Ekaterina (28 page)

She couldn’t believe that the man who she had prayed would be in the hallway when she opened the door wasn’t going to come to her rescue and be the hero she wanted him to be. Not the bossy, arrogant FSB cop, but the man who’d sat by her bedside and cried, the man who’d kissed her, gently, igniting a blaze of hope in her chest.

The man she was starting to love.

“Where’s Vadeem?”

Ryslan said nothing as he started the car and pulled away from the curb, his meaty hands gripping the wheel.

She fisted her hands in her lap and clenched her teeth. She didn’t know what made her angrier, that Vadeem hadn’t even valued their budding relationship to see beyond yesterday’s slammed door to the woman who needed him, or that her heart had run out ahead of her, betraying her to fall for the one man she could never have.

Tears stung her eyes. She blinked them back, watching the buildings ramble by as they made their way toward the Kremlin. . and away from the airport.

“Where are we going?”

Ryslan filled the front seat with bullish presence, and a profile that made her wince. Clearly freshly shaven, she noticed scratches along his neck as if he’d wrestled a broom and came out the loser.

She blinked at him, not believing the thought she’d conjured up, praying it couldn’t be true. She leaned forward in her seat, noticing for the first time a silver ring on his right hand. Then he exhaled and she got a good whiff of his morning beverage.

She didn’t have to close her eyes to know where she’d smelled that before. Nor did she have to invoke the memory of the low growl that still made cold fear rush down her spine. He confirmed her worst suspicions himself.

“Now, where were we when you so rudely took off?”

-

Vadeem stood at the gate, watching Pyotr hug the Watsons. The pastor mimed his feelings, severely handicapped by the language barrier. If it weren’t for Vadeem’s stakeout near the customs booths, Vadeem would be over there interpreting.

If he could force words out through his fury.

What he’d never told Kat is that he knew every nuance of her language, courtesy of the Red Berets. If only she hadn’t so easily adapted to his. . .that one talent could be ensnaring her in trouble this very second.

He turned away from the happy farewell scene and scrubbed a hand through his still-sweaty hair.

Either Ryslan had forgotten the way to the airport, or Kat had decided to ditch them all, again, just as John Watson suggested. “She told us she had more work to do,” he’d said, confused, when Vadeem nearly pounced on the couple at the departure gate. Vadeem couldn’t image what kind of work that could be when he had Anton Klassen’s diary weighting his jacket pocket. That Kat, she was a bomb, a messy explosion in his life. He found himself hoping Ryslan had found her, wrestled her into the car, and was just horribly late.

He’d already scanned the departure lobby, on the other side of customs. No feisty American with caramel-colored hair pouting in the airport chairs.

He continued to battle the cold feeling of dread that had started to sneak up his spine, and he dialed Ryslan’s cell phone again. No answer. Vadeem nearly threw the unit across the room. Instead, he calmly closed it, dumped it into his pocket, and resumed his pacing. The Watsons filed past him, John clamping him on the arm as he shook Vadeem’s hand, in typical American style.

Vadeem choked up a polite smile. “Did she say where she was going?” He hated the desperate sound to his voice.

John Watson shook his head. “I hope we see her on the plane.”

Vadeem couldn’t agree more. He didn’t know what he was going to do if he found her stalking the train platform to Pskov. “Thank you, John.”

The Watsons filed through customs, little Gleb on Sveta’s hip and clinging to her like a dazed puppy. He knew how the kid felt. Vadeem’s heart sank, watching them go.

“I’ll think I’ll stick around Moscow a few days, check into our denomination’s headquarters here.” Pyotr held out a slip of paper. “My cell phone number.”

Vadeem stared at the number, unable to dredge up words. A sick feeling piled in his chest.

“If you ever need a friend, call me.”

Friends were in precious short supply at the moment. “Thanks, Pyotr.”

