by Elle James
“Until now,” he said.
“We captured an image of her face when you two were viewing the reception hall videos. Our facial recognition software went to work going through stored video images from all over the world. We found clips stored on the CIA’s database. Apparently, the CIA has had sightings of her over the past two years. They want to bring her in for questioning about her parents’ deaths, but every time they get close, she disappears. The night her parents were killed, the Federovs were supposed to meet with one of their handlers to hand over something important.”
“The CIA told you that?” Striker asked.
Charley chuckled. “Let’s just say I have ways to gather information. I suspect Alexa got out of the house and could have whatever her parents were supposed to pass to the CIA. Thus their interest in bringing her in for questioning.”
Striker stiffened. “Someone broke into her room last night. Was it the CIA?”
“No, but there are agents at the Energy Summit watching. The night the Sokolovs were killed, they’d contacted their handler, stating they had information they needed to pass to the director of the CIA. The Sokolovs insisted on meeting in person to hand it over. They never made their scheduled drop.
“There’s something else you should know concerning Alexa.” Charley paused.
Striker tensed.
“The CIA isn’t sure, but they think she might be the person responsible for the deaths of a number of men who’ve been linked to a team of mercenaries who were in Moscow the night her parents died. She might also be linked to the death of a member of the Russian government and an informant for the CIA. The Sokolovs worked with him. The CIA thinks that guy was a double agent, working both camps. He might have been the one who exposed the Sokolovs.”
A mercenary team, a house fire and assassinations. Daniel shook his head. “It fits. She has some self-defense skills not usually taught in public schools.”
“If she is responsible for the deaths of the mercenaries and the double agent, she could be highly dangerous. And she might be the one targeting the Russians.”
“She didn’t stab Anatoly,” Striker said.
“Maybe not, but she could be working with someone else.”
“If she was behind the assassinations of the mercenaries and the double agent, it appears she might be after those responsible for killing her parents. What do Anatoly Petrov and Sergei Baranovsky have in common with her parents or the people she has targeted?”
“Anatoly was the double agent’s boss.”
Alex had said she didn’t want to kill Anatoly, that she needed him. “Is it possible Anatoly knows who might have put a hit out on her parents?”
“Anything’s possible in the Russian government. Sometimes, it’s a free for all with every man looking out for himself,” Charley said. “Many of the key leaders are also involved with the mafia. My main concern is that you watch Ms. Sokolov but be careful. If she knows you’re following her, she could become a threat.”
Striker laughed. “I’ve been keeping a close eye on her. In fact, after the attack last night, I had her stay in my room.”
A moment of silence followed, then Charley said, “I know. Just be careful. She’s tougher than you might think. Especially if she was able to eliminate trained mercenaries. Do you have any questions?” she concluded.
“About a hundred,” he said, “but all for Ms. Sokolov.”
“It’s up to you whether you want her to know that you’re on to her.”
“Thank you for the leeway to make that decision,” he said.
“Keep me informed.”
“Roger,” Striker said.
“Out here,” Charley said.
Striker pulled the earbuds out of his ears. His first instinct was to throw them across the room.
Alex? An assassin?
He’d known she was more than just an interpreter. But an assassin? He’d only been kidding when he’d accused her of being one. Then again, his gut might have been working harder than his gray matter. With hours to kill until the summit meetings adjourned for the evening meal, Striker went online searching for anything about the Federovs and the Sokolovs. It was as if their existence had been wiped clean from the web.
Charley had access to a lot more databases than he did, and she had the people and knowledge to find it. He still didn’t know much about Charley and what her ultimate goal was, but he had signed on with her operation. He prayed she was one of the good guys.
The hours passed slowly. He left his room to find a hot cup of coffee and sat in the ornate lobby of the Hotel Le Negresco, watching people as they walked by. Occasionally, one of the summit attendees emerged from the conference to take a phone call. They didn’t stay long, returning to the discussion as quickly as possible.
When four o’clock finally rolled around, the doors to the conference center opened, and people flowed out, talking heatedly. Some went directly to the elevators. Others stood in the lobby discussing the day’s topics in various languages.
When the German delegate emerged, Striker’s pulse quickened. Not long after, Alex walked out. Her gaze scanned the lobby until it landed on him. Her eyes widened, and a smile touched her lips. Then she looked away and headed for the elevator.
Striker took the stairs to the third floor, climbing them two at a time.
He eased open the stairwell door and spotted Alex heading toward him.
Once through the door, she stepped into his arms.
He automatically opened them and held her close, a hundred thoughts blazing through his head. Number one was the fact she’d walked straight into his embrace.
He should have been thinking about the possibility of her being an assassin, and that she’d killed a number of men.
But the scent of her hair and the way her body melted into his pushed all of that out of his mind for the brief moment she wrapped her arms around his waist.
Finally, she pulled back, her cheeks bright pink, her eyes wide. “I’m sorry. I must be tired.”
