by Wendy Rosnau
“He went after Mama?”
“If he had been successful he would have used Ruza to lure you out of hiding. You would have probably gotten emotional and made some silly deal with him to free her. Of course that would have ended up with both of you dead. Since that is unacceptable, I’ve decided—”
“Was she hurt?”
“A bump on the head, and shaken up a bit. I took it upon myself to assign her a guard after the incident in Bratislava. An agent was staked out in front of her apartment. We interceded before she was taken.”
“Obviously not a very good one if someone was able to break in.”
Another austere look over his glasses. “Ruza is packed and ready to join you on your little getaway. She’s been given a story that parallels the bullshit you’ve been feeding her over the years about working for an international real estate agency. As your real estate boss—” he made a face “—I’ve told her that we’re sending you on a little business/pleasure trip. I sent someone to pack for you. You’ll leave straight from here and meet Ruza at the airport.”
“Our destination?”
“The U.S.”
Too vague. “Where exactly?”
“An out-of-the-way little place called Le Mystère.”
“Le Mystère? It sounds lovely. Which coast?”
“The Gulf.”
“Florida?”
“Louisiana.”
“What’s in Louisiana?”
“Alligators, snakes and…hot weather. It seems I’ve made one of your wishes come true.”
“Why not a sunny island in—”
“Because your bodyguard is familiar with Louisiana. He’s got a house there.”
“With alligators for neighbors.”
“Look at it this way. You won’t have to make an effort to be…nice. You can be yourself.”
At Quest, Casmir was known as the bitch with an attitude, the agent who got away with far more than Polax put up with from anyone else. She didn’t know why that was. She knew agents who had been suspended for speaking their mind. She, on the other hand, had simply gotten Polax’s famous look.
“Does my bodyguard have a name?”
“If I’m not mistaken, you’ve already met.” Polax opened the file on his desk and shuffled through a stack of papers. “Pierce Fourtier was the agent who helped out on the Austrian mission a few months ago. The one you played body double with.”
Not that arrogant jackass. No, Casmir thought. The gods wouldn’t be that sadistic. Give her anyone else. A seven-foot gorilla with body odor, a three-foot circus midget on crutches. A transvestite with a shoe fetish, and better taste than hers. Anyone, just not Pierce Fourtier.
“An excellent operative. I’ve never met him, but his file is quite impressive. Seven years as a rat fighter makes him the perfect troubleshooter to watch your backside.”
“The perfect asshole, you mean.”
“As I said, call him whatever you wish.”
“I can’t work with him. We didn’t get along in Austria.”
“I have no record of that.”
Of course he didn’t—she hadn’t made an issue out of it because she was sure she’d never see him again.
“I’m not asking you to like him. You’re a professional, and professionals put their differences aside. Bring your acting skills along and you’ll do fine. It’s always worked before. Until four days ago, that is. This time the only difference will be that instead of standing out in a crowd, and dining with royalty in a two-thousand-dollar miniskirt, you’ll be blending in to your surroundings. That should lighten your suitcase, and Quest’s expense account.”
That was mean. He knew damn well that she spent money out of her pocket for at least half of her wardrobe.
She should point that out. Point her toe and give him a kick under his oversize desk.
Instead, she asked, “How long will it take to put Yurii back behind bars?”
“If I knew that I’d moonlight as a psychic. The important thing is coming out of this smelling like petunias instead of yesterday’s socks. The eyes of the intelligence world are watching us. We can’t afford to make another mistake where Yurii Petrov is concerned. He’ll be out for blood now.”
“Mine.”
“Well put. He has unlimited resources. Behind every legitimate business he owns there’s a million-dollar fraud in the works. From money laundering, to smuggling, to forgery and counterfeiting. He’s the go-to man every criminal wants as their friend when they need someone to disappear, or a few billion dollars cleaned. To put him out of business we need the location of his headquarters. It’s too bad he never took you there during the months you spent with him.”
