Limbo Man (10 page)

“The agents with us?”

“They didn’t make it, but they did their jobs. Slowed pursuit.”

Vee nodded, but her face had gone ashen. The deaths weren’t a surprise, but it wasn’t easy to accept that three men had sacrificed themselves so they could escape.

Frost returned to his briefing. “This all goes back a long way. The two of you would have been little more than children. When the Soviet Union fell, there was chaos. Soviet armaments disappeared into the hands of the boldest and greediest. Military men who had defended their country through all its years of power suddenly ran scared, figuring they had to get theirs before somebody got them. You could call it a rush to grab the Old Soldiers’ Pension Fund.”

Nick nodded. He knew this. It was all familiar.

“Among the things that went missing,” Frost continued, “were ten old-style nuclear bombs. Old, but way more powerful than the ones that took out Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Over the years the CIA tracked down three of them. The other seven are still missing.”

“Surely inactive,” Vee said, “or some terrorist nut case would have used them by now.”

“The bombs require the isotope U-236 to set them off,” Frost explained. “That’s man-made, not found in nature. And even if you can create it, the rate of decay is rapid. The bombs lose their teeth, so to speak. But recently there’ve been rumors. Strong rumors. The Russian Mafia supposedly helped spirit the bombs away, and now it’s said they may have found a source for U-236.”

“After all this time?” Vee asked.

“Frost nodded. “Seven dirty nukes, each one capable of killing a hundred thousand people outright and contaminating an entire city.”

“
Govnó
,” Nick breathed. He couldn’t be involved in this. Impossible. Every instinct said he wasn’t one of the bad guys. And yet . . .

“And who more likely to know about the bombs than the
Organizatsiya
’s prime weapons smuggler, Sergei Tokarev?” Frost added, rubbing in the obvious.

Nick decided he must play a good game of poker, or maybe his damaged face made excellent camouflage. His outer shell remained frozen, while his soul screamed
No!
Somehow he kept it together. “Sure explains how I got thrown off a bridge,” he drawled. “Maybe someone figured out I’d didn’t like the idea. Smuggling arms to a Third World country is a far cry from nuking New York.”

“What the hell,” Frost muttered. “I just realized—aren’t you supposed to have an accent?”

“Yup,” Nick agreed in his best cowboy imitation. “My language skills seem to be remarkably flexible.”

Vee stepped in, summarizing what they’d discovered so far, neatly skimming the more personal details of his memory of Africa.

“So it’s begun?” Frost said, his distinguished face actually showing some animation. “Your memory’s on its way back?”

“Hopefully. I’m inclined to agree that Sergei is some kind of creation, but I’m not sure what that means. I do know, no matter what side I turn out to be on, nuking a city isn’t part of my agenda. I’ll do anything I can to stop it, but the more I struggle to remember, the more my mind balks. I just have to let it come to me.” And if his memories all came in the form of nightmares like last night, God help him.

“So . . . do you want to stay here or keep moving?”

Nick stifled a wince on Vee’s behalf. Frost was asking
him
for his opinion, by-passing his own agent. “This is a great place to hide, but I’m inclined to think fugitives should keep moving.”

“Vee?”

“I’d feel better if we weren’t perched out here like sitting ducks. It was the only place I could think of at the time, but more solid walls, more watchers up close and personal, sounds good to me.”

Frost nodded. “I came on a boat borrowed from a friend at the yacht club a couple of miles from here. Not a place I can take you out unseen. I’ll need to make arrangements, probably a boat to outer Long Island tonight.”

“You’re sure you weren’t followed?” Nick asked.

“I’ve been in the business a long time. Believe me, I took every precaution.”

With stakes this high, Nick didn’t doubt it. But he’d feel a lot better once they got off this hunk of New England granite.

When the front door closed behind Deputy Chief Frost, Nick led the way back to the kitchen. The remains of his breakfast had gone cold. Silently, Vee picked up his plate and headed for the microwave.

