by Dana Lyons
Rhys had taken wing for hours until he worked off his angst over Lazar’s indemnity clause. He was now focused on Ivanov.
Simon sat on the couch as he continued to burn over Lazar’s escape via the indemnity clause. She walked behind him and kneaded his tight trap muscles with her strong fingers. “Relax. I need you. Be cat. Patience is your strength; wait to see how the situation evolves.” He caught one of her hands and kissed her fingers. “I’m trying.”
The phone rang and she answered. “This is Love, good morning, sir.”
Jarvis’ voice was crisp. “I’m sending you to New York in the BAU jet. You’re going to talk to Lazar’s parents first, see what they know.”
“And then?”
“We have a lead on Ivanov’s laboratory location. Expect Europe.”
She checked her team; no red flags, all were ready to go. “Yes, sir.”
Rhys drove out to Dulles airport and parked; by the time they checked in, the jet’s engines were warm and ready for immediate take-off. Dreya fastened her seatbelt, detecting a building tension. She glanced from face to face.
Rhys stared at his shoes, his classic pose when deep in thought. Simon glared off into space, his brows pulled into a brooding scowl. Quinn had his head back against the seat, eyes closed.
“We’re in the air barely an hour. Does anyone have anything to say before we land?” she asked.
Silence lingered. Finally, Quinn said, “Ivanov never stays in one place more than three nights in a row. He skips around like a flat rock on still water; sometimes he leaves in the middle of the night by car, sometimes he uses a helicopter.
“His operations ground game is so tight, no one has ever escaped to give him up, neither victim nor employee. I held two dozen of his lieutenants for three weeks and couldn’t get one to crack. He always has security, he’s never vulnerable.”
More silence surrounded his statement.
He added, “What that means is Lazar is the only way you’re going to catch Ivanov.”
Simon cleared his throat. “As for Lazar, his file was pretty impressive. I mean, we knew he was brilliant, but his IQ breaks 200, so I don’t think they can even measure him. I went over his psych evals, and it’s clear something happened early in his career that set him on the Nobility path.”
Glad to hear her team operating in spite of being under duress, she added, “Let’s remember what we know about Lazar—his goal is to improve the state of humanity, not create more creatures like Draco Demons. He hated making those animals.”
“I agree,” Simon said. “As much as I wanted to see him pay for what he did to me, well, as it turns out … my point is, whatever he’s up to, I think his intentions are for the betterment of humanity. With that said, I can’t conceive what project he’d partner on with someone like Ivanov.”
“Lazar’s intentions always lead back to himself,” Rhys complained. “As I recall, on Draco Station he obstructed an investigation, disposed of evidence, aided and abetted a fugitive, and experimented on you against your will.”
He pointed at Simon and opened his mouth, but stopped with an exasperated huff. “I really want to hate Lazar, but I can’t argue against anything he’s done to me.”
A fierce scowl overcame his face, and he shook his finger with sudden discovery. “He makes his own rules, and he gets away with it. That’s what I don't like.”
Dreya remembered the night she and Rhys broke into Senator Stanton’s house and raided his hidden safe . . . but that was another case. She asked Quinn, “What do you think about Lazar?”
“He’s not the problem.”
His soft tone gave her a shiver down her back. Their time was up. The seatbelt sign came on with the pilot’s call for landing. She sat back, her mind bumping along with their mix of chaotic thoughts as the plane landed.
An FBI agent met them at the gate. “A security vehicle, orders of Director Jarvis.” He gave Rhys the keys to a new SUV with dark windows.
The Lazars lived an hour’s drive away in a pricey neighborhood outside Bronxville. As they pulled into the driveway, Simon asked, “Do they know we’re coming?”
Rhys stopped at the gate and pressed the call button. “FBI, here to speak with Dr. Lazar.”
“We’re a courtesy call,” Dreya said. “Since Anthony isn’t charged with anything, all we can do is politely ask for any information they’re willing to share. We aren’t interrogating anyone.”