He was referring to Nescosto Priyatna. Yurii’s secret sanctuary was still a mystery to the intelligence world, and to her.
“For us to come out of this bungle with our heads high, we’re going to have to get creative. We want his operation destroyed. Until that happens you’ll be vacationing in hell.”
“Hell?”
“Sorry. I should have said heaven. Snake heaven, that is. I’ll keep you up to date on the situation on a need-to-know basis. For now you don’t need to know anything, except what time your flight leaves.”
“Snake heaven.”
“You really are listening. Good.”
Casmir knew Quest’s policy when it came to offering information—only active agents involved in the mission were briefed on the when, where and how.
She didn’t want back in the hot seat, but it was a foolish move to keep her out of the loop altogether. She’d been the only agent to get inside Yurii’s tight circle. She knew his habits. Knew things that hadn’t made it into his file.
She’d gotten close enough to know that he slept on his back, not his belly. Knew what he did first when he got out of bed in the morning, and it wasn’t make a trip to the bathroom. Knew what quenched his thirst above all else, and why he had his shoes custom made, and it wasn’t the same reason she did.
She couldn’t shake that feeling that she always got when the cards in the deck had been switched and she was playing poker, holding a sucker’s hand.
She said, “Now that Yurii’s been burned, it won’t be easy getting close to him. He has plenty of men to do his legwork. Their loyalty is beyond question. And he has Filip.”
“Yes, the brother. Thank you for bringing him to my attention.” He scribbled the name on a piece of paper. “So that’s it, we’re on top of the situation, with every confidence that we have the right bait to make Yurii bite.”
If they were on top of the situation, Yurii would never have escaped his iron cell in the first place, Casmir thought.
Polax looked up and gave her a satisfied smile. “You’re on vacation starting now.”
“But I—”
“There’s no need to concern yourself further. I’m confident this time things are going to go our way. Get comfortable in your new home and take up a hobby. Knitting, perhaps, or maybe cooking. Can you boil water yet?”
She would like to boil him, and the look she gave him said so.
“You won’t be returning to Quest until Petrov’s command center has been destroyed and the final paperwork is on my desk. My advice is to put your feet up and enjoy the time off.”
“I don’t see why—”
“Your argument will be a waste of your time and mine.”
Casmir scalded him with her best bitch look. The problem was by now Polax had become immune to it. But she kept it going.
She’d been given the name royal bitch, which she embraced. She’d had a good teacher. Her mother had written the rule book on bitchdom, and Casmir had read every word.
A weak woman was as vulnerable as a three-legged dog on a fox hunt, Mama had always said. A strong woman knows how to get what she wants. When to add a cup of sugar, or a drop of arsenic.
A confident woman is wrinkle free, walks like she owns the sidewalk and isn’t afraid to kick a little ass when the shoe fits. And if the ass is bi
g, wear boots—preferably a pair you can run in should your aim be an inch or two off and the brute doesn’t go down.
Polax was speaking again. Casmir made eye contact, her eyes snapping like a bitch on fire.
He dismissed the look. “We never know what tomorrow will bring in the intelligence business, Balasi. Four days ago you were the actress. A busy little spy doing what you do best, playing games with a winning hand. But now your cards have been turned over and Petrov knows you outplayed him. Until we have him back, you’re—”
“A prisoner with an asshole jailer.”
“A jailer who has a reputation that gives new meaning to the word survival. I’m confident Fourtier will be able to protect you should your sunny disposition irritate the neighbors and start them hissing.”
Very funny, Casmir thought. If a reptile crossed her path, she was going to shoot it in the head with Yurii’s dependable Gyurza. She still had his gun, with a round of ammo guaranteed to turn Fourtier’s neighbors into leather shoes, complete with matching handbags.
“Your plane is waiting, and so is your mother. I’m sure Ruza will recover from her injuries in a few days.”
“Injuries. But you said—”
“The minor bump on the head and black eye haven’t slowed her down much.”