“Come on.” He took her hand and led her up the stairs to the fifth floor. He checked the hallway, waited for a man to enter his room, and then hurried her toward his.
Once inside, with the door closed behind them, Striker turned to face her.
“How was the meeting?” he asked when he really wanted to grill her on her real identity and ask her if she’d killed half a dozen men.
“Heated,” she answered, slipping the jacket from her shoulders. “We need to get dressed for dinner. It starts in just a few minutes.”
“We’ll get dressed in a minute,” he said. “What was that all about?”
She looked away. “What?”
“That hug in the stairwell.”
She shrugged. “I told you…I’m tired. I don’t know what came over me.”
“It must take a lot out of you to interpret for politicians and government officials all day,” he commented. “Is it harder than killing someone, Anya?” he said, using the name she’d gone by when she’d lived in Russia with her parents. He pinned her with his stare.
Alex’s face paled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Anya Federov, daughter of Mischa and Pavel Federov, sleeper agents in Russia for the CIA.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Does that ring a bell?”
She folded her jacket over her arm. “I don’t—”
“You can cut the lies. I know who you are, and apparently, others do as well.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “That had to be the reason someone attacked you last night. They know who you are. The question is, did they do it because you killed a buddy of theirs, or are they after something your parents might have given you before they died?”
She stood for long moment without speaking. The circles beneath her eyes seemed darker, the shadows in her eyes deepened.
“Look, Alex…or Anya…I don’t know what your parents were up to or what they felt necessary to pass to the CIA. I don’t care that you’ve killed bad guys. I’ve killed
a few myself. I can’t judge you on that basis. However, I do need to know what I’m up against. If I’m to protect you or help to keep the Russians alive to get this deal signed, I need to know who wants to kill who, and if you’re going to slit my throat in the night.”
“I would never slit your throat,” she whispered, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I…I…hell. They know I didn’t die in that fire.” She looked up at him. “You know about the fire?”
He nodded.
“And my parents?” she asked, her voice catching on a sob. She swallowed hard. “They broke down our door, charged in with their machine guns and murdered my parents. I would’ve stayed and helped them, but I wasn’t armed. My mother told me to go. She wanted me to take a flash drive from the safe and leave the house.”
“They would’ve killed you if you’d stayed,” Striker said.
Alex reached into her bra and removed a slim flash drive. “I’ve held onto this for two years. I can’t get into certain files because they’re encrypted, and I’ve tried every combination of passwords I could imagine. I still don’t know what that file contains or why my parents thought it was so important I needed to live to get it out of the house before they destroyed my home with my parents in it.” A single tear slipped down her cheek. She brushed it away.
Striker’s heart squeezed hard in his chest. He wanted to take her into his arms and hold her through her pain. “I don’t know whether to believe you or to turn you over to the French police.”
“Sometimes, I think it would be easier to turn myself over to the Russians and be done with it. Living a life of hiding and running is exhausting.”
“So, you are Anya and Alexa?”
She nodded.
“Did you kill the mercenaries and the government official the CIA thinks you did?” he asked.
“The team of mercenaries were guns for hire,” she said, her jaw hardening. “They’d kill anyone for a price.”
“And the government official?”
She glanced away. “He was a family friend. I thought I could trust him to know I was still alive. I needed answers to questions about who killed my mother and father. We met by the river.” She laughed. “He picked the location because he could easily dump me into the river and no one would know he was the killer. When he tried to push me in,” she turned to face Striker, “I ducked and pushed him. The river was up from recent torrential rains. He was swept away, his body found days later. It was ruled an accident.” Her lips twisted. “If I’d been the one to die in the river, it would have been the same. He was afraid I’d blow his cover, since he was my mother and father’s CIA contact in Russia. I learned later that while he’d been passing information to the US, he’d also sold US secrets to the Russians. He was the one who told the Russians my parents had something they really needed, and that they were planning to pass it to the CIA.”
“Was he the one who sent in the mercenaries?” Striker asked.
Alex shook her head. “No. He didn’t have those kind of connections. He was a middle man, playing both sides for profit. Someone else sent the gunmen.” Her eyes hardened. “I’ve been looking for the past two years for that person. At the same time, I’ve been trying to break the encryption on the flash drive with no success on either task.”
“Why didn’t you turn the flash drive over to the CIA?”
“I want to know what was so important my parents were willing to die for it. If I’d turned it over to the CIA, they wouldn’t have told me, and they might have used the information for other than noble purposes. Bottom line is that I didn’t trust them, or anyone else.” She shrugged. “So, I kept it and stayed in hiding.”
“Until now.”
She nodded. “This was my best chance to find out who put the kill order out on my mother and father. Petrov was the next man in the food chain, and Baranovsky is just ambitious enough to have some influence and connections. They had to have been involved in some way. I only needed to get them alone to question them.” She lifted her chin. “Then someone stopped me from doing that.”
“My apologies.” He pushed his hand through his hair. “The question is, what do I do with you now?”
She held out the flash drive. “If you have resources, you can help me determine what’s on this device so I know what the motivation was for killing the people I loved.”