The wrought iron gate swung wide and they pulled in. The driveway wound through a manicured lawn and garden before they stopped at the front door of a brick Tudor-style home. Rhys parked in front of the door and they climbed out. As she raised her hand for the bell, the door opened right away. She showed her badge. “Special Agent Dreya Love. May we speak with Dr. Michael Lazar?”
A woman in a maid’s uniform motioned them in. “This way, please.”
They followed her to an office just right of the door. The room was long, bearing several large Tudor-paned windows on one side, and bookcases on the other side. A handsome man sat at a desk, much younger than she expected, a reminder of how young Anthony Lazar was. “Thank you for seeing us, Doctor,” she said.
“Please, come in.” He directed them with a commanding sweep of his arm to a cluster of chairs by the windows.
She took a seat with her back to the window, and the boys followed suite, leaving Lazar the only one facing the window. With his face in full light, his initial micro-reads declared him open and truthful.
“How can I help you, Agent?”
“Have you heard from your son, Anthony, recently?”
“Yes, he calls about once a week. I believe he’s in Europe.”
“Does he discuss what he’s doing in Europe?”
Dr. Lazar tilted his head. “Is Anthony in some kind of trouble? What’s this all about?”
“No trouble that we know of, sir. But your son showed up in a photo with someone of questionable character. We’re interested in this other person.”
“Whoever this person is, rest assured he’s either the best of the best or the worst of the worst.” He chuckled. “Anything in between would bore Anthony.”
“What has he told you?”
He exhaled deeply. “You have to understand Anthony; he’s not like anyone you’ve ever met. From the age of two, he couldn’t stand boredom, everything always had to be a challenge. But since his sister died—”
“When was that?” Simon asked.
“During his post-graduate work on his second master’s degree, let’s see, he was seventeen. He was devastated by her loss. She died from an incurable condition. Her death was the impetus for his branching off into genetics.”
“Why is he not like anyone we’ve ever met?” Rhys asked.
“He’s simply too smart for this world.” Dr. Lazar grimaced as if with helpless frustration. “Anthony did calculus in his head when he was six. Medical school barely entertained him. He asked questions no one ever thought to ask, questions no one could answer. He had to discover his own answers.
“To do that he learned more than any human should. In some ways, Nina’s death was a blessing; it catapulted him into a new field of study, gave him a new purpose. Otherwise I think he may have gone mad.”
“And this new purpose?” Rhys asked.
“To fix that which was broken, particularly the human genome. He wanted to save others from the pain he experienced with Nina’s death. All he’s ever wanted to do is make people better and thereby improve their lives.”
She asked, “Did he say what he was doing in Europe?”
“No, only that he was very excited about a new project he was beginning.”
“Did he give any indication where this project was or how long it might take him? Did he mention any names?”
“No names. However, he did refer to him needing several months. But I doubt that’s an accurate time frame.”
“Why?” Simon asked.
“It’s a bit of a family joke. What takes normal p
eople years, he does in months. If he said months, that means days or weeks at most.”
“Does he call regularly?” Dreya asked. She reached in her pocket for her card.
“Roughly once a week.”
She passed him the card. “If he calls again, will you ask where he is, and give me a call. Remember, we’re not interested in him, but another individual. So, if you could not mention on the phone we were here, I would take that as a personal favor.”
As they all rose, he took her card. When she turned to leave, the sun cut right in her eyes just as he glanced at her. She blocked the light with her hand, but he drew back, shocked.
He saw my freaky eyes.
She ducked her head. Rhys ran interference. “Would your son fall prey to a financial compromise?”
Dr. Lazar laughed, but his attention wasn’t fully diverted. She could feel his gaze on her. “Anthony sell out for money?” he said. “Not possible.”
“Because?” Rhys challenged.
“Even though Anthony gave his family inheritance to charity when he came of age, he is extremely wealthy. His portfolio from patents alone is in the billions. He’d never sell out for fortune. He’s very noble minded.”
