Limbo Man (31 page)

An hour later, Mr. and Mrs. Mark Wilson were airborne—again—the hours to JFK stretching endlessly before them. Sergei told the flight attendant to wake them only if their plane was in imminent danger of crashing. They slept away the long flight to the Golden Apple.

Chapter 22

Vee did her best to ignore the enhanced security as they exited the Aeroflot jet at JFK. She had made it clear that Mr. and Mrs. Wilson wanted to keep a low profile, no muss, no fuss, but traveling off the radar with the man who held the key to several hundred thousand lives and billions of dollars of American real estate in his hands was no longer possible. They were surrounded, if unobtrusively, from the moment they exited the gate and began their walk toward Customs.

As they finally rolled their minimal luggage toward the rank of waiting taxis, Sergei hissed, “To your right.”

Vee’s eyes moistened as she caught sight of Cade Doucette, wearing a chauffeur’s uniform and standing ramrod stiff beside a sleek, black limo. Score one for Daddy. He’d solved the problem of who-do-you-trust quite neatly.

He would be their liaison with Homeland Security, Cade told them. Chauffeur, extra bodyguard, emergency lifeline. “So what’s first on your agenda?” he tossed at Sergei as soon as they eased out of JFK’s congestion.

“Arkadi Petrovski. My sources tell me Boris Leonov went to ground after the meeting in New York. I need Petrovski’s help to locate him.”

“Bye-bye, Boris,” Cade tossed over his shoulder.

“If necessary.” Sergei paused. “Unfortunately, he did a good job of convincing Massoud and Navid, Heydar’s prime operatives on this end, that he’s Allah’s number one gift to terrorism. Boris Leonov, facilitator extraordinaire. Even though he doesn’t know jackshit about the details,” Sergei added bitterly.

“Sounds like you should have gotten rid of him a lot sooner,” Cade drawled.

“Behave yourself!” Vee hissed.

“Sorry.” Cade whipped a smart, two-finger salute to the brim of his chauffeur’s cap.

“Some lifeline you are,” Vee grumbled.

“Hey, if lover boy thinks he needs to use an aging mob boss to help him do what he should have done months ago, who am I to quibble?”

“Fine.” Vee moved her head so she could glower into Cade’s rearview mirror. “Remember that remark.”

Mr. and Mrs. Mark Wilson had come up in the world. A uniformed doorman let them into the spacious locked foyer of a condominium, where an armed guard, who looked about twenty steps up the ladder from the usual rent-a-cop, stood with his back to the wall in a position where he could survey front door, elevator, and corridor that led to the rear of the building.

“Oh, my,” Vee breathed as they entered their new home on the twenty-third floor. “I wonder what favor Daddy called in for all this?”

“Is not bad,” Sergei Tokarev agreed loftily, scanning the spectacular view out over Central Park. “But mine is better.”

“Your apartment? Better than this?”

“
Da.
I am very rich man.”

Hands on her hips, Vee scowled at him. “Just because you’re back in New York doesn’t mean you revert to Tokarev.”

“But of course I am Tokarev. Who else? It is Tokarev who holds the reins, no? Tokarev who is important. Sergei Zhukov is nothing. A chimera who lingers in the shadows, waiting to pounce on phantoms.” His voice lowered to a sepulcher whisper. “A shadow no one can see but Valentina Frost, who has the Sight.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Vee groaned. “You’re impossible. How can you win this war if you don’t take it seriously?”

“You think I do not take Leonov seriously? The man who nearly killed me? And, yes, I know it was he who gave the orders. No one else would dare.”

“So why must you make jokes?”

Sergei shrugged. “How else can I survive? Without humor I would go mad.”  He held out his hand. “A kiss for good luck,
dushenka
, then if you would be so good as to park our luggage in the bedroom while I call Uncle Arkadi . . .”

