“You think a local cop might be in on it?” said Bram.
“Probably not. But our visitor was talking about redirecting satellites to watch this Russian, this Marat Volkov, as if this was no big deal. So he must have a lot of pull in high places. If he really is with the government, he probably has the authority to get the police to watch for us, and to turn us in if we go to them.”
Bram sighed miserably. “Good point,” he said.
“With respect to being in hot water for assaulting the guy,” continued Riley, “that’s the least of our worries. The man impersonated an FBI agent and passed off forged credentials. This has to be a federal offense. He entered your home under false pretenses and then held a gun on us. Tied us up. If he’s legitimate, he can’t file charges against us—me—for these reasons. And if he really is a spy, the last thing he would want is for this situation to become more public. Not to mention having to admit he was beaten by a hundred-ten-pound woman.”
“And if he’s not legitimate?”
“Then I just saved your life,” she said. “But everything considered, until we learn more about what this is all about, and who we can trust, we should stay off the grid.”
“You really are scary good at this spy stuff,” he said in admiration.
“Go figure. Especially since you’re the one wanted on international espionage charges.”
“I really, truly, have no idea what that is all about. Honestly.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you worked on AGI?” she said, with the same level of contempt she might have shown had she learned he was selling crack cocaine to babies.
“I told you the truth back at the house. Apple made it clear they would take my firstborn child if I even told myself what I was doing.”
She frowned deeply but didn’t reply.
“I love your plan,” said Bram, “except that we won’t be holing up together. Once we’re clear of immediate danger, I want you out of this. Go stay with your Uncle Mike in Denver until I figure this out. I’m the target, not you, so you’ll be safe. No way I’m going to let you get hurt because of me. You’re completely innocent.”
She raised her eyebrows. “From what you say, so are you.”
“This is true,” he said with a sigh. “But, apparently, that isn’t a popular opinion with the men who are currently hunting me down.”
Riley chewed her lower lip and pondered what Bram had said as he turned east onto Del Mar Heights Road. “I’m not going anywhere,” she said finally, her jaw set in determination. “I won’t leave you in this situation. You said it yourself. I’m probably better at this than you. Besides, are you sure that I’d be safe in Denver?”
“Safer than being with me.”
“I’m not so sure. What makes you think they won’t use me to get to you? Besides,” she said, lowering her eyes, “I care about you more than I let on. I try not to, but I do. Which just means that we have to break up once we get through this,” she hastened to add.
Knowing her, this actually made sense. “I thought it was supposed to be men who were terrified of commitment,” he muttered, unable to help himself.
“Let’s save this discussion for another time. The point for now is that there’s no way I’m going to abandon you when you have no idea what’s going on or who to trust. I won’t leave you when you need me the most.” Riley sighed heavily. “So I’m going to help us get to the bottom of this. I’m going to help straighten out this misunderstanding before either of us gets hurt.”
She paused and stared at him with great intensity. “Unless I find out you really are what that guy says you are,” she said with a deep frown. “In that case,” she added icily, “I’m going to kill you myself.”
17
Major Marat Volkov was ecstatic. He could finally see a light at the end of a long tunnel.
He had never been on an assignment for this long and made this little progress. But he had begun making major breakthroughs recently, culminating in a discovery that he felt could finally get him over the finish line.
He had originally considered using David Bram’s home as a fort once they had taken over. It had a reasonably good security system in place, and Volkov could supplement this with booby traps and additional security to ensure no one would dare try to breach.
But he had thought better of it. Why leave anything to chance? So while his men were double-checking the security on Bram’s residence, Volkov had identified an ideal place to keep a prisoner safe from any would-be rescuers, an abandoned Seventh-day Adventist church that had been put up for sale, less than an hour’s drive away.
The church was relatively small, nestled in the center of a ten-acre clearing surrounded by woods, giving it an easily defensible perimeter. It had been on the market for three months, so the chances that the realtor involved would be showing the property while they were borrowing it were slim. But just in case, Volkov had Russian Intelligence back home hack into the realtor’s computer to check his calendar. He had a busy weekend scheduled, but as expected, it didn’t include any visits to a church.
The major had sent four of his men to prepare the structure to his specifications, to make it all but impregnable, in the unlikely event that their presence there was discovered. They would apply advanced technology and booby traps to ensure any rescue attempt would be suicidal.
A voice came through the comm in Volkov’s ear, belonging to his second-in-command on this mission, Sergei Greshnev. “Are you on your way to Bram’s house?”
“Not yet,” replied Volkov. “I was just leaving.”
“Don’t bother,” said Greshnev in annoyance. “They’re on the move.”
Volkov frowned. “I’m sure they’ll return home shortly,” he replied.
They had caught up with the couple that morning, as they were completing a breakfast at a quaint Del Mar café. When the couple had finished, they had walked along the streets of this wealthy enclave, window shopping. Volkov had deployed sophisticated technology to record their conversation remotely, and had learned that they planned to stay in that night at Bram’s Del Mar home.