Rhys coughed. “Yes, we know.”
At the door, she made to exit before giving Dr. Lazar another chance to inspect her eyes. She paused with her back to him.
“I’ll keep your visit our secret, Agent Love,” he said. “But you must tell me one day how you know Anthony.”
“Let me know if he calls,” she said over her shoulder.
Rhys opened the door. She stepped out with her sunglasses halfway to her face when the primal urge to hit-the-deck shot down her spine. She scanned their perimeter, including the sky in the distance; what she saw covered her shoulders with goosebumps.
She grabbed Quinn’s hand and dragged him in the back seat as she scooted in.
Quinn opened his mouth to complain.
Stay out of sight!
Immediately, he flattened himself in the corner as she turned and looked out the rear window. Even though the dark tinted glass, she saw clearly with her keen eyesight. She nudged him. “Without showing your face, can you see that?”
He squinted. “See what?”
“Really?” she whispered. “Looks big as a helicopter to me.” She turned around to face front. “We’ve got company.”
Rhys caught her eyes in the rearview mirror, one eyebrow hiked in question.
“It’s a drone.”
He glanced in his mirrors. “I don’t see anything.”
She turned around again. “It’s dropped away. But I definitely saw it.”
The unspoken question produced a fast and unanimous conclusion.
Ivanov!
Anxiety rippled from mind to mind—they just got caught with their pants down. She called Jarvis.
“Sir, Dr. Lazar had no real intel other than his son is in Europe. He’s agreed to let me know when and if Lazar calls again and he’s going to see if he can get a location. Also, we were spotted by a drone; we believe it’s Ivanov. What’s our next move?”
A long silence followed. She looked at her phone to see if the connection had dropped. “Sir?”
“Yes, I’m here. I had to make another call. Do you think he saw your faces?”
She glanced at Quinn. He shrugged, noncommittal. But anxiety and dread poured from him, as if from a condemned man walking to his execution.
“Yes, sir, we should count on it.” The thought that Ivanov might come after them because of Quinn burned hot in the SUV.
“Go to Stewart Air National Guard Base, see Commander Davies. Considering Ivanov’s history with Kingston, if Ivanov has seen you, you’re now under protective custody. Because Ivanov’s payroll is legendary, we can’t take any chances. I’m securing seats for you on a military flight in the next day or two; this gets you to Europe without leaving a customs trail.”
She frowned at the prospect of being in protective custody while trying to serve a warrant.
“We think we’ve found the lab,” he continued. “We’ll have confirmation in another couple of days. In the meantime, I’m sending you to the safest place we have.”
Quinn put a hand to his face and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Even more intense dread rolled off him like a noxious shadow.
“Where, sir?”
“You’re going to Brussels. There’s a special operations training base that’s not on the map. It’s the only place I can access on the continent and guarantee Ivanov has no influence.”
Rhys reset the GPS and his eyes caught hers in the mirror. Simon checked out Quinn, who now covered his face with both hands.
“Yes sir. We’re on our way.”
The drive up to the Stewart base was fraught with a bumpy road of emotion. Rhys and Simon simmered in protective mode and wanted to kill Ivanov just on principle.
Quinn suffered in silence the entire trip. When he dropped his hands from his face, she grabbed one and held on until they reached the base.
Once they passed through the gate, Commander Davies was very accommodating. “I spoke with Assistant Director Jarvis. Your timing is good; there’s a C-130 leaving at 0300. Considering your situation, it’s best you stay confined to quarters.” He jutted his chin toward the outer office. “Captain Morrison will see you settled into an unused barracks until you leave; he’ll deliver you food and see you to the C-130.”
He paused for a moment before adding, “Good luck on your mission, whatever it is.”
* * *
The barracks was cold, the food bland, the sleep anything but deep. Everything I miss about the military, Dreya mused. When Morrison came for them, she was grateful to finally be on the move and get in the air.