Not exactly a tough command to follow. Meekly, Vee did as she was told. The sudden flare of heat was enough to curl her toes. Hopefully, they would be able to finish the promise in that kiss in the not-too-distant future. If they could eliminate the threat from Leonov and get on with the business of finding the bombs. With a sigh, Vee grabbed the handles of both suitcases and went in search of a bedroom.

Seryozha arranged a meeting with his uncle at a restaurant only half a mile away, one with a private room on the second floor. It was too soon for Leonov to learn that his Nemesis was back in town, so it should be safe enough, even if Tokarev had used the room as a meeting place before.

He looked up to find Vee watching him, chin firmed to its most stubborn tilt. “No,” he told her
,
“I go alone. Your people will want to debrief you. Now is a good time. Call them.”

“Busy work?” Vee mocked. “While
men
decide the fate of the world.”

“I cannot take you. I am sorry—”

“You’re my job! Your uncle will have bodyguards, we know that, so why not you too?”

Why indeed? How to explain the inner structure of the Brotherhood to a female raised on U. S. law enforcement, heavily overlaid with political correctness.
Vee was just going to have to lump it—an American idiom Sergei found particularly amusing. “Fine,” he agreed. “Call Doucette back, he can drive me.”

Fists clenched, Vee glared.

“You would shame me before my uncle? Jeopardize our mission? I need his help to find Leonov, to have my back when we settle this thing. Accept the things you cannot change, Valentina. The world does not always dance to the American tune. I go. You stay.” Sergei folded his arms across his chest. “Call Doucette.”

Her whole body quivered, but she did as she was told. Poor Valentina. She was about as good at taking orders as he was.

While they waited for Doucette’s return, Vee sat stiffly on the couch, doing a good imitation of a seething volcano, while Sergei stared out the window at the panoramic view of Central Park. He should go to her, admit she had breached his defenses., but laying bare his emotions was against every tenet of his personal code of conduct. And, besides, this was no time for sentiment. It was a miracle they’d managed any personal time at all in the maelstrom that had them in its grip.

Miracle?
He was the guy who didn’t believe in them. Had never believed . . .

No one who didn’t believe in miracles ever set out to find ten missing nukes.

Well, hell. What a strange time to discover the ultimate pragmatist was actually a man of faith.

Sergei’s phone rang. Doucette was pulling up to the building.

He should at least kiss Vee goodbye, make an effort to erase the anger still blazing from those beautiful blue eyes. Instead, without a word, Sergei walked out the door, gently closing it behind him, so caught up in the protocols of the
Organizatsiya
and the complexities of the bomb hunt that he was totally oblivious to making one of the more serious mistakes of his life.

She was never going to see him again. Sergei would be swallowed by the Brotherhood, tucked away in some hidden location until the terror was past. Or until it escalated into World War III, and personal relationships had ceased to matter. Or . . . if Petrovski had gone over to Leonov, Sergei would simply be dead, a casualty of Brotherhood politics, just another mob
capo
gone to the fishes. The
Organizatsiya
would go on, business as usual.

At least until mushroom clouds rose above American soil.

The condo’s landline rang. Two Homeland Security agents were on their way up. Daddy? Doubtful. Jack Frost had his hands full at the moment, overseeing a check of every container shipment into the country, as well as any other viable means of transport for a very heavy, but not super big bomb. Who would he trust with knowledge of this safe house? Vee wondered. Not Wade Tingley. Not some local office types who had no idea what was going on. Bill Grimes and Stan Kessel maybe. Rick, Steve . . . someone from the resort in Wyoming.

If any of them had lived through the firefight and the raging blaze that followed.

When the doorbell rang, Vee peered out the peephole, hoping to find familiar faces. Disappointment. She had never seen either one of the men before. Each was holding up a badge where she could see it. Stifling a sigh, she opened the door.

