Girl Stalks the Ruins

by Jacques Antoine

  He cupped her chin in one hand and lifted her face toward his, finally pressing his mouth against hers, his fat, cruel lips smeared across hers. The stench of garlic and fennel, riding a wave of vodka fumes, enveloped her and Emily gagged.

  “How many were with you?” he demanded. “How did you know about the attack?”

  Emily’s eyes came into focus, and practically cross-eyed, examined the tip of his nose, the pores and sweat. She wondered about the time – ten o’clock, eleven, midnight? How long had she been out? “I didn’t know. I was in the Louvre by chance.”

  The large Russian snorted contemptuously, and when he turned, she noticed the tattoo creeping up his shoulder and onto his neck, a grinning skull in beret and sunglasses, floating above a fully deployed parachute bearing a red hammer-and-sickle insignia.

  “You lie, American. Who sent you? CIA? SOCOM?”

  “Why do you care? Haven’t you already been paid?” This was the only direction open to her, to needle him, maybe throw him off balance. And his questions seemed incongruous for a mere mercenary.

  “We would have been paid much more if the bomb had gone off.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss, then. But haven’t I made up for it by reducing the number of people you have to share it with?”

  He tilted his head to consider her eyes, and she glowered back at him. “You are a soldier, like us… a professional. I can see that much,” he said. “What I can’t understand is why you pursued us for so long. Why not just cut and run? This was just business, you must have known. Or are you some sort of hero?”

  She said nothing, her feet still dangling an inch or two above the deck. The men holding her were strong, but how long could they keep this up?

  “No one is coming for you. No one even knows where you are. You gain nothing by silence.”

  “Why bother with the Moroccan waiter?” she asked. This was always the weak point in their plan, whatever the other dimensions of it were. Mercenaries could hardly have a deep interest in destroying Hassan. If there was an inside man, this hedgehog, it pointed to a different sort of conspiracy. “Why not just plant your bomb and go? What did you have to gain by strapping it on him?”

  He roared and brayed in laughter at her question. “Yes, you are a pro. You know why already, don’t you?”

  “Not just any scapegoat would do for whoever is paying you, right?”

  “Enough,” he snarled, and backhanded her again. Her cheek and ear stung, and the room began to spin. “Now it’s your turn. Why did you pursue us? It was nothing to you, if, as you say, you were merely there by chance. Why make it personal?”

  Emily’s head began to find a new equilibrium, and she tilted her head to match his. Why did he need to know this? A mercenary wouldn’t care how his plan had been compromised. He’d merely assume that his customer, or one of his partners, had sold him out. But this Russian wanted something else. He wanted to find a leak in his intel. She smiled at him, though half her face was still numb.

  “Why would a mercenary need to know? You sound less and less like a pro by the minute.”

  “You killed my friends, you or someone working with you. But I only have you to thank for it.” He drew a large knife from a sheath on his belt. “This was Vassily’s blade, and you had it when we captured you. Nobody could have taken this off him, unless he were already dead. How did you come by it?”

  “I shot him in the back as he ran, once at the base of the spine, and another just behind his ear.”

  “You lie,” he roared, and slapped her head again, and readied a fist for her face, until she spat out more information.

  “I killed three more with his blade. Slit one’s throat, stabbed another under the chin, and slipped it between another’s ribs.” It felt good to taunt him with this information. Let it haunt him, too, instead of just her. “Every one of them looked in my eyes for forgiveness before they died.”

  “Will you forgive me when I cut out your heart with the same blade?”

  “I have already forgiven you. We are alike, after all, and neither of us is a pro.”

  “Enough. Our time together has run its course.”

