And if you complained, you were liable to find yourself beaten to a pulp, or worse. There was no opposition in today’s Russia. When the Communist party is your opposition, you know something is wrong. Democracy was a sham under Putin’s leadership, more and more so with each election. Some people wondered why he even bothered having them, since it was impossible for him to lose. Koslov always said the reason was to let people learn to hate democracy. Putin’s propaganda machine had the populace thinking their democracy was no worse, and perhaps better, than that in the West, constantly pointing to Florida in 2000.
“That could never happen in Russia!”
Yeah, because it would have already been 90% to 10%, so there would have been no point.
And instead, Russians were left with a decaying democracy, with money being wasted on weapons modernization and beating up gays, rather than fixing the economy, diversifying away from just oil, and employing people so they didn’t spend their entire days floor licking pissed on vodka.
He knocked on the door of Major Koslov’s parents.
He heard noises inside, footsteps approaching the door, then nothing.
He knocked again, and again nothing.
“This is Lieutenant Colonel Chernov. Open the door or I will kick it down.”
Whispers, then the sound of locks being unbolted.
Chernov was finally greeted by a little old lady who was shaking, a forced smile on her face, motioning for him to come inside, an even older man attempting, and failing, to get out of a recliner, deeper in the apartment. Chernov stepped inside the small apartment, made smaller by the fact it was jammed with matching La-Z-Boy recliners sitting in front of a 58” Panasonic flat panel and a 7.1 surround system that Chernov had only seen once before in his life, and it wasn’t in Russia.
A glance to his left showed a kitchen equipped with all the latest appliances, and glass faced cupboards proudly stocked. The floors were new hardwood, the walls freshly painted. The only evidence of the Soviet era was the entranceway, drab and unpainted, along with the curtains, still old and ratty lest new ones be spotted from outside.
“Please, have a seat,” said the old lady.
“You are Major Anton Koslov’s mother?”
She nodded.
“Yes, Colonel.”
“It is urgent that I speak to him.”
She looked at her husband, who shook his head, his gravelly, gruff voice suitable for singing Georgian folk songs.
“We have not heard from him since he left the military,” he said.
“No word at all?”
“Nyet.”
“No letters, no phone calls?”
“Nyet.”
“Yet your pension seems to let you live extremely well,” said Chernov, waving his arm at the room.
The old man looked at the window, focusing on the one thing that wasn’t new.
“Can I get you anything, Colonel?” asked Mrs. Koslov, stepping toward the kitchen. “Tea, perhaps?”
“Yes, tea would be nice.” He stepped into the line of sight of Mr. Koslov. “I have a feeling I’m going to be here a long time.”
He sat on the edge of the living room table, staring directly at Mr. Koslov.
“I will have the truth, Mr. Koslov. Your son is involved in this virus thing, and may have access to a cure. Now you can tell me how to reach him, so I can get to him first, or leave it to the Americans, who are looking at total annihilation. Who do you think he has a better chance surviving with? Me, his old comrade and commanding officer, or a bunch of Americans hell-bent on revenge?”
The old man sighed and nodded, motioning to his wife.
“Give him what he wants.”
Quarantine Zone, CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia
“BD!”
Dawson immediately awoke, the hand gently shaking his shoulder belonging to his best friend, Mike “Red” Belme. He swung his legs from the cot and onto the floor, stretching.
“What is it? Mission?”
“You’ve gotta call.”
Dawson looked at his watch.
That was quick.
“Okay, thanks. I’ll be back in a few. Better get the guys up, I have a feeling we’re about to get into the thick of it.”
“Will do.”
Dawson headed for the interview room he had been in earlier, and a man in a hazmat suit handed him a file folder when he arrived.
“This just arrived for you, Sergeant Major.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Dawson sat at the table and picked up the phone as he flipped open the file.
“Sergeant Major White here.”
“Sergeant Major Dawson, it is Lieutenant Colonel Chernov.”
“Sir, thank you for getting back to me so soon.”
“Did you get the data I sent?”
“I’m seeing it for the first time just now. It looks like you’ve found him.”
“We got an address from his parents. They confirmed that is where he has been calling his home for the past two years. A satellite fly over just a few minutes ago shows people at the villa, one of whom appears to be Major Koslov.”
“Thank you very much, sir.”
“What do you intend to do?”
“Capture him, bring him in for interrogation.”
“Not kill him?”
“He’s our only lead to finding the men behind this. If we kill him, they get away.”
“I want to be there.”
“I can’t sanction that, but if we happened to bump into a fellow soldier on the way, he’d be welcome to join us. But I doubt you’ll be there on time.”
“Likely not. Perhaps for the interrogation. I may be able to appeal to him as his former commander.”
“If you can get to Washington with all the flights grounded, be my guest.”
“I will find a way.”
“Good luck.”
“Good hunting, Sergeant Major.”
Dawson hung up the phone and dialed the number he had been given for the Director’s office.
“Director Morrison’s office.”
