the times of other texts.”

Max was dumbfounded. Was the Mossad’s new recruit really so stupid as to leave his phone in someone else’s hands. But he couldn’t remember doing it. When did that happen? But look at her. She’s so innocent. Aggravated, but innocent.

“Erica, if you’d like to leave, I’ll arrange it. None of this concerns you. I’m so sorry I dragged you into it.”

As if something inside her tripped a switch, her mood suddenly and unexpectedly brightened. She moved quickly toward him and wrapped her arms around his neck, then kissed him gently. “I don’t want to leave,” she purred. “I just want you to be as truthful with me as you can.” She kissed him again, this time with unabashed longing.

There was a stirring at the doorway to the back bedroom, and Erica released Max, who found himself slightly teetering. Smiling impishly, she said, “I’ll make sandwiches for everyone.” But as she turned toward the kitchen, Max caught her hand.

“I’m serious about you going home,” he said. “It might be best for your safety.”

But she stood her ground. Arching one eyebrow, she asked, “Pastrami or roast beef?”

After a light dinner that night, no one was in the mood for much conversation. Liesl and Cade retired early and shut their bedroom door. Anna and Ben lingered a bit with Max while Erica took a shower.

Max wanted to show Ben the latest photos from the mine site in the Urals, these sent by Mossad to Max’s computer that afternoon. He hurried back to the bedroom he shared with one of the guards to retrieve it from under his bed. He reached for the handle of his briefcase, but no handle was there. He’d stored the case flat on the floor with the handle facing out. The case was still there, but reversed, and the handle now faced the wall.

I
van wheeled himself onto the forward deck, resisting his crew’s efforts to help him. More than anyone else, they knew the rapid acceleration of the disease. One hand now useless, escalating weakness in all the limbs, weight loss. Each day, the tremors, twitching, and drooling grew worse, the breathing more ragged. There was trouble swallowing, occasional choking. Only his German physician administered professional care, sending prescriptions, medical-supply orders, and instructions for Ivan’s care to the two stewards who tended his needs. They would make port often enough to restock, though Ivan never went ashore, never appeared on deck until they’d returned to sea.