“I knew,” Nick said without inflection. “When he told us, I realized I already knew.”

“ So this
is
about nukes.”

“Afraid so.”

The microwave beeped. Vee brought his plate back to the table, then reheated their coffees. But when she sat down, she steepled her fingers and simply gazed at the steaming liquid in her cup. Between bites of food, Nick watched her, wondering just what part of their convoluted situation was keeping her from hot coffee.

“Every cop, from beat to Homeland Security,” Vee said at last, “joins up to protect and serve, but I have to admit this kind of responsibility is a bit more than I had in mind. If you can unravel this knot, no wonder they want to kill you.”

Too early in the morning for the weight of the world. Particularly on such slim shoulders. His minder could use a touch of levity. “And look who’s my bodyguard.
”
He shouldn’t taunt her, but, hell, he had to get Frosty back up to fighting speed. “Listen to me, Valentina. The seven missing nukes are probably scattered all over the globe. It’s unlikely enough U-236 has surfaced for more than one trigger mechanism, so we’re talking one lousy nuke, not seven. And if I know where it is, or how to find it, I
will
remember, I promise you. I care, I really do. Together, we can do this.”

Vee looked up, blue eyes to green. Peering into his soul. “Like Dad said, “Who the hell
are
you?”

Chapter 8

They were escorted on board the promised boat at just past two in the morning. The stars were beginning to fade by the time they took off from a small commuter airfield not far from Montauk Point, the eastern end of Long Island. For the first time since Vee left her New York hotel room to escort Nick to Teterboro airport, she was able to relax. In the enclosed space of the airplane, surrounded by Homeland Security agents—six of them dressed in black and bristling with weapons—she could let down her guard and get in some quality sleeptime.

As casually as if they were an old married couple, Nick moved her elbow out of the way so he could raise the armrest that separated their seats. “Lower your seatback,” he whispered in her ear. “Rest on my shoulder. Is okay. Sergei be good boy.”

“
Sergei
and
good
don’t belong in the same sentence,” Vee hissed, reaching for the armrest to snap it back in place. Nick blocked her with annoying ease. Vee’s gaze flashed to the two DHS agents seated on the opposite side of the aisle about six feet forward. They were both wearing suits and ties, marks of agents in charge, and riding with their backs to the pilot so they could keep an eye on the guest of honor. At the moment their sights were fixed on the byplay between Vee and Nick, the younger of the two men leaning forward as if on the verge of leaping to Vee’s rescue.

With her free left hand Vee waved the DHS agent off. Nick was hers. Nobody else was allowed to mess with him. Or with Sergei. And, besides, making nice with Nick was why she’d been snatched from her comfortable niche in Florida and dropped into a maelstrom twelve hundred miles away. She had a job to do. This was definitely not the moment to antagonize either one of her companion’s personalities. Ignoring the bullet-like stares being thrown their way, Vee lowered her seat to match Nick’s and rested her head on his shoulder. Shutting out the eagle-eyed agents by pulling her discount store ballcap down over her eyes, Vee snuggled into Nick’s shoulder and closed her eyes.

His arm insinuated its way around her back, coming to rest rather higher than her waist, high enough to make her toes tingle, as well as a few parts in between. She had to admit it was a good shoulder, a broad, solid shoulder. She hadn’t felt this comfortable since just before the phone rang that fateful morning in Florida.

She was cozying up to a high-ranking member of the
Organizatsiya
, and, frankly, she didn’t give a damn.

She slept.

Sergei came awake, instantly aware of his surroundings, a skill that had served him well for thirty-six years. One glance, and he knew he was royally screwed. A private Gulfstream filled with government types, most of them dressed in commando gear and armed for a small war. Ahead and to the left, two suits were positioned where they could look right at him. One was reading a paperback book. The other was working on his laptop.