Fortunately, Volkov’s men were also able to successfully deploy tiny drones, each about twice the size of a grain of rice, and guide them onto the couple’s clothing, where they attached like tiny burrs. The drones were new military tech coming out of Russian labs that not even the Americans could match. They were nothing more than flying GPS homing beacons, giving men like Volkov a convenient way to tag and track their quarry, like scientists conducting migratory studies on wildlife.
“Maybe they went for a drink,” suggested Volkov, before immediately thinking better of it. These two weren’t Russians, after all, but health-obsessed Californians. “Or maybe a low-fat frozen yogurt,” he amended.
They had decided that Bram’s home was secluded enough that it made sense to breach there rather than attempt to snatch them off the street. When operating in the States, discretion was the better part of valor. Why risk making a public spectacle and get American authorities asking questions?
“I don’t think this is about yogurt,” said Greshnev grimly. “They left almost twenty minutes ago. I didn’t want to notify you until I had more information. But something smells very bad about this. They’re moving about like pinballs. They drive, then they walk, then they drive. Doesn’t make sense. Almost as if they’re aware we’re out here and are playing at being spies to confuse us.”
“Any way we could have been seen?”
“Doubtful. But anything is possible.”
“Keep them within range of our tracking beacons. I’ll come join you. We may have to change our plans. As much as we didn’t want a more public snatch and grab, we may have no other choice.”
“Roger that,” said Sergei Greshnev.
18
Cameron Carr issued a soft groan as he returned to consciousness. His head throbbed, and each and every muscle in his body, including muscles he didn’t even know he had, felt like they had been forced through a cast iron meat tende
rizer.
All four of his limbs were now bound to the weighty walnut table under which he had fallen. With zip ties. His own zip ties, no doubt. Talk about embarrassing.
Still, he thought, blowing out a sigh of relief, it could have been worse. At least he was still alive.
He was much more upset with his own carelessness than with Riley Ridgeway’s actions. In fact, he couldn’t help but admire how well she had handled herself. She had outplayed him, fair and square.
She had fooled Carr into believing she thought he was a legitimate government agent, and that she was much more suspicious of David Bram than of him.
But how could she have known what to believe?
A strange man comes through the door wielding a gun and making wild claims, and Riley Ridgeway, the beautiful farmer’s daughter type that she was, reacted the way any beautiful farmer’s daughter type might react. Who could blame her for concluding that her best course of action was to deploy her stunner if she could, getting away from him and buying time to sort things out.
And she had decided to stand by her man—at least for now. Carr truly hoped this decision didn’t end up costing her. It wouldn’t if he had anything to do with it.
But if he wanted to reacquire David Bram before Volkov did, he had no time to waste. He guessed he had been out for as long as a few hours.
As much as he would love to rest here, hog-tied though he was, he couldn’t afford to lick his wounds. It was time to free himself. To demonstrate that he was still a pro, despite his earlier display of incompetence.
He should have brute strength enough to break one of the table’s legs away. The trick was to do it in such a way that he didn’t get crushed in the process. His two former prisoners hadn’t removed his weapons, including his combat knife, so once he was free he could remove the zip ties quite rapidly and be on his way.
But it was possible he was already too late.
19
David Bram took stock of his situation, trying to ignore the distinct smell of mold that hovered in the air. The El Cajon Shut-Eye Motel was exactly as bad as Riley had specified. Maybe worse. Dingy. Small. Unappealing in every way.
Bram hadn’t been born wealthy, and had backpacked across Europe the summer before he began his graduate studies at MIT. During this time he had slept in public train cars and in a number of youth hostels that had been every bit as unappealing as the El Cajon Shut-Eye Motel.
But he had become spoiled by wealth. He had been living the good life for long enough that this now seemed the scummiest place he had ever been. Bram glanced at the bed and then back at Riley. This was the first time he could remember being with her near a bed and having absolutely no interest in making love to her. Not in this setting, or under these circumstances.
Not that she would let him near her right now, anyway, even if they were at the Four Seasons. Not until she could trust him again.
How could this be happening? It was insane. Was it just a case of mistaken identity? Or much more troubling, was he being framed? Perhaps one of his colleagues at Apple was responsible and had placed incriminating information on his computer. At this point, anything was possible.
And what was this doing to his relationship with Riley? Was it destroying it, or improving it?
It might be either, he had to admit. Riley had shown she cared for him more than he had thought. And surely being held at gunpoint together, escaping together, was a major bonding experience. And their shared peril wasn’t over.
So far, she was the one who had played the hero, rescuing them from the intruder at his home. What he needed was to save her life, not the other way around.
But maybe this wasn’t necessary. Maybe she already loved him, as hard as this was to believe. If so, heroics that resulted in an even deeper connection between them was the worst thing that could happen.
How had he managed to fall in love with a woman who was this amazing, and this maddening? He was put in the impossible position of ensuring their relationship stayed in some kind of Goldilocks Zone or risk losing everything. If she liked him too little, it was over. If she liked him too much, it was over. Only if the porridge was just right would Goldilocks stick around.