“Mama has a black eye?”
“In a few days she’ll look as beautiful as ever. Now get going.”
“But—”
“Your flight leaves—” Polax checked his watch “—in fifty minutes. Move your amazing ass, Balasi. I’ll be in touch.”
Pierce entered Merrick’s office at Onyxx in Washington expecting a pat on the back, and his vacation request confirmed. He and Jacy had managed to wrap up the kill-file mission and defuse a time bomb.
All was good, and now it was time for a little fun in the sun. He deserved it. He was anxious.
“Sit down, Pierce. That was a helluva job you did for us in Montana. Jacy’s back working for us. Polax is happy that Prisca has joined his team of female spies. And we have the original kill-file in our possession.”
“And Holic Reznik?”
“Holic is never going to see the light of day. His prison cell at Clume is now his permanent home.”
“And the Chameleon?”
“We’ve alerted the appropriate organizations directly involved in his intended mayhem. Of course, we still want him, but for now lives have been spared. You and Jacy can be damn proud of that. The agency is grateful.”
All in a day, Pierce thought. Now let’s settle on a date when I leave for my requested time off. He probably wouldn’t get a month like he’d asked for, but surely two weeks. He could live with that.
“Sorry to have to tell you this, but your request for vacation time has been denied.”
Pierce had just sat down. He looked across the desk at his commander in disbelief. He hadn’t had time off in over a year. Not unless they were counting his recovery time from taking those two bullets for Bjorn in Austria months ago. Rehab had been no picnic, but he’d gotten used to the routine. He had more bullet holes in him than all his teammates put together. Still, a little rehab hardly qualified as a vacation.
“You’re denying my request? Why?”
“Polax called and he’s got a problem.”
“Since when are his problems our problems? Or should I say, mine?”
“When they parallel our interests. He’s uncovered a critical piece of information, and that information could put us back on the trail of the Chameleon. Ever hear of a man named Yurii Petrov?”
“The Russian mobster, oui, I’ve heard of him. He’s doing time in a Czech prison.”
“Was. He escaped a week ago.”
“How the hell did that happen?”
“I don’t have all the details. What I do know is that since he’s been in prison his operation has still been running smoothly. We know he’s the prime source for laundering the Chameleon’s money. Last week someone pulled off a billion-dollar weapons deal with the Russians. We believe it was the Chameleon.”
Pierce shifted in his chair and crossed his jean-clad leg over his knee, his frustration in check.
His comrades had given him the name Sleeper years ago because he seldom showed an ounce of emotion, or revealed what he was thinking. His self-control was what had kept him alive for thirty-five years. His lazy brown eyes gave the impression that even if his balls were on fire, he wouldn’t reach for a water glass.
He said, “You think he’s going to contact Petrov to clean his money?”
“He probably already has. Polax tells me Yurii Petrov keeps sophisticated records on all his clients. That means he’s got data on the Chameleon. We want it.”
“Do we know where Yurii Petrov keeps this data?”
“We think he has a command center somewhere in the Mediterranean. But so far we haven’t been able to lock in on the location. To infiltrate his core and retrieve the data we need to uncover his hideout. He calls it Nescosto Priyatna. Quest has been under some heavy ridicule since Petrov’s prison break. Polax is looking to redeem his agency. We’re looking for data on the Chameleon. I’ve met twice with Lev Polax and we’ve come up with a plan.”
“If you don’t know where to look, how are you—”
“Petrov has a score to settle with Quest. Polax believes he’s going to go after one of his operatives. The agent responsible for his seven months in prison.”
“How do I fit in?”
“When agencies work together good things can happen. The Austrian mission was proof of that. I’ve never been too proud to join forces with another agency if we can score a victory. Shutting down Petrov’s cartel would be a big perk for EURO-Quest. And I don’t have to tell you what it would mean to Onyxx if we can draw the Chameleon out of hiding to get another crack at him.”