Sergei allowed himself a moment of optimism. His meeting with Uncle Arkadi and his perpetual shadows, Vanya, Ilya, and Oleg, was going well. Yes, his uncle could locate Boris Leonov, arrange a meet. Would it come to a hit? Very likely. And Petrovski’s men would back him up with all the firepower that might be needed. Uncle Arkadi, who had walked a fine line between exercising his power as mob boss and stringing Leonov and his terrorist buddies along for the sake of his nephew’s pet obsession, was only too eag
er to rid himself of his rival.

And Doucette wasn’t doing too badly, his bland poker face concealing the fact that he hadn’t understood a word since Sergei’s meeting with his uncle began. As much as he hated to admit it, Doucette’s stoic calm was almost worthy of a Russian.

The Cajun’s impenetrable features slipped a bit as his cell phone rang. Obviously, he wasn’t expecting any contact during the meeting. As he listened, he closed his eyes, as if trying to shut out what he was hearing. “Vee’s gone,” he relayed. “When Homeland Security came to debrief her, she was gone. Building security admits they allowed two men with what looked like authentic badges through twenty minutes earlier.”

“Impossible!” Sergei breathed. “There’s no way Leonov could know where she was.”

Cade looked ready to shoot everyone in sight on general principles. “Your leak’s become a waterfall,” he growled.

“Not my leak.
Yours.
”

Cade’s mouth snapped shut. He nodded. “Homeland Security. Maybe in Frost’s own office.”

Well, shit
. If he lived through this, Sergei made a mental note to apologize to Wade Tingley.

“Is not so bad,” Arkadi Petrovski interjected, switching to English. “We were going to find and kill the bastard anyway. Now we do it sooner.” His three bodyguards murmured their strong approval.

“I hope I am not interrupting anything,” a strong baritone said from behind Sergei’s back. “May I join the hunt?”

Petrovski, who had had a full view of his elder nephew’s approach, smiled his satisfaction.
Zdrasvityeh
, Misha! We can use you.”

“Isn’t this where we say we’re going to the mattresses?” Cade drawled.

“Ah, no!” Petrovski told him. “No hiding on mattresses. We go to Brighton Beach and take Boris Leonov apart in little pieces. And then, is okay to feed him to the fishes.”

“What about Vee?” Sergei asked. “You talk big, uncle, but as long as she’s a hostage, we can’t make a move.”

Arkadi patted him on the hand. “You think I do not have informants. In Brighton Beach of all places? First we rescue your woman,
then
we cut Leonov in little pieces.
Karasho?
”

“Don’t forget your other army,” Cade Doucette added. “We may not be able to break the Brighton Beach wall of silence, but we sure as hell can do a lot once you tell us where to go.”

For the first time Sergei regarded Doucette with something less than hostility. He pushed back his chair, nodded to his brother. “Let’s go. We’ll check out the condo while Arkadi does his magic discovery act.”

The three men charged out of
the restaurant, leaving
Petrovski and his men to a gloom at odds with the expressions they’d shown to the Zhukov brothers and Cade Doucette. Vanya Gronski eyed his boss with wary concern. “He will never forgive you,” he told
Arkadi
, “if anything happens to her.”

“He will kill me,” Petrovski agreed.

“So we must do as you said, rescue her first.”

“Too difficult. She is expendable.”

“Not to Seryozha.”

“Ah,
da
, but is more important Leonov is dead than the girl alive.”

“Then you will have to kill them both,” Vanya warned. “Misha, maybe yes, maybe no. He has a family he would do almost anything to protect. But I think you are forgetting mama,” he added softly.

“
Govnó!
” Petrovski groaned.

Vee had never been a nonentity before. Helplessness came as a shock. Hand-cuffed to nothing more substantial than a wooden kitchen chair, she was being conspicuously ignored by the three armed men in the room. As if she, Special Agent Valentina Frost, was incapable of causing them a moment’s trouble.

Unfortunately, appalling as the thought was, it was all too true. Even if she moved at the speed of light, she couldn’t get the damn chair up high enough to do any damage before they’d be on her, or shooting her full of holes. So here she sat, a hostage. For what?