“This is Sergeant Major White, Delta Team Bravo. Let him know we’ve found our guy.”
“I will tell him right away, Sergeant Major!”
The excitement in her voice echoed that in his heart.
Maybe there is hope!
Detective Laprise’s Apartment, New Orleans, Louisiana
Dylan Kane stood with his hands pressed against the tile wall of Isabelle’s bathroom, the rainhead equipped shower providing a steady stream of muscle relaxant as he tried to work the kinks of the past couple of days out. Now, if Catalina and Jazmin were here, a massage would be just what I need. A medic had patched up the few cuts he had suffered, but it was the bruises and overstretched muscles, tendons and ligaments that were the problem now. There was no permanent damage, and he could go into action right now, but it would literally be a pain.
And that was the spy business. It wasn’t like the movies, where you were chasing or being chased constantly, with super cool toys where even your electric shaver could kill with cyanide laced blow darts or a nifty laser. It was hours, days or sometimes months of surveillance, tracking down clues just like a police detective, but with an arsenal of information and surveillance technology at your disposal that police didn’t have, because as a spy, you didn’t have to worry about someone’s civil rights, only their human rights.
But occasionally there was action, usually conducted with surgical precision, quite often the target not even knowing you were ever there. And that’s the part he lived for. He didn’t mind months of surveillance, as long as in the end he got the bad guy or the target item that needed retrieval, or that piece of intel stored on a hard drive in the middle of a maximum security installation.
That was the life.
He heard the shower curtain scrape, and turned his head slightly to see Isabelle, naked, climbing in the shower with him.
“You were taking too long,” she said, her voic
e full of bravado, the wavering of it revealing the actual truth. She was nervous. Scared even. He could tell she feared rejection. After all, he was quite a few years her junior, but the glimpse he caught of her climbing in told him she had nothing to be ashamed of. She clearly kept herself fit, and if this was what she wanted, who was he to say no. He had to admit he had been eyeballing her on several occasions, and Dylan, Jr. was already trying to take a peek.
“Uh huh,” he said as he felt her hands begin to caress his shoulders, her fingers kneading his taught muscles with just enough strength to elicit a groan, but not enough to hurt. His head dropped to his chest as her fingers worked up either side of the back of his neck, then down again, her thumbs pressing into the center of his back, then rubbing hard outward, toward her fingers that gripped his sides.
It was heavenly.
Her hands slipped around to his front, sliding easily from the water up his rock hard abs to his chest, squeezing his pecs as she leaned against him, her breasts pressing into his back, her cheek on his shoulder blade, her breath hot against his back. Her arms wrapped completely around him, squeezing him into her as she turned her head and kissed between his shoulder blades, licking his skin with her soft tongue as he slowly turned around to face her.
He looked down at her, and she up at him, and she had a look that to him seemed a cross between lust and pleading, as if she feared his rejection even now.
He put that thought at ease as he leaned down and kissed her, wrapping his arms around her body and pulling her tight against him. She moaned, as did he, their tongues doing battle while he ground himself into her. Kane quickly found himself more aroused than he had been in a long time. This was a woman, a woman who knew what she wanted, and it was him, not some fantasy identity created at a third-world hotel where cheap love could be found at the drop of a hundred dollar bill from girls desperate to improve their lives, if only for a day.
This was real.
He pushed her away, turned off the shower then climbed out, scooping her into his arms as he carried her to the bed, gently lying her down on the sheets, all the while continuing to kiss her, and with his hands now free, explore her body, eliciting moans, groans and gasps as his talented hands and mouth gave her an experience he sensed she hadn’t had in a long time.
She pushed him over onto his back, straddling him with a grin, dropping down and kissing him on the mouth, then moving south, slow, tantalizingly slow, agonizingly slow, inching toward what he hoped she planned, her eyes meeting his, the confidence of a woman restored, a woman reborn, as she was determined to be satisfied by him, and to satisfy him, taking a momentary refuge in each other from the chaos outside.
There were more important things to be doing, there were more significant places to be, but for this brief moment in time, they sought comfort in each other, not knowing if this could be the last time either of them would ever get to enjoy the company of the opposite sex.
And with one final giggle from her, and a groan from him, all the troubles of the world disappeared, lost to the paradise Kane now felt at the ministrations of this passionate New Orleans detective.
Quarantine Zone, CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia
Leroux sat on one side of the glass with Director Morrison. On the other side was the Delta Force Sergeant Major, one of his men, and Sherrie. Leroux had been at his desk, sifting through search results that had provided essentially bupkiss. Where the former Spetsnaz Major and his presumed employer were remained a mystery.
Until Morrison pulled him from his office, nearly running for the elevators.
He hadn’t seen the Director this excited before, then again, the stakes had never been this high before. The entire time he was on the phone with what sounded like the White House, pretty much on hold the entire time. The phone was still pressed to his ear as his free index finger was held in the air, everyone holding their breaths for the reply.
