At least, Roman hoped the guy he was chasing was Gennadi. The man, dressed in typical Russian-on-holiday attire—a striped dress shirt, cutoff Bermudas, dark socks, and tennis shoes and carrying a backpack—had taken one look at Roman, innocently slurping the ear off a Mickey Mouse ice-cream stick, and bolted through the crowd.
Now, wasn’t that interesting?
Roman had no choice but to ditch the ice cream and his flip-flops, take off in hot pursuit, and pray he wasn’t going to take down a day trader from Jersey.
Still, it wasn’t every day he, a Russian FSB captain who hunted mafia smugglers for a living, spotted what looked like one of Russia’s most wanted strolling out of the Reflections of China exhibit at Disney’s Epcot. He wasn’t about to lose the rat in the beer halls of Germany, the pagodas of Japan, or even the pines of Canada.
Except Roman had a sick feeling in his gut that Slimeball Smirnov was heading for the American exhibit.
Deep inside, Russians possessed a keen sense of irony.
Roman dodged a family of four pushing a rented double stroller and barely missed being speared by a replica of the Eiffel Tower. Shocked play-by-plays littered his wake as he zagged through the crowd, leaped a planter, and nearly took out a slushy stand. “Perestan, Smirnov! Stop!”
Gennadi didn’t even slow.
Roman shot a look behind him. Yes, thank you, his pal David was on his tail. Except the vacationing Delta Force captain didn’t look happy. In fact, if Roman didn’t know better, he would have thought David might be ticked at him.
He’d explain his actions later.
Five months ago, Roman had gone fist to fist with Smirnov on his home turf, Khabarovsk, Far East Russia.
And after Roman had been dragged through the icy Amur River and had wrestled the pirate on the bottom of a fishing skiff, Smirnov had jumped ship, leaving behind his baggage—a silver canister. A heavy silver canister. Twenty kilos, without a doubt. As Roman screwed off the lid, internal warnings had buzzed. Warnings that seeded his nightmares—nightmares fertilized by Roman’s day job of hunting the terrorists who made a living parceling out Russia’s only remaining commodities, namely weapons, for cold Western cash—aka bucksov.
For a second, as Roman stared inside the container, time had stopped. Saliva pooled in his throat, and his hands felt clammy.
Paste. Or what looked like it. Odorless. Silvery white.
Probably radioactive, even in minimal doses.
Twenty-five kilos of Highly Enriched Uranium—HEU. The fuel for a nuclear bomb. Another Russian commodity for sale.
He’d put the lid back on the canister, feeling painfully light-headed.
Thankfully, all his tests for infection had come back negative…so far.
Since then, Roman had dedicated his life to not only finding Smirnov, but unearthing his source. Roman had a sick feeling he’d find answers buried deep inside the former Soviet Union, namely at one of the untended, decommissioned reactors. But the source wasn’t the biggest problem.
It was the supplier. And how did said supplier get his mitts on the nearly eight hundred kilos of still lethal HEU stockpiled in the former Soviet Union?
However, for the past week, Roman had left his questions happily, blissfully behind as he vacationed in Orlando with his Moscow University pal, American David Curtiss. They both knew their friendship wasn’t easily stomached by the powers that be, and they’d had to submit to more than thorough scrutiny. Still, to Roman it was worth the at-a-distance surveillance and guarded conversations to hang out with a guy who still felt like a brother-in-arms. The fact that David shared—no, mentored—Roman’s Christian walk made the vacation more than relaxing.
Roman might even call it rejuvenating. A guy who spent most of his time tracking mafia barons and weapons pirates needed a dose of eternal perspective to keep him on task. Thus, it seemed divinely appointed that Roman might spot his nemesis from across the ocean—Smirnov—right under his nose. Too bad Roman was dressed in cargo shorts and a muscle shirt. With no weapon save the neon necklace he’d purchased for the laser light show that evening.
Thankfully, Disney had some of the best security in the world.
As Roman dodged another couple and leaped over the leash tethering their children to their wrists, he could hear said security gathering momentum behind him. He’d consider them backup. As long as they remembered he was one of the good guys.
Don’t lose Smirnov.
He saw the guy whiz into the American exhibit, a replica of an old town courthouse.
Tochna! How he hated when he was right. Kind of.
Roman sped into the courtyard, nearly taking out a woman with a tray of milkshakes and hot dogs, and flew into the building.
Cool air. It raised gooseflesh on his skin as he stared in horror at the packed lines leading to the food counter. The smell of french fries and the buzz of excited children echoed off the white tile. Roman’s panic filled his chest as he scanned the lines.
No Smirnov. Roman beelined to the far door.
Smirnov could be bellying up for a double cheeseburger, O-rings, and a chocolate shake, and Roman wouldn’t have a hope of spotting him.
Roman scrambled through the crowd and out into the foyer, gripped his knees, and hauled in searing breaths.
He saw David enter the building. His dark gaze caught Roman’s and he stalked his direction. His expression didn’t bode well for the rest of their vacation. Or Roman’s future tourist visa applications. He mentally braced himself as he stood and scanned the tourists. Smirnov had to be in that crowd.
