The Nuclear Option
Page 24
“Da. Who is this?”
“It’s the person who’s going to save your career.”
Immediately the sleepiness left Gregorovich’s voice. “Have you located it?”
“It’s in Kirov,” Tracie said simply. “And no,” she added, anticipating his next question. “Navsegda did not have time to detonate it.”
“Impossible,” he said.
“Excuse me?”
“I do not believe you were able to locate the device while operating alone and with no assistance, when my men have not managed so much as a single lead on its whereabouts.”
“I couldn’t care less what you believe, General. However, I suggest you send a team to Kirov immediately. But before you do that, you should talk to the Kirov Militsiya and tell them to cordon off the area around the red American pickup truck with the dead body inside. They’ll know which truck you’re talking about, trust me.”
“You were somehow involved in the theft of this device, weren’t you? That is the only possible way you could have located it so quickly.”
Tracie laughed. “General, I don’t expect you to throw me a parade. Honestly, I don’t even expect a morsel of gratitude. But it would be nice if you at least avoided baseless accusations. Once you identify the bomb’s dead triggerman, it should be pretty easy to identify and then round up the rest of Sovetskiy Soyuz Navsegda, at least the members who worked on this particular project. When you’ve done that, you’ll know I had nothing to do with this plot, other than saving thousands of your own citizens’ lives.”
Stony silence greeted her words. Gregorovich knew—or at least strongly suspected, as had Detective Kuznetsov—that she was working inside Russia as a CIA covert operative. It would go against everything a high-ranking Red Army officer believed to admit such a heinous conspiracy as the one Navsegda had come so close to executing had been perpetrated by Soviet citizens unhappy with their own government.
She thought about dropping the name of the man bankrolling Navsegda’s operation, and then decided against it. Why bother? As she’d said, someone would talk once the KGB started “questioning” Navsegda members.
Besides, it wasn’t her job to help the Soviets round up dissidents. If Dimitri Kozlov hadn’t been working toward a more retro, hardline Soviet Union, it might have been worth viewing him as a potential asset and trying to turn him. Either way, though, at this point there was almost no chance Kozlov would spend more than the next few days outside a prison cell.
Again, not her problem.
“Anyway,” Tracie continued, “it’s been a pleasure doing business with you.”
“You should not be so flippant, young lady.”
“Really? And why is that?”
“Because this is not the last time you and I will chat. We will meet again, somewhere down the line. And when we do, if you are working toward the downfall of the Soviet Union, as I know is the case, your actions over the last few days will not prevent you from suffering mightily at my hands.”
“General,” she said. “Are you sweet-talking me? Asking me on a date? Because I happen to know you’re a married man. You invited me into your home, remember?”
“I did no such—”
“Oh, that’s right. My invitation to your daughter’s party got lost in the mail. Anyway, I was there and I had a lovely chat with your wife—” that part was a lie, but Gregorovich would have no way of knowing—“so I know you’re married. And I make it a rule not to date married men, no matter how interested they seem to be in me.”
“I don’t know what you think you are playing at,” he thundered, his anger obvious.
“Besides,” Tracie continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Even if you were single, you would at least have to take me to dinner if you were interested in any kinky stuff.”
“I don’t—”
“Is that it? You’re asking me to dinner? Where will we be going? It will have to be someplace where the people don’t know you’re married, you naughty boy.”
Gregorovich cursed. He began threatening her, calling her names, telling her what he would do to her once she was apprehended.
She let him rant, enjoying the moment, wanting to stay on the line and antagonize him further. But the Kirov Militsiya were still combing the city for the assailant who’d executed the man inside the Ford F-150, and the longer she stood here, the less likely her escape became.
And she’d accomplished what she needed to do: advising Gregorovich where to find the nuclear bomb.
She hung up on the general in mid-threat and began sprinting back toward the apartment building where she’d left her escape vehicle idling. Hopefully it was still there.
Leaving a tactical nuke unsecured in the middle of a city of half a million people was not ideal, but there was nothing she could do to secure it beyond the steps she’d just taken. And besides, undoubtedly the Kirov Police had cordoned off the vehicle to begin their murder investigation.
It should be safe until the Red Army came and trundled it off to one of their military bases.
What would happen to it after that, Tracie had no idea. That sort of thing was above her pay grade. Hopefully it would gather dust and, over time, eventually be disarmed and destroyed.
Somehow, Tracie doubted that would happen, but it was a nice thought.
She was back at the apartment building moments later. The car was sitting where she left it, and she leapt in and hit the street, determined to waste no more time.
There was no sign of the police.
It only took a few minutes to locate and access the highway south toward Moscow.
Thirty minutes later, she had acquired a new vehicle and done so properly, taking the time to swap out license plates with another car.
Her head was pounding and she wondered whether the pain was being caused by her injury or lack of sleep.
Probably both, she thought.
It didn’t really matter, in any event. In twelve hours, give or take, she would be back at her safe house, where she would debrief Aaron Stallings, and then clean and disinfect the gash on her scalp.
And the ones on her hand.
And examine her injured ankle.
And her assorted other bumps and bruises.
Then she would fall into bed and sleep for the next forty hours or so. She craved sleep so badly she could almost taste it.
Upon waking, she would pace the little safe house impatiently, drinking coffee and trying to avoid the ghosts of her past, and especially the spirit of her father, as she awaited her next assignment.
Hopefully it wouldn’t be long in coming, because already she was dreading the alone time.
Her work was the only thing that kept her sane.
She pondered the implications of that fact as she drove, wondering what it said about her, not liking the conclusions she reached.
Eventually she flicked on the car radio. Some kind of Russian folk music was playing, a tune she didn’t recognize but one that sounded strangely disjointed and unmusical.
She didn’t care.
She listened anyway.
It was better than silence.
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Tracie Tanner returns soon in her ninth action-packed thriller. In the meantime, if you’d like to read the series in order from the beginning, please visit Amazon’s Parallax View page. Happy reading!
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About the author
Allan Leverone is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of nearly two dozen novels and
five novellas, as well as a 2012 Derringer Award winner for excellence in short mystery fiction and a 2011 Pushcart Prize nominee. He lives in Londonderry, New Hampshire with his wife Sue, and has three grown children and three beautiful grandchildren. He loves to hear from readers and other authors; connect on Facebook, Twitter @AllanLeverone, and at AllanLeverone.com.
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Also by Allan Leverone
Thrillers
Parallax View: A Tracie Tanner Thriller
All Enemies: A Tracie Tanner Thriller
The Omega Connection: A Tracie Tanner Thriller
The Hitler Deception: A Tracie Tanner Thriller
The Kremlyov Infection: A Tracie Tanner Thriller
The Bashkir Extraction: A Tracie Tanner Thriller
The Soviet Assassin: A Tracie Tanner Thriller
The Lonely Mile
Final Vector
The Organization: A Jack Sheridan Pulp Thriller
Trigger Warning: A Jack Sheridan Pulp Thriller
Death Perception: A Jack Sheridan Pulp Thriller
Dead Reckoning: A Jack Sheridan Pulp Thriller
Dark Fiction
Mr. Midnight
After Midnight
The Lupin Project
Paskagankee
Revenant
Wellspring
Grimoire
Covenant
Linger: Mark of the Beast (Co-written with Edward Fallon)
Novellas
Chasing China White
The Becoming
Flight 12: A Kristin Cunningham Thriller
Darkness Falls
Heartless
Story Collections
Postcards from the Apocalypse
Letters from the Asylum
Uncle Brick and the Four Novelettes
The Tracie Tanner Collection: Three Complete Thriller Novels
Tracie Tanner Thrillers: Volume 1-7