  He slashed down the front of her blouse with the blade, tearing through her sports bra and opening a shallow gash in her chest. Warm blood trickled across her belly. He positioned the tip under her left breast, just below where her heart would be, and prepared to thrust it home. The man on her left flinched, perhaps instinctively, or out of fear that the blade would catch his hand, too. His grip slackened and her feet touched the ground just in time to twist down and away, and the blade caught the soft tissue below her collarbone instead of her heart. It plunged through and she screamed in agony, wailing like a feral cat, and in the instant of distraction, pulled her right arm free and struck the soft spot just below the big man’s Adam’s apple. Two fingers pressed hard past the top of the ribcage and down, just deep enough to catch a nerve cluster and trigger a spasm reflex. His arm flew out to each side, out of his control, leaving him momentarily vulnerable, gagging and utterly bewildered.

  In the confusion, she yanked Vassily’s blade from her chest in a spurt of blood, and swung it across her tormentor’s throat, slicing muscle fibers and nicking an artery. Blood sprayed from his neck across all three of their faces, and she let the blade continue on its deadly course, stabbing the man on her right in the thigh, and pivoting back to slice across the other’s belly. In the confusion and disorientation, neither of them knew how to subdue her, and she pivoted again, turning the blade forwards and backwards, slicing and stabbing ribs, arms and throats, until they’d both gone quiet.

  The big man watched the entire scene, helpless, stunned, trying in vain to stop the fountain of blood from his neck with both hands, until he sank to his knees, and finally toppled over. She knelt beside him and gazed into his eyes as his light faded. He tried to push a few last words out with the little life force remaining in his chest, and she brought her ear close.

  “It was just business…” he whispered. “Why…”

  “You took my mother. It was personal to me.”

  His eyes stared back at her in surprise and puzzlement, perhaps at the final irony of his life. Or perhaps his spirit had fled without hearing her response.

  Emily rose and turned toward the lights of the town. Shouting and a commotion came form a lower deck, stateroom doors slammed, and the world began to spin. She dropped the knife and staggered toward the stern railing. Was she strong enough to swim ashore? She collapsed on the deck before she had a chance to find out.

  Scattered gunfire and more shouting, and heavy footsteps resounded from below, and then seemed to approach the spot where her cheek rested on the decking.

  “Captain Tenno,” a now familiar voice called to her, and she opened her eyes to see Col Hassan’s bearded face. He turned to signal one of his lieutenants, the one from Akram’s apartment, who stripped off his jacket and laid it across her chest. “You are safe now,” he whispered. He smiled down on her, and she tried to return a smile of her own.

  Chapter 19

  The Wrong Flight Home

  Faces familiar and unfamiliar greeted Emily when she first regained consciousness in a semi-private suite in the Centre Hospitalier in Antibes, on the Côte d’Azur. A nurse bustled about, fiddling with one device or another, but mainly keeping the crowd outside waiting for just a little longer. Perry beamed at her from the next bed, as did Andie, and she dwelt on their faces for a long, sweet moment.

  “You had us so frightened, sweetheart,” Andie said. Perry nodded in vigorous agreement. “And you were so brave.”

  Next to her, she recognized the face of Marie Roussel, who offered thanks in French, and Andie translated for her. Emily smiled, and reached out to touch her wrist, and then gestured to Perry to come closer. “Don’t let them take any pictures of us together.” She tipped her head toward Mme Roussel as she said this. “You understand?”

  “Don’t worry,” he whispered. “Hassan has already be
en given full credit for the rescue. Michael saw to it, with Andie’s help.”

  Rémy and Hassan came a moment later to be recognized, as well as two of Hassan’s lieutenants. An official of some sort, perhaps the head of the provincial government, wished to present her with a medal, and she shook her head. Other faces peered at her from the doorway, and she heard the muffled voices of what seemed like a larger crowd in the corridor.

  Rémy cleared his throat. “I hope you will forgive me for…”

  “We did not know how to trust you,” Emily said, before he could complete his apology. “Otherwise, I would have told you about my mother. I am only grateful that Colonel Hassan acted on an instinct.”

  “We are in your debt, Colonel,” Andie said, picking up on Emily’s hint. “Without your timely intervention… I shudder to think what might have happened.”

  After Rémy left, seeming satisfied with Emily’s sentiments, Hassan had a word for her. “I am in your debt, Major Tenno.”