Or…Roman saw the end of a tour line disappear into a movie theater. He whirled and scooted into the darkened room.
A 360-degree domed screen, trapped air, and a blanket of darkness descended over him. The crowd was hushed, many people lined up against walls, most clumped in the middle. Roman walked through them, glancing up at faces, then staring at shoes, socks.
A family of six sat on the floor right in front of him. He nearly tripped over them, mumbled his apologies, stood and turned slowly as the screen lit up.
“I’m sorry, sir, but you can’t—”
Spotting a far door closing, Roman heard the click and the soft whoosh of spring-loaded hinges. He sprinted toward it, ignoring the attendant, and caught Smirnov racing along the back hallway.
“Perestan!”
Smirnov glanced over his shoulder. Smirked.
It was the smirk that Roman remembered later as he tackled the guy into the World Showcase Lagoon.
Kicking to the surface, Smirnov landed a blow to his adversary’s jaw that made Roman’s head spin. Two hundred fifty pounds of “wanna-get-away,” Smirnov put up a fight that left Roman just a little glad that David hadn’t asked questions and simply dove in after them.
Smirnov roared as David and Roman hauled him ashore. Roman threw him on the deck, kneed him in the back, and twisted his hand back in a submission hold.
Breathing hard, David sat down next to him. “I’m assuming you have a really good reason for tackling this tourist. One that isn’t going to land us both in lockup for the duration of your vacation. Or worse, deport you in your shorts and bare feet.”
Roman tightened his hold on Smirnov and patted him down. “Trust me.”
He unearthed a soggy Epcot ticket, a disposable camera, and a now out-of-commission cell phone.
“What are you looking for?” David asked as he climbed to his feet and wrung out his T-shirt. “Did he take your five-day pass?” He looked down at Roman and grinned.
And just like that, Smirnov’s smirk filled Roman’s mind. The backpack.
A shiver of fear crept down Roman’s body. He leaned close to Smirnov, who curled his lip in disgust.
“Where is it?” Roman asked in Russian.
David’s smile vanished. He went very still.
Smirnov laughed.
“Where is it, Smirnov?” Roman asked again, this time adding some oomph to his question by digging Smirnov’s jaw into the pav
ement. David moved closer. Roman wasn’t sure if that was for his own protection—or Smirnov’s.
Back off, David. Roman might not be wearing his black-and-gold FSB COBRA patch, but he was in charge of this interrogation.
Roman tightened his grip on Smirnov’s hand and was rewarded with a pain-filled grunt. “You’d better hope that backpack only has souvenirs and a bottle of juice, pal, or I swear, I’ll turn you over to the Americans. And I’m telling you, they’re taking this war on terror thing seriously.”
David stared at him. “What’s in the bag, Roma?”
In his mind’s eye, right behind the reality of happy families watching the Festival of Fantasy parade, Roman heard screams, saw charred bodies and fire spitting out the remains of the Guardians of the Galaxy: Cosmic Rewind building and sparking the fireworks now floating in the center of the Lagoon. He could see the headlines—Epcot Bombed, Hundreds Killed—and the resulting investigation that led right back to the shores of Khabarovsk and a botched arrest, one with his name attached.
For a moment, he felt the spur of bittersweet thankfulness that Sarai Curtiss was safely tucked away on the other side of the planet, in a village on the backside of Russia.
Even if he’d never see her again.
He shook away the thought, frustrated that she so easily slid into his brain. Just because he was wet, angry, and facing the brutal realities of new millennium terrorist tactics didn’t mean he had to surrender to the realm of what-ifs.
Sarai wasn’t going to be more than a blip on his radar. Ever. Again.
Then again, he’d clung to that blip like a sailor might a light across a black sea.
Because, while he didn’t always have to be the world’s hero, he longed to be Sarai’s—a woman who had once changed his world with her smile. And while the reasons he dove headfirst into trouble sometimes seemed fuzzy, he knew he had his eyes fixed on one hope—that someday God would intersect their paths. And this time, Roman wouldn’t let her walk away. Not, at least, until he knew why she wanted him out of her world.
Roman resisted the urge to wipe the smirk off Smirnov’s face with his knuckles and swallowed against a wall of frustration. “Cuff him,” he said to the round of security guards now huffing their way toward the spectacle. “If you do an INTERPOL search, you’ll find a warrant already posted for his arrest.”
Roman let the Disney guards take Smirnov and turned to David. “Who do we need to call to evacuate Epcot?”
For a sunny day, and despite the tan David had cultivated while attending the Food and Wine Festival, he turned a fine shade of chalky white.
Note from Susie May
King David is one of my favorite biblical heroes. Throughout the Psalms and through his mistakes and victories, he displays emotions I can embrace. And, whether he is dancing (half naked!) or moaning that his heart has turned to wax, he displays a faith in God that surprises me. David made no bones about it—he needed God. God was his entire life, and he had no problem saying, “God, I’m your guy…so please come and help me!”
I have to admit, David’s brazen faith astounds me. It wasn’t that he was without sin (murder and adultery come immediately to mind). So where did this confidence come from?