Pierce could see that the idea thrilled Merrick. And why wouldn’t it? The Chameleon had been a dagger in Merrick’s side for fifteen years. This went far beyond just business with his boss. Everything involving the Chameleon was personal to Merrick.
“We’ve got the Chameleon’s original kill-file now. We’ve defused an international disaster and made friends along the way. It’s a victory, but what I…Onyxx wants is the Chameleon. I’d like to have been there when he learned that we had commandeered his kill-file. That bastard has been dogging me…the agency for too damn long.”
It was a fact, and Pierce understood Merrick’s frustration. His commander had been living with a sour taste in his mouth for too long. After all, the Chameleon had killed Merrick’s wife.
“I’d like to nurture this neighborly relationship with Quest. It’s been working to both our advantages.” Merrick tossed a file across the desk. “This is what we’ve got on Yurii Petrov. He’s a leading force in the Red Mafia, but he’s much more than that. He’s been a busy man over the past twelve years.”
Pierce reached for the file and opened it. First off was a picture of Petrov, along with the stats. Five feet nine inches, weighed two ten, brown eyes, black hair. In the picture he was dressed like a tycoon. He looked in good shape for a man headed for fifty.
He skimmed the pages of information. Later he would read them through. He closed the file.
That was when Merrick dropped the bomb. “What I want from you is to play house with Polax’s bait. It’s only a matter of time before Petrov makes a move on her. How long has it been since you were back home?”
The question caught Pierce by surprise. “Home? You mean Louisiana?”
“Le Mystère, to be specific.”
“Four or five years, maybe.”
“How’s Saber Lazie doing these days?”
Pierce arched an eyebrow. “He’s still on his feet, kicking it around.”
“So you two are still on good terms?”
“Oui.” Where was this going?
“You still have that house near Bayou Lafourche?”
Pierce uncrossed his legs and sat up a little straighter. “What are you asking of
me, Merrick?”
“This is a bodyguard job with a twist.” Merrick slid another file across the desk. “Polax’s agent. The one you’ll be playing house with until Petrov makes his move. She comes with baggage.”
“What kind of baggage?”
“Her mother.”
Pierce reached for the second file and opened it, and there staring back at him was the mouthy little bitch he’d encountered months ago in Austria. The woman he’d been tempted to shove out of the helicopter if only one of his bullet wounds hadn’t dislocated his shoulder in the process.
He closed the file. “Balasi put Yurii Petrov in prison? How did she manage that?”
“She used her charm. You know the standard for Quest agents. They’re trained specialists in the art of seduction.”
The woman he’d met didn’t know the definition of charm, Pierce thought.
“This particular agent is an expert in bringing a man to his knees. Polax tells me Petrov fell in two months. So hard he declared his love, gave her a ring and asked her to marry him.”
Casmir Balasi, wife material? A two-headed viper would be more fun.
“This isn’t going to work.” Pierce closed the file. “We didn’t get along in Austria.”
“Then you know her?”
“She was the agent that doubled for Nadja Stefn that day in Austria on Glass Mountain.”
“If you had a conflict with her, why isn’t it in your report?”
Because he had never expected to ever see her again, Pierce wanted to say. He didn’t. Instead he made a suggestion. “Maybe Ash Kelly could take this one. I hear he’s been back a few weeks.”
“It’s true Ash has returned from his sabbatical. He seems a hundred percent, but I’d hate to find out otherwise on a mission of this importance. To be honest, he never made the list of candidates. After I discussed potential operatives with Polax, he picked you as the lucky winner.”
Pierce muttered under his breath.
“What was that?”
“Indigestion.”
“This mission will require a man who can stay focused and in control.” Merrick grinned. “We both know you have a knack for that. You’ve proven to us more than once that you can straddle an electric fence in a knife fight and never break a sweat. That’s your gift, Pierce—patience and adaptability. Not to mention your dead aim. I’ve never seen a man who can keep a cigarette lit in the eye of a hurricane better than you can. How many times have you been shot now?”