  “And we are in yours, too, Colonel. You trusted us, and risked much to protect my mother and my fiancé.” She glanced at Perry as she said this last bit, and Andie took his hand when she heard this news.

  “You protected me also, as well as my family. The conspiracy was aimed at me, but thanks to you, it has only served to advance my career. I don’t know how to repay this debt.”

  “One thing you can do for us is to leave my name out of any reports you file. Please, let all the credit go to my fiancé.”

  Hassan nodded, with a puzzled smile. “It shall be as you wish, Mademoiselle. Lieutenant Commander Hankinson will be the only name mentioned in my reports.”

  Later, doctors came to check on her. One expressed surprise at her resilience and the speed of her recovery. She still ached all over, and her jaw felt like it was out of alignment. Perhaps it would feel differently after the swelling had gone down.

  Once the noise died down, Yuki appeared in person, having flown in from London, where she’d been staying with Michael. A small security team that Michael insisted on accompanied her, and she made arrangements for Emily and Perry to be transferred to a hospital in Paris. Meanwhile, Michael focused on negotiations with SECNAV over Perry’s failure to report to Bagram on time. It smoothed things over quite a bit when Hassan pinned the Médaille de la Gendarmerie Nationale on him. The press was also happy to trumpet the heroism of a visiting American sailor on every front page.

  When she had a moment, Yuki filled them both in on what else the French press was reporting, with Andie’s help translating headlines. She also laid out Michael’s theory of the conspiracy behind the attack.

  “Your suspicions seem to have been correct. Levautrin was in on it.”

  “Has he been arrested?” Emily asked.

  “Not exactly,” Yuki replied.

  “What do you mean, not exactly?”

  “I guess at his level, prosecution is not an option,” Andie said. “But he has been forced to resign in disgrace.”

  “What did he sell out for?” Perry asked. “And to whom?”

  “Those are the tricky questions. Michael thinks it was part of a disinformation campaign run by the Russians to influence the election. But there isn’t a direct line of evidence pointing to the Kremlin. That yacht they found Emily on belonged to an oligarch…”

  “Belonged?”

  “He’s been arrested by the GRU, and is apparently locked up in a gulag somewhere.”

  “So, he wasn’t taking orders from the Kremlin, then?” Emily asked.

  “That’s hard to say,” Yuki said. “Michael thinks he’s probably being punished for the failure. But it may also be that he meant to run as an opposition candidate in Moscow next year. It’s a bit too complicated for me.”

  “Levautrin, was he paid by the Russians, too?”

  “That’s hard to say. Apparently, there’s no evidence of any payments. Hassan thinks it was just a grudge against him. If the Russians knew of some animosity toward the Colonel, they might have used it to turn Levautrin. Apparently, he had a protégé all lined up for Hassan’s position.”

  Finally, Admiral Crichton called, with good news and bad, as well as a fresh take on what she’d already heard hints about from Michael, namely that renewed interest in her from the operations side of CIA might pose a threat.

  “We were just trying to shield you from whatever it was they had in mind,” he said. “…and sneaking a promotion through seemed like the easiest way to accomplish it.”

  “What did they have in mind?” Emily knew nothing about the plot Crichton or Lukasziewicz were worried about, though she had her suspicions. But playing dumb, in order to minimize the danger in their minds, might keep them out of trouble.

  “I have no idea,” Crichton said. “But whatever it was, I think our plan would have worked if you hadn’t stumbled into the middle of that mess in Paris.”

  She didn’t have the heart to tell him that the unexpected promotion may actually have contributed to her entanglement in the whole affair. If her passport had simply matched her military credentials, it’s possible Rémy and Levautrin wouldn’t have detained her in the first place. But this was water under the bridge, and since she wouldn’t mind a quiet posting in Sasebo on the Admiral’s staff, there was no point mentioning this. Now, if only SECNAV would let her have it after everything that had happened.