His confidence comes from God’s unfailing love—which He proves to David and to His chosen people. Psalm 22, verse 24, gives me hope that this confidence can be mine also. “For he has not despised or scorned the suffering of the afflicted one; he has not hidden his face from him but has listened to his cry for help.”
David didn’t deserve God’s love. He didn’t earn it. He simply needed it…and received it.
I wrote Someone to Watch Over Me in Russia, back in 1998 when we were missionaries there. At the time, I had four children under the age of seven, was homeschooling, and lived on the ninth floor of a high-rise apartment that had water pressure only from midnight to 4:00 a.m. (Which meant I did my laundry and dishes in the middle of the night.) I had no telephone (no e-mail!), no car, and my husband worked over an hour away in a tiny village. I felt a little…um…overwhelmed.
I’ll never forget the day my husband came home, weariness and distress in his eyes. He told me a horrific tale of espionage and a FSB plant in the church where he’d been working. Right then, the seeds for Someone to Watch Over Me were sown, along with a deep grief over what the members of that church had suffered at the hands of their so-called pastor.
Also living in Russia at the time were two other missionaries. Not long after we moved there, they were murdered. This rocked my world. Here I was, “suffering” for the Gospel, and everything I’d counted on (namely, the safety of my family in this foreign land) seemed to crumble.
I was tired and afraid. And, like Gracie or Vicktor, I had my own gaggle of “demons” whispering lies into my ears. Like “You were foolish to bring your children so far overseas.” Or “What do you hope to accomplish?”
Truly, I was in a place of need. What could I do to make my family safe and leave a lasting impression on my world, when it seemed that darkness stalked me on all sides?
Nothing—except trust the Lord. Writing this book became a catharsis for me. I learned, as Gracie and Vicktor do, that God’s favor (or His forgiveness) can’t be earned. It’s a gift. And in order to receive it, all I have to do is need Him. I learned that God was my strength when life felt too big or too dark. And I learned that with God there is always hope.
That’s the secret David had. The belief that when he got on his knees and asked, God would provide.
God provided in so many ways as I wrote. I am deeply grateful for the support and encouragement of the following people:
Constantine Utuzh—Now in heaven. A man of conviction and passion, he made me realize how important small acts of kindness can be.
The Far East Russia CoMission teams from 1994–1998—especially the ladies! The friendships forged during those times made living in Russia a billion times easier.
Alexi and Cindy Kalinin—I can’t help but think of you when I read Gracie and Vicktor’s story. Your friendship is among my most cherished.
Ellen Tarver (and Daniel and Tom!)—Thank you for reading Someone to Watch Over Me and later for saving me from being locked in my room all day. Your friendship is such a blessing.
David Lund—Thank you for reading Someone to Watch Over Me, and for believing in me even when I had my doubts. You’re such a blessing to me.
Andrew and my sweet children—For all those moments when I read aloud over dinner or shooed you away with a death glare or talked plot endlessly…thank you for listening politely, for understanding, and most of all for believing in my dreams. I’m so grateful for you.
Watch Over Me
Global Guardians series
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-943935-44-4
Print ISBN: 978-1-943935-45-1
Published by SDG Publishing
15100 Mckenzie Blvd. Minnetonka, MN 55345
Copyright © 2020 by Susan May Warren
* * *
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible. Scripture quotations are also taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright© 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc®. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide.
For more information about Susan May Warren, please access the author’s website at the following address: www.susanmaywarren.com.
Published in the United States of America.
Also by Susan May Warren
GLOBAL GUARDIANS
Watch Over Me
Never Say Goodbye
Run to You
&nb
sp; * * *
GLOBAL SEARCH AND RESCUE
The Way of the Brave
The Heart of a Hero
The Price of Valor
* * *
THE MONTANA MARSHALLS (family series)
Book 1: Knox
Book 2: Tate
Book 3: Ford
Book 4: Wyatt
Book 5: Ruby Jane
* * *
MONTANA FIRE
Book 1: Where There's Smoke (Summer of Fire)
Book 2: Playing with Fire (Summer of Fire)
Book 3: Burnin' For You (Summer of Fire)
Book 4: Oh, The Weather Outside is Frightful
(Christmas novella)
Book 5: I'll be There
(Montana Fire/Deep Haven crossover)
Book 6: Light My Fire
(Summer of the Burning Sky)
Book 7: The Heat is On
(Summer of the Burning Sky)
Book 8: Some Like it Hot
(Summer of the Burning Sky)
Book 9: You Don't Have to Be a Star
(Montana Fire spin-off)
* * *
MONTANA RESCUE
Prequel: If Ever I Would Leave You
Book 1: Wild Montana Skies
Book 2: Rescue Me
Book 3: A Matter of Trust
Book 4: Troubled Waters
Book 5: Storm Front
Book 6: Wait for Me
MISSIONS OF MERCY SERIES
TEAM HOPE: (Search and Rescue series)
Book 1: Waiting for Dawn (novella prequel)
Book 2: Flee the Night
Book 3: Escape to Morning
Book 4: Expect the Sunrise
NOBLE LEGACY (Montana Ranch Trilogy)
Book 1: Reclaiming Nick
Book 2: Taming Rafe
Watch Over Me Page 31