by Brad Taylor
The room grew quiet. Kurt was embarrassed to say he wore the same uniform as General Durham, wondering how on earth he’d reached the highest military position in the United States arsenal. He was disgusted at the political display with lives on the line, and wanted to interject, but could not. He needn’t have worried, because there was a greater leadership in the room. One no one expected to rise to the occasion.
Hannister locked eyes with the general and said, “Okay, then, we know where we both stand. Remember those words. You recommend. I execute.”
And then a mild-mannered economist, forced into a situation beyond his asking, began to take control. General Durham looked at the secretary of defense, wanting backup, but not getting it. He turned to Hannister and said, “Sir, I told you I was hired by the president for my unvarnished opinion. President Warren.”
Hannister said, “Warren’s dead. I’m not sure that’s sunk in for you. I’m making the decisions from now on.”
Standing at attention like a cadet at West Point, General Durham nodded his head, finally backing down, but Hannister wasn’t finished. “Right now, my decision is that you get the hell out of my office.”
General Durham looked like he’d been slapped. Hannister said, “Go.”
Durham left, along with most of the air in the room. Hannister said, “We’re done here. The armor package holds up. Don’t make it look like we changed our minds. Just hold them up in Kiev for a day until we can figure this out.”
He looked around the room, sizing up who was left. He said, “Mark, Kurt, Kerry, and Palmer, stay behind. The rest of you, good night.”
After the room had cleared, leaving only Oversight Council members, Kurt finally spoke. “Sir, this isn’t the way to run a crisis. We can’t have the divisions. We’ll need rapid responses and consensus based on trust.”
Hannister leaned back and said, “Yes. I think I just engendered that.”
Mark Oglethorpe said, “Sir, General Durham is your senior military advisor.”
“Then tell him to advise instead of manipulate. He’s about to be shitcanned. Jesus, he actually brought up polling.”
At a loss to defend the man, Mark said, “Yes, sir.”
Hannister turned to Kurt and said, “What’s the update?”
“Sir, Pike was planning on taking out both men as soon as his team arrived, but they split up right after the transcript was made. Simon went to Vienna and Mikhail is taking a train to an unknown location.”
“So you’re tracking Simon?”
“No, sir. The team made the call to track Mikhail. Simon presented complications that would lead to compromise with the team.”
“Can’t we do both? Can’t we send someone to Vienna?”
Kurt considered, then said, “Yes, sir, that’s actually a good idea, but let’s do it aboveboard. We don’t have a handle on where he’ll end up, but if I could recommend, I’d get the FBI LEGATT at the embassy rolling. Simon is on our Ten Most Wanted list. Get HRT over there and let the FBI start working it with their contacts. Arrest him in conjunction with the Austrians. Even if they don’t get him, it might create enough pressure to disrupt what he’s doing.”
To Palmer, Hannister said, “Get it done.”
Palmer nodded and Hannister said, “Tell me that Pike can stop this attack. I can prevent us from doing something unforgivably stupid, but that’s about it.”
“Sir, Pike’s working the problem, but there are no guarantees. He’s got very little to go on. He’s currently tracking the man who’s conducting the meeting. Still no idea why or what that meeting is about, but it’s tied to the attack.”
“Tell him from me, the president of the United States, that the fate of Europe may depend on his success.”
Kurt smiled and said, “Not sure that’ll have an effect. No offense, but the last time Pike dealt with you, you had him arrested.”
Hannister pinched the bridge of his nose as if he were warding off a migraine. He said, “Well, tell him we all change perspectives once we change jobs.”
He removed his hand from his face and said, “Wait a minute. I have a better idea: Tell him I’ll arrest him again if he fails. Pissing that guy off seems to bring out his best.”
The tension in the room finally broke with the Council members’ chuckling. Kurt stood to leave, saying, “You might be right on that.”
56
It finally penetrated my brain that I really was talking to Shoshana, although the circumstances were beyond bizarre. I said, “What the hell are you doing? Where’s Jennifer?”
“She’s right here next to me. We’re on top of the train.”
“On top of the train?”
“Yes, on top of the train.”
“You’re actually on top of the train?”
“You’re repeating things again.”