An hour later, Vadeem stalked into HQ, in no mood to sit at his desk reading the decrypted Internet messages piled on his desk, or sift through mug shots, hoping he might find the thug who’d beaned him in Moscow four nights past. Vadeem’s head throbbed just thinking about it. And if Denis didn’t stop prattling on about the recent corpse down in forensics—

“Can’t believe somebody murdered a monk, especially this one.”

“What was that?” Vadeem swung around in his swivel chair, rubbed his eyes, and blinked at Denis. The rookie looked like he’d hadn’t slept in a week. Brown hair poked in all directions, his gangly body drooped in a rumpled brown uniform, and bag rimmed his eyes. “What did you say?”

“The monk. From Pskov. They sent us his autopsy report, thinking he might be connected to Grazovich. The guy was stabbed, military style, in the lungs, so he couldn’t make a sound. I thought it was a little strange, so. . .look at this.” The kid held out two sheets of paper, copied passport, and visas. He grinned through the fatigue. “The guy has two names.”

“Let me see that.” Vadeem grabbed the copies, “Misha Papov. . .and Akhmed Rakiff.”

“From Georgia.” Denis crossed his arms. “Why the alias?”

“No, I’ll bet he’s Abkhazian,” Vadeem said, his mind racing. “It’s a breakaway territory of Georgia. They splintered off about ten years ago, and pulled Russia into a nasty war. We had comrades fighting on both sides of the line, depending on their preference. Abkhazia technically won, but the skirmishes continue.” He scanned the copies again, squinted at the youthful face. “Abkhazians are pretty faithful to their tribal traditions. What’s was this kid doing serving in a Russian Orthodox monastery?”

“He’d only been there two years. I got to wondering about that, too, and found this.” He whipped out another sheet of paper, this time with a familiar face copied on the front.

Vadeem got a sick feeling. “Grazovich.”

“See the list of aliases?”

“I don’t need to read it. Ali Rakiff.” Vadeem’s heartbeat pumped up a notch.

“They’re related. Looks like they might be cousins.”

Vadeem winced. “Of course they are. All of Abkhazia is related. And blood runs thick there. Practically everyone in the new government is related.”

Denis pulled up a chair, obviously bursting with news. “I think I figured out what Grazovich is doing here. His brother’s execution date got bumped up—two weeks.”

“The Georgians are finally going to do it?” Hunan Rakiff, Grazovich’s older brother, had been decaying in a Georgian prison for the better part of a decade, living through three escape attempts and the subsequent Georgian punishments. “When did you get this news?”

“TASS news wire. I did an Internet search and found out the date was rescheduled about a month ago, after the hit attempt on Georgia’s former president here in Moscow.”

“So Grazovich is desperate.”

“I’d say he’s looking to spring big brother soon.” Denis looked like a ten-year old with the news of a loose tooth. “And did you know that the annual Omsk International Exhibition of Land Equipment and Armaments is next week?”

Vadeem wasn’t at all happy that the weaponry that had once protected the
Rodina
was now available for public auction by Internet catalogue. The FSB had their hands full sifting through the terrorists that infiltrated the country through Omsk. “What’s on their inventory list this year? Anything interesting?”

“How about a T-725 Rocket gun tank?” Denis rubbed his hands together. “Asking price, a cool four mil, American bucksov.”

Yeah, that was about right. Four million for the crest, in trade for a tank, something that could mow down center street Tbilisi, Georgia, right into a prison compound. Vadeem’s brain ached, right between the eyes.

“Good work, Denis. Go home and get a shower.”

Denis smiled like he’d won the gold. “By the way, Ryslan called.”

Now that was good news. Maybe he’d gotten Kat on a plane and had her successfully winging her way to New York. His pushed down a wave of regret. “Yeah, what did he want?”

“He’s still in Pskov. He says Grazovich hasn’t moved, so you don’t need to rush out there.”

Vadeem opened his mouth but no words came out.

“He said to keep tracking Fitzkov in Novosibersk, and let him know if he “even flinches.” Denis gave a huff of laughter.

Vadeem felt slashed across the chest. “He’s in Pskov? Are you sure?”