He frowned. “You wouldn’t give this to the CIA, but you’re handing it over to me now?” Striker held up his hands. “You need to hang onto it. You don’t know me from anyone. How do you know I haven’t ingratiated myself with you to make you want to give me the information?”
“Because I’m tired. I figure you would’ve killed me if you’d wanted it that badly. Hell, you could’ve taken it off me while I slept and I’d never have known.” She gave him a brief smile. “Which tells me you didn’t know of its existence…until now.”
“Still, it’s yours. Your parents wanted you to hold onto it and keep it safe. If you want to use my computer to try to access the files, you’re more than welcome to try.”
She snorted. “I’ve tried every combination of passwords my parents could’ve used. Nothing works.”
“Maybe it’s not about looking for passwords. Sometimes, people lock files with biometrics like fingerprints, retinal scans and facial recognition software.”
“Then I’m really out of luck. My parents bodies burned in the housefire.”
“There has to be a backdoor to get into the file,” Striker said. “Have you worked with any hackers to see if they can get in?”
She nodded. “I’ve consulted several and followed their instructions. But I couldn’t bring myself to hand over the flash drive to anyone else. If it was that important that it was worth killing people and burning a house to the ground, it could be something bad if it lands in the wrong hands.”
Striker nodded.
Alex glanced at the clock on the nightstand. “Dinner is in a few minutes. If we don’t show up, people will wonder why. And if I’m being watched, which I’m sure I am, they might come looking for me in your room since you’re missing, too.”
Striker’s gut knotted. “I don’t like the idea of you going down to dinner or even going back to the summit sessions. We don’t know who is after you and when they will strike next.”
“Yeah, well, we don’t have much choice. I need to talk with Baranovsky and find out if he was the one to order the hit. I didn’t come this far to leave emptyhanded.”
“He’s not going to admit to anything,” Striker said.
“He might, with incentive.” Alex pulled a knife out of her pocket and flipped it open. What had appeared to be a small pocket knife opened up into a lethal blade.
“Remind me to never make you mad,” Striker said.
She lifted one eyebrow. “Don’t kill anyone I love, and we’re good.” Alex moved past him into the room, rummaged through her backpack and pulled out a white dress. “I’ll only be a minute in the bathroom.” She took the dress and a small makeup kit into the bathroom and closed the door.
He still wasn’t sure what to do with her, but he couldn’t let her go back to her room, and he didn’t feel comfortable letting her get another one, if one was even available, that could be broken into as easily. Hopefully, in a crowded banquet hall, she’d be all right. Then again, Anatoly Petrov had been attacked during the reception with people all around him.
Striker changed into one of the dark suits he’d purchased with the money Charley had given him. When he was ready, he sat at the desk and brought up the computer. Alex had laid the flash drive on the desk before entering the bathroom. She really was giving him the opportunity to take it.
He wouldn’t. But he would encourage her to keep trying to decrypt the security on the file she was attempting to get into.
A moment later, Alex emerged from the bathroom, her hair drawn back into a loose bun at the nape of her neck. The dress hugged her body like a second skin and flared out at her knees. With every step she took, the
fabric swirled around her calves, drawing attention to her slim ankles and the silver sandals she wore. She’d applied a little makeup to her eyes, emphasizing their darkness, and lipstick on her lips.
She was stunning.
Striker’s pulse ratcheted up.
She crossed the room, took the flash drive from the desk and tucked it into her bra. “Ready?”
He nodded, cursing himself for promising not to touch her.
Now that he knew who she was and some of the reasons she was in danger, he was glad she was staying with him. He’d better keep his promise and stay hands off. The woman was a skilled assassin.
Chapter 8
Alex left the room first and took the stairs to the third floor, and then crossed to the elevator, completing the descent to the ground floor. She crossed the beautiful circular lobby with its polished white columns and made her way to the banquet hall that had been decorated with shiny chandeliers and lovely flower arrangements and topiaries.
Natalya Zotin stood near Sergei Baranovsky and Hans Sutter. Thankfully, Alex wasn’t required to provide translation services for the German during meals, unless he specifically requested her to do so. He hadn’t. Alex suspected he found it a sign of weakness to rely on someone else to communicate his thoughts to others.
Wanting to avoid Natalya, Alex turned and made her way to a table with the Italian and French delegates. She knew just enough Italian to make light conversation and enough French to introduce herself. The evening meal went off without a hitch, the delegates having calmed down during the afternoon discussions. With Petrov indisposed, Baranovsky took control of answering any questions with regard to the pipeline.
During the course of the meal, Lorenzo Ricci, the Italian energy representative, and the French delegate, Gerald Bonhomme, got into a lively discussion of the day’s topics, to include alternative energy sources, current energy sources, transit routes and joint ventures between the EU and Russia.
At one point, Ricci leaned over to Bonhomme and whispered in Italian, “I have heard that the Russians are shorting the EU millions of cubic feet of natural gas each year.”