A smile split my face, and I saw Knuckles relax. I said, “Where’s Mikhail?”
“I don’t know, but his men are dead. Look, we’re rolling into a stop. We’re getting off here. We’d like a ride.”
Her nonchalance was amazing. I chuckled and said, “We’re thirty seconds out from that stop. Where do you want to meet?”
“Standby. I can see the station.”
I heard the wind recede as the train slowed, and Aaron said, “Station is in sight. What do you want me to do?”
“Hold what you got. It’s now an exfil, not an assault.”
I saw him smile as he pulled into a turnout, shutting off the lights.
I waited, then Shoshana came back on, now easy to hear, the area so quiet she whispered. She said, “We’re going across the roof of the platform. Koko’s moving to check it out. I’ll call you back.”
And she hung up.
I had no idea what had occurred on the train, but I knew if Shoshana was talking to me, Jennifer had convinced her to fight, and it had probably been ugly.
Aaron turned around and said, “What happened?”
I said, “I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure your little demon saved the day.”
When he’d heard the earlier conversation, he’d been ripped apart by how bad things had become, knowing it had been his decision to put Jennifer and Shoshana on the train. He smiled, saying, “Thank you. Thank you for believing in her, like I do.”
I said, “Are you nuts? I didn’t believe in her at all. I’m the one who was against her boarding in the first place.”
He said, “No, I don’t mean before. I mean during. Nobody else could have gotten to her. Nobody else could have reached her. Not even me.”
My phone rang again, and he said, “One of these days, I’m going to ask what the hell the Pumpkin King is, but I’ll wait.”
I answered and Shoshana said, “Coming down the east wall of the station. Right next to the bus terminal. Drive up and park.”
I relayed the instructions, and we rolled into the parking lot, sweeping it with our headlights and seeing just a scattering of cars. Aaron pulled to the east side, right up next to a pillar of brick bulging out of the facade, a line of decorative trim that ran all the way to the roof. He cut the lights and a figure appeared. I leaned out and saw someone helping another get a grip on the brick facade. The figure began coming down, made it halfway, then slipped, falling the last seven feet to the ground.
Not Jennifer.
I leapt out to help, recognizing Shoshana just as another figure cleared the roof. I grabbed Shoshana’s hand and pulled her to her feet at the same time that Jennifer came down like a monkey. She flung herself off the pillar at the same level as Shoshana and landed on her feet next to us.
I said, “Impressive.”
Jennifer said, “No way. You’re helping up Mrs. Impressive. You haven’t seen impressive, trust me.”
I pulled Shoshana to me and whispered in her ear, “Thank you. Nice to have you back.”
She smiled at the affirmation. “Thank you for reminding me who I am.”
She seemed to mean it, and it was good to have her return to normal. Well, normal for her, meaning she was predictably crazy instead of just plain batshit.
We climbed into the van, me giving Shoshana the shotgun seat so I could talk directly to Jennifer. We started to roll out of the parking lot and Shoshana leaned into the back, looking at me. Knuckles said, “So what the hell happened?”
Jennifer said, “I have never been so scared.” She glanced at me and said, “Those assholes are seriously bad. They have no compunction about killing. They’re just like the Russian guys in Istanbul.”
She started gushing words, the story spilling out in almost incoherent sentences, and it was brutal. She fake-laughed at something about her binds, then her eyes welled as she recounted what Shoshana had been forced to do, but she continued talking, letting it all out. When she was done, there was silence in the van.
Knuckles broke it, patting Shoshana’s arm. “Remind me not to cross you.”
Shoshana said, “It was Jennifer who saved us. If she hadn’t been there, I would be dead.”
Jennifer didn’t even hear the words. She was looking at me for absolution. Wanting me to wash away the blood and fear with a word. I couldn’t do that, but I could come close.
I brushed a tear from her face, finally saying what I’d feared I never would again. “I’m glad you’re alive.”
She ran her hands over her cheeks, dealing with the emotional aftermath now that she was safe. I said, “You did good. You both did.”
She finally smiled and said, “I’m glad you can read a situation, even through a radio.”
I saw Shoshana staring intently at us. I said, “What the hell took so long for the Pumpkin King? I ask for it, I get it. We agreed on that.”