He sighed, putting this conundrum out of his mind for the time being. There were more pressing matters to consider.
“Okay,” he said to her. “Here we are. So now what? My computer skills are very good, so maybe I can find a computer and search the Dark Web for possible answers. Or I could try to hack a few of my colleagues at Apple, see if they’re involved with something shady. Something bad enough to cause people to come after me by mistake.” He paused. “What do you think?”
“I don’t think we’re likely to get anywhere on our own. Not lying low in a motel room. This is way over our heads. I like the idea of taking advantage of your computer skills, but as good as you are, aren’t your colleagues at Apple just about as good?”
Bram nodded.
“So they won’t be easy to hack, even for you, right?”
He frowned. “This is probably true.”
“Here’s what I think we should do,” said Riley. “First, let’s try to learn if this fake FBI agent, Parker, is really with the government, and if so, who he really is. From what I understand, government computers are less well protected than those belonging to savvy individuals or multinationals.”
“Not as true as it once was,” said Bram, “but still the case.”
“So why don’t you hack the US government? See if you can find any intel on yourself. What this might be about. Most importantly, see if you can find someone high up in intelligence circles who can help us get to the bottom of this. Someone with experience and resources, who Parker can’t reach. Someone we can monitor to be sure we can trust.”
“I’ll need access to a very good computer,” he said.
“I have an idea about that too,” she replied. “What we can do is—”
The door burst inward and three men rushed inside, guns drawn.
“Don’t make a sound,” said the man in the middle, so calmly and casually that it had a more chilling effect than a shout would have had. “Frisk them, Yuri,” he ordered one of the two men on either side of him.
The man who was apparently named Yuri did as he was ordered, not being gentle in the process. He found Riley’s stunner, about the size of a small cell phone, its hard plastic casing fittingly painted an electric blue, and slipped it into his own pocket for safekeeping.
Bram frowned. He supposed it was too much to hope that this device could free them a second time.
The man who had issued the orders was not native to America. His accent was nearly perfect, but Bram had a great ear and had a feeling he had been born in Russia. The fact that his flunky was named Yuri was a not-so-subtle clue as well. Given what the FBI impersonator had told him about the man after him, a Russian named Marat Volkov, this was a very bad sign.
“What is this all about?” croaked Bram, almost too paralyzed to speak, and having a good guess at the answer.
The man in charge smiled as Yuri returned to his side. “Since I have the gun,” he said coldly, “why don’t I ask the questions. First, what are you doing here?”
Bram noted that even the faintest trace of a Russian accent had now disappeared. Impressive.
The man surveyed the tiny room with obvious distaste and then turned again to David Bram. “You’re not trying to satisfy some strange sexual fantasy, are you? Some kind of role-playing game? Are you a wealthy guy who gets off on screwing your woman in a filthy motel room like she’s a whore?”
“No!” replied Bram in disgust. “Why would you even think that?”
“Then what?” said the Russian, glancing back and forth between his two prisoners. “The only other conclusion that makes any sense is that you’re trying to avoid us. Are you?”
When neither replied, he spoke in Russian to the flunky on his left, who immediately lowered his gun and pointed it at Bram’s kneecap. “This is Sergei,�
�� the man in charge explained to the couple, nodding toward his comrade. “You both need to tell me the truth,” he hissed. “All of it.” He turned to face Bram. “If not, Sergei here will make sure you never walk again.”
“Look,” said Riley immediately, panic in her eyes, “we don’t know what’s happening. But a man visited us earlier tonight. Said he was Special Agent Jeff Parker of the FBI. His credentials checked out. But then he held us at gunpoint.”
The Russian considered this thoughtfully. “What did he want?”
Bram opened his mouth to reply but Riley jumped in ahead of him. “He didn’t say,” she replied simply.
Bram’s eyes narrowed. Why had she lied? Perhaps she didn’t want them to know the AGI angle. Maybe she was trying to protect him. It was a nice gesture, but if this was really Marat Volkov, it wouldn’t help.
“I did tell you the penalty for lying,” said the Russian icily, nodding at Sergei, who made a show of moving his gun closer to Bram’s kneecap.
“I’m not lying!” insisted Riley emphatically. “I’m sure he would have told us what he wanted, but he didn’t have a chance. When he tried to tie us up, I knocked him out with my stunner. Check it,” she added, nodding toward the flunky on his right, who still held the small device. “You’ll see it’s been discharged recently.”
The Russian shook his head in disgust. “Incredible. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that your FBI agents are this incompetent.”
The man paused in thought, making no move to check Riley’s electroshock weapon, apparently convinced she was telling the truth. “So this man visited you—right before we were planning to do the same. That’s quite a coincidence.”
“I can’t speak to that,” said Bram, “because we have no idea why anyone would want to talk to us in the first place. The bottom line is that we didn’t know what was going on, or who to trust.”
“So you decided to come to this crappy motel until you could figure things out,” said the Russian. “Is that what you’re telling me?”
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