  Once Yuki and Andie had returned to Charlottesville, and Perry had managed to arrange a return to Bagram, with a stopover at Ramstein AFB, Emily was happy to see CJ and Zaki., before their leaves ended. It was a surprise to all of them when Michael appeared in person, flanked by burly men in charcoal gray suits, who waited outside Emily’s room.

  “You remember Mr. Cardano, don’t you, CJ? And this is my friend Zaki Talib.”

  CJ blushed when Michael shook her hand, and then Zaki’s, as if she’d never met an important personage before. “It’s good to see you both again,” he said. Zaki looked ready to salute, but took the handshake instead.

  “I wish it could be under happier circumstances,” CJ offered, and Zaki nodded.

  “Oh, don’t be silly, you guys,” Emily said, just to needle them. “This is a happy ending. Everyone got home safe… with the exception of a few Russian mercs, and the Afghanis whose bodies they meant to leave behind as a false flag.” Even Emily couldn’t maintain a cheerful demeanor, once that dark thought had slipped out.

  CJ nudged Zaki, who proposed stepping down to a nearby café for a bit, and Michael nodded. Once they had the room to themselves, he turned to his real business in Paris.

  “The problem is Nyquist.”

  “Nyquist?” Emily stared uncomprehendingly. “That gnome from your Beijing office. What’s he got to do with anything?”

  “I had a feeling he was going to be a problem, you know, after the business with Wu Dao. He was embarrassed, and maybe even became embittered.”

  “Embittered? What the hell does he have to be embittered about?”

  “It’s the culture at CIA. If you suffer a setback, it can haunt you, and he was counting on landing a big fish through you.”

  Emily remembered vividly how she’d worried about the sorts of orders someone like Nyquist might have given her, had she actually become one of his operatives. Would he have required her to kill Wu Dao? Or perhaps his father? Or even Zhi Zhi? She’d have been happier choking off Nyquist himself.

  “I still don’t see what he has to do with me.”

  “He seems to have thought his career prospects had been eclipsed,” Michael continued. “I had a plan to promote him… to deflect any malfeasance, but some other agency must have seen an opportunity. He’s no longer on my payroll… and in my business, that’s never good news.”

  “Does this have anything to do with whatever mischief the Admiral and the Commandant have gotten themselves into?”

  “Yes. They rushed a promotion through, hoping to use it as an excuse… well you probably know the rest, don’t you.”

  “If everything in
this life was simple, I’d rather take a posting at Quantico, you know, and spend every other weekend with you guys. But that whole area has begun to feel cursed to me, like I can’t help walking around with a target on my back.”

  Michael let out a deep breath, and the muscles in his face sagged. “I know. Sometimes being close to a danger can trick it into overlooking you. But northern Virginia… maybe it’s too close.”

  “At least in Sasebo, even though I don’t have as many resources there… I have lots of friends… and it’s easier to spot outsiders, people who don’t belong.” She hung her head at the inevitable next thought. “Even if it means being far away from my family.”

  By the time CJ and Zaki returned, Michael was long gone. They came bearing a little baguette à jambon – butter and a slice of ham on crusty bread. It came wrapped in a sheet of newspaper, since even in Paris, cafés are not set up to provide takeout fare. After all, the whole point of a sidewalk café is to linger over a cup of coffee and enjoy a snack. Who would want to take the food away?

  Emily got out of the bed and sat with them at a nearby table.

  “You’re mobile,” Zaki said, a little surprised.

  “The way you looked when you got in yesterday, I’m amazed you can move at all,” CJ added.

  “I could have gone to a hotel, if it were up to me. But my mom insisted I stay in the hospital for a little longer, and Michael pulled a few strings.”

  “You’re not feeling weak?”

  “Maybe a little, but this is a bit much. I’m checking out tomorrow, if my bruises have faded enough. I don’t want to get on a plane looking like a murder victim, after all.” Emily forced a smile even though it still hurt to do so, and tried not to wince at the same time. “Which reminds me, CJ… I don’t really have any clothes. Can you get me a suitable outfit from somewhere? I’ll pay you back.”