Surreptitiously, Sergei checked for handcuffs. Interesting. He was on a private plane with a bunch of
Feds
, and he wasn’t cuffed. In fact . . . his left arm was cramped from being some place it probably shouldn’t have been at all. Not that he didn’t appreciate what he could see of the blonde under the ballcap, but unless he was very much mistaken his fingers had just brushed something hard and metallic. A twitch of his hand, and he could spray the plane with bullets, probably take out the whole lot of them.

The airplane. And himself along with it.

So . . . not a good idea. He’d have to play things by ear until he figured out what the hell was going on.

Sergei settled back into his seat, feigning sleep while his mind raced. He’d been summoned ba
ck from Sri Lanka to
a high-level meeting to discuss the
Proyect
. Project. An inn
ocent name for a horrific plan.

Massoud, head of the terrorist cell, would be there, very likely his number two, Navid, as well. And, unfortunately, their new best friend, Boris Leonov, who had his eye on Sergei’s job with the entire East Coast Brotherhood in his not-too-distant sights.

Sergei had understood he’d have to make like a juggler to get through the meeting, but he’d considered it an exciting challenge—worthy of his skill—keeping nukes, unstable U-236, an elderly bomb tech, terrorists, and rival Russian bastards in the air at the same time. On the way back from Sri Lanka, he’d flexed his fingers, flexed his mind, and knew he had all the right cards on his side. He welcomed the fencing match. All he had to do was keep Leonov in check and lead the terrorists on, faking it until he got what he wanted.

It was called playing with fire.

No, that analogy wasn’t strong enough. He was juggling all right, but walking a tight rope at the same time, feet dancing as bullets flew past while the mocking voices of skeptics jeered from every side.

Had he gone to the meeting? He had no idea. Perhaps it hadn’t happened yet. Whatever. Obviously, something had gone very wrong.

Sergei slitted his eyes open, craned his head to look at the combat guys. One of them was reading a newspaper. Another was just returning from what appeared to be a trip to the john. Hm-m . . . if he could extricate himself from Blondie . . .

Moving as slowly as gravity and what he sensed was diminished physical fitness would allow, Sergei removed his arm from around the blonde and levered himself to his feet. He headed for the bathroom, nodding casually to the tough guys as he passed by. Except for two who were sleeping, they kept their eyes on him every step of the way. Only one nodded in return. Okay, so no miraculous transformation to good guy. The
Feds
simply figured that with this much firepower on board, they didn’t need to put him in handcuffs. But allowing him that close to Blondie’s gun? Careless, very careless.

The lavatory was luxury class, several steps up from standard airplane accommodations. Not until he’d relieved himself and turned to wash his hands, did he catch a glimpse of the stranger in the mirror.
Govnó!
Stunned, he stared at the distorted features of the bald and bandaged creature his own mother wouldn’t recognize. What was Blondie doing on his shoulder? She should have taken one look and run screaming all the way to the tail of the plane.

The bruises on his face had faded to pale yellow and sickly green, so whatever had happened, it wasn’t yesterday. But the damage was recent. Whatever recent was.

Newspaper
. Maybe the guy was through with it, willing to pass it along . . .

Sergei recognized just how badly he must have been hurt when he had to spend a couple more minutes inside the john coming to grips with his situation. Neither body nor mind were responding as rapidly or as well as he expected. In fact . . . okay, he’d have to face it, his fingers were twitching—close to a downright shake. He was trapped on a private plane with nine
Feds
, not counting the pilot and co-pilot. He had no idea how that happened. No idea where they were going. His only possible ally might be Blondie, who certainly hadn’t seemed afraid to sleep on the monster’s shoulder.

So what was she doing here, one lonely female surrounded by ten men, including himself? Not that she wasn’t worth surrounding. In that, his good fortune stunned him.

Sergei’s sluggish mind stirred; thoughts whirled, clicked into place, like the little ball on a roulette wheel.
Bait
. That’s what she was. A juicy come-on for a man known for his appreciation of women.