She sat, strapped into her seat in the cargo bay of the huge plane with Rhys and Simon on one side of her, Quinn on the other. The engine noise was deafening; neither speech nor sleep was possible. Quinn kept hold of her hand as if afraid to let go of her. Do you know where we’re going?
He nodded but wouldn’t elaborate. More pain and dark shadow came from him. Why?
He shut her out and closed his eyes.
From sheer exhaustion, she slept and dreamed. Lazar ran in front of her, out of reach, dancing and tossing glitter. Only he sprinkled Nobility instead, and she had to stop—
Someone shook her shoulder. “Ma’am, prepare for landing.” An Airman stood over her. He nudged Rhys and Simon. She squeezed Quinn’s hand to wake him, but he was already awake. Did you sleep?
No.
A cocoon of misery and fear cloaked him. He was sinking out of her reach and shutting her out.
As soon as they landed, they were whisked from the C-130, loaded into a covered transport and shuttled out to the tarmac where they boarded a small transport plane. The engines were running and they were in the air within minutes, but not for long before engine noise told her they were coming down to land. She glanced at Simon and Rhys. Both shrugged.
Quinn gripped the armrests with white knuckles. She covered his hand with hers. Where are we?
Special Forces Group training base outside Brussels. I did most of my special ops training here.
There was more he wasn’t telling. She could feel the pressure building in him. What else?
He shook his head and clamped his lips together. On her other side, Rhys took her hand and squeezed.
They landed and a one-man greeting party boarded. When he saw Quinn, he smiled. “Sir, Second Lieutenant Burkstrom here to escort you to the Command Office. The Lieutenant Colonel’s waiting for you. If you’ll all come with me.”
Quinn had released her hand when they landed, but his mind clung to her with pain and desperation. She nudged him. It’s going to be okay. He nodded, but refused to look her in the eye.
Their escort took them straight to the Command Office. Before he opened the door, Burkstrom said, “I’ll be here to show you to your quarters when you’re ready.”
They entered and a Corpora
l greeted them. “Major Kingston, sir, right this way.”
Dreya hadn’t read Quinn’s file. She glanced at the team. Simon wasn’t surprised, but Rhys shot a measuring glance at Quinn. They filed into a large office sparsely decorated with commendations and photos on the walls. Quinn extended his hand. “Lieutenant Colonel Denolf.”
The man was pure dedicated military just as Dreya expected, hard as baked concrete, sharp in the eye, fit in his uniform, rigid in his back. He extended his hand as Quinn introduced them. “FBI Special Agent Love, Rhys Morgan, and Simon Sinclair.”
After they sat, the Lieutenant Colonel scrutinized them closely. Dreya gave him no more direct eye contact than was appropriate. She felt vulnerable about her freaky eyes after being caught by Dr. Lazar.
“Major, I understand you’re to stay on base for your own safety until further orders.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You and the others can stay in Officer Housing; it’s a duplex, two bedrooms on each side, that should be enough for the four of you.
“I know you’ve had a long day of travel, so Second Lieutenant Burkstrom will see you situated right away. You’re free to use the base facilities; the special ops room will be ready for you tomorrow. I don’t know what your mission is, but you’re advised not to leave base until ordered so by your superiors. Should you do so, you’re under your own authority and at your own risk.”
“Understood, sir,” he answered.
Dreya kept her eyes down. When the Lieutenant Colonel mentioned the special ops room, a spike of anxiety shot from Quinn. A stiff silence swelled in the room, begging for words. Quinn spoke. “Thank you, sir, for the accommodations.”
Denolf stood and they rose. Before they could step away, Denolf said, “Major.”
Quinn stopped. His jaw tensed. An emotional scream erupted from his mind. “Sir?”
“Good to see you, Quinn.”
Quinn exhaled as if he had dodged a bullet. “Thank you, sir.”
As they exited the Commander’s office, she released a gasp of relief. Quinn’s emotional balancing act exhausted her.