Or at least Leroux was holding his breath. He reached his limit and stifled a gasp, sucking in a lungful of air and blushing slightly as he saw Sherrie smiling at him. She knew him so well there was no way he could hide his excitement.
“Thank you, Mr. President.”
The phone call was ended with a click and Morrison activated the mike.
“We’re a go. Sergeant Major, get your men ready, requisition anything you think you’ll need. I’m assigning Agent White to accompany you, along with a senior agent who will meet you on route. Get this bastard alive, bring him back here, and while in transit, you have my authority to question him in any way you see fit. Just make sure he stays alive.”
“Yes, sir,” replied the Sergeant Major. “Sir, Major Koslov’s former commanding officer, Lieutenant Colonel Chernov, has requested he be allowed to interrogate the prisoner. He thought he may get more out of him than we could. I took the liberty of saying he could, should he be able to get himself here.”
“That could be a challenge what with air travel pretty much being shut down.”
“Agreed. But I’ve read his file. Expect him to be here, and if anything unusual is coming out of Russia, I’d suggest you let it through.”
“I’ll take that under advisement, Sergeant Major.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Morrison rose, as did everyone, then left the room. Leroux lingered at the glass as Sherrie approached, the two Delta Force men leaving in a hurry. Suddenly Leroux was overcome with a horrible sense of doom as he looked at the love of his life. A pit in his stomach almost overwhelmed him, his mouth filling with bile as he felt himself pale, as he had the intense certainty he would never see her again.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Oh, you know how I am,” he said, managing to force a bit of a smile on his face. “I always get nervous before a mission.”
She chuckled, placing her hands on the glass separating them.
“Don’t worry, dear, I’ll be okay. I’m going in with a Delta Force team. These guys are the best in the world, almost as good as me!” she said with a wink.
The confidence she portrayed had him feeling a little better, and he put his hand on the glass, covering hers.
“Take care of yourself.”
“I will, as always.”
She kissed the glass.
“I have to go, otherwise they’ll leave without me.”
Leroux shrugged as she headed for the door, thinking that may not be a bad thing.
“Bye baby!” she called, blowing him a kiss.
He caught it, but she had already turned, and his feeling of doom returned as his eyes filled with tears and he grabbed the edge of the table for support.
God, please take care of her!
Detective Laprise’s Apartment, New Orleans, Louisiana
Isabelle couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so totally satisfied. So totally a woman. She stared at the ceiling, staring into nothingness, wishing that the day would never end. It had been passionate, crazy, wild and tender. It had been everything.
Multiple times.
Oh God how many times!
She wished she had a girlfriend she could call and tell all about it, she was so excited. But she was forty, not a teenager, but right now, she felt like a teenager. She rolled onto him, her cheek on his chest, her hand stroking his stomach, her right leg flung across his nether regions as she closed her eyes and enjoyed the warmth of a man’s body, something she hadn’t felt in years.
She couldn’t believe what she had done. It was so totally out of character for her. She wasn’t a one night stand girl. To her sex was serious, important, to be shared by two people who cared for each other, not someone who had literally parachuted into her life that she barely knew.
Kane looked at his watch and she felt a pit in her stomach. He was bored.
“I guess we should get going,” she said, beginning to push herself away.
“Why the rush?” he asked as he rolled on top of her, looking deeper into her eyes than any man she could remember.
> “I just thought, well, it’s getting late.”
“I just got a message to report to the airport in two hours. They’re sending a chopper to pick me up.”
“When did you get that?”
Kane showed her his watch for a brief second.
“It’s not just a watch.”
She wrapped her arms around him, positioning herself for one last session of lovemaking with a man she was certain was a spy, a spy she would probably never see again after today.
And it broke her heart.
As if he could sense her feelings, what happened over the next half hour was exactly what she needed. It was love making at its best, slow, intense, lovers finding comfort in each other, no gymnastics or showing off, just the right kisses and caresses she needed at this moment, just the right memory she needed to end things with, and when it was done, she held him in her arms tightly, falling asleep relaxed and content.
She awoke to the sound of the shower, and she smiled as she remembered the last time it had been running and what had ensued. But she knew he had to leave, so her temptation to join him again would have to wait. She quickly straightened up the bedroom, gathering his clothes and setting out a new set for herself.
They exchanged kisses and places when he exited the shower, and when she came out, her stud had sandwiches ready for them.
“So why do you have to leave so quickly?”
“Mission,” he replied, taking a bite of his sandwich. “They found the bomber, or at least they think they found him.”
“And they need you?”
She immediately regretted the way she had said it, and his smile made her backpedal.
“I mean, of course they need you, I mean, you’re very good at your job.”
Thankfully he bailed her out.
“They need me because I’ve worked with all the parties involved, and can identify the guy on sight. Also, I’m one of the few agents in the region with my particular skillset, and they need someone who can operate out of country.”
Containment Failure (A Special Agent Dylan Kane Thriller, Book #2) Page 22