Denis ran a hand through his mussed hair. “Sure. Called me this morning on the cell phone.”

Vadeem braced a hand on the corner of his desk. “Then who, if anyone, is with Kat?”

-

“What are you going to do with me?” Fear pinched Kat’s voice whisper thin. Recognition had rushed over her like nausea. Vadeem’s partner was the biggest man she’d ever seen, even in shadow, and without asking, she knew he was the hulk that had tracked her down in Blagoveshensk and stolen her backpack, her Bible, and her picture. The man who had killed Brother Papov.

Perhaps even the man who had freed her from the interrogation room in customs.

But why?

“Did you steal the key too?”

She looked pointedly at his hand, remembered the cold scrape of a ring on her neck, and knew her answer.

He laughed.

“Why? If you wanted it so badly, why didn’t you take it the first day I was here?”

His eyes narrowed in the rear view and Kat clamped her mouth shout.

They’d cleared the city, having passed the Kremlin, and the train station. From the gray clouds ahead and sun climbing to her back, she knew they were heading east. Clumps of birch and pine bordered the highway on either side. She examined the pavement as it screamed by and knew her next move was going to hurt.

She dove for the door. The handle moved but the door didn’t release despite the added
umph
of her shoulder into the window. Her heart sank like an anchor. So much for a painful escape. “Let me out!”

“When we get to Pskov. I need your help.” Ryslan said in a quiet voice.

“Never,” she ground out. “I’m not going to help someone steal from their own country.”

“What do you care?”

“I’m Russian!”

“Good for you,” he snarled. “Then help your fellow
narodina
dig up the past.”

“What are you looking for?” Panic pushed her voice higher than she preferred.

“Like you don’t already know?” His gave flicking to the rear view mirror and it held just enough menace to turn her weak. “The crest. Four million dollars of gold and jewels. Hidden by your great-grandfather.”

“I don’t know anything about it.” She fought to still her thundering heartbeat as she eased her satchel off her shoulder and gripped the strap in two hands.

He harrumphed. “You’d better know, or you’re going to die.”

Kat tried to ignore his words. “Why are you doing this?”

His fingers whitened on the steering wheel. His jaw tense. “Freedom.”

“This isn’t going to give you freedom. Vadeem will find you. He’ll never let you get away.” This much she knew for certain. “He’ll track you down, no matter where you are. You’ll never be free.” Bracing her feet, Kat inched forward.

He laughed, cruelly. “I’m not afraid of Vadeem.”

What he left unspoken was whom, exactly, he feared. She pounced on it. “But you
are
afraid.”

“
Zamolchi, doragaya
,” he said, his tone dangerous. “It would be wise if you learned to shut that mouth of yours.”

Kat swung her satchel wildly, praying she’d hit flesh—his.

He swore, jerked the wheel. The car screeched across the lane. “You want to get us killed?’

The question seemed inane coming from a man who had wielded precisely that threat.

She clenched her jaw as he pulled the car over in a cloud of dust. Her heart rammed into her throat when he turned. His eyes had the dark ring of hate. “Give me that bag.”

Okay. She trembled as she handed it over. “I’m sorry,” she tried, forcing a humble tone. Every self-defense lesson she’d ever taken, at Matthew’s urging, told her that she had to slow this down, to think it out, to watch her attacker and discover his weakness.

She wanted to live. Why, oh why hadn’t she listened to Vadeem? Why hadn’t she curbed her irrationally impulsive urges?

He threw the bag down into the front seat and gunned the car onto the highway.

Oh yes, she was going back to Pskov. For the first time in four days, she wished she were on a plane home.

-

Vadeem’s meager breakfast was about to come back up, right here in his office. He even grabbed the metal waste can once, but gulped enough deep breaths to keep sane, for the moment.

Ryslan wasn’t in Pskov. Vadeem had given up trying to get a hold of the guy and gone right to Pskov FSB HQ. No, he hadn’t been there.