I was trying to bring a little humor and break the talk of death, but she shrunk in, and I realized I was poking a sore that I had no right to touch. I said, “Hey, I was kidding. There is no one else I would have wanted in that situation.”
She said, “Do you mean that?”
I could see she was vulnerable, on the cusp, wanting to believe my words. I said, “Yes. Yes, I do.”
She glanced at Aaron to see if he thought the same. He reached over and cupped her chin, saying, “I’m glad you’re alive as well, but I have to agree with Pike.”
She craved his affirmation more than anyone’s, but she still didn’t look convinced. She knew what had happened in the train. Knew how she’d succumbed to Mikhail. She wanted to believe she was better than him, but she didn’t. Aaron put that to rest.
He said, “Shoshana, you keep questioning yourself, but you shouldn’t. Ever. You’re pure, and you always have been. Mikhail can’t take that from you.”
Curled in the seat, the words washed away her doubt. She hesitated for a brief moment, then leaned over the console and kissed Aaron on the cheek. He reacted like he’d been stung by a bee, swerving the van over the shoulder of the road. She recoiled, sagging back like she’d broken a rule. Jennifer scowled at the reaction, ready to rip Aaron’s head off. But he was quicker than that.
He gained control of the van, saying, “Sorry. That was a surprise. I wasn’t expecting it.” He patted Shoshana’s hand, and her face lit up.
He said, “We can talk later. If you want.”
She nodded rapidly, saying, “Yes. I’ll show you later. Just like Jennifer does with Pike, when they’re alone.”
Jennifer’s mouth opened in surprise, and the words hung in the air, the van silent. I closed my eyes. Crazy is as crazy does.
Knuckles said, “Enough of this shit. I want out of the van.”
Shoshana looked at Jennifer for support, saying, “What did I do wrong?”
Jennifer grimaced. “You don’t tell them,” she said. “You just do it.”
Shoshana nodded slowly, her eyes scrunched like she was actually computing what Jennifer had said. Factoring it in like she’d been raised by wolves and was just learning basic human social skills.
Which was probably true.
I said, “Great. You guys are the best. Mic drop. Lovefest over.”
Jennifer poked my shoulder. I ignored her, continuing, “We still have a mission here. We need to get rolling on Mikhail.”
Shoshana turned serious and said, “Yes, we do. Nephilim, I looked into him tonight, and I saw fear, but also fire.”
I wanted to ignore her usual psychobabble, but I . . . well, I believed. I said, “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. I just saw fire. He has something very bad planned, and he’s close. He knows he’s close. I could see it.”
I leaned back and said, “Shit. If that’s true, we don’t have a lead to stop him in time.”
She pulled out a cell phone and said, “Yes, we do. I called you on this.”
I said, “And?”
Jennifer said, “It’s from the dead Russian, and it’s tied to Mikhail.”
Knuckles said, “Well, that’s more like it. Let’s go hunting.”
57
The squeaking of the springs in the bunk against the window started again, and Mikhail clenched his teeth. He looked at his watch and saw it was almost five A.M. The stamina was impressive, but the irritation of keeping him awake was turning on the dark side of his personality. He waited, hoping the noise would end with the groaning of the springs, but that hadn’t happened the previous two times. And like clockwork, the springs were overshadowed by a frenzy of thumping.
Wump, wump, wump. In between, groans of pleasure—or maybe pain, since it sounded like the guy was driving her head into the wall with each thrust. Lord knows this shithole didn’t waste any money on headboards.
He thought about just walking across the room and murdering the both of them. He could probably get away with it, since the hostel was decidedly seedy and had probably seen its fair share of violence, but the last thing he needed was undue focus on the tenants. Especially since he had an important meeting in a few hours, and he’d wasted valuable time just getting to Warsaw. He needed the small amount he had left to prepare, not dodge the law.
Forced to abandon the trains, and unwilling to use his true identity to rent a car, it had taken him a day and a half to get here.
As soon as he’d cleared the parking lot of the train station, he’d hit several ATMs in the little town, putting his hand over the camera and maxing out his alias credit cards. He needed the money, for sure, but he couldn’t be on camera. Right now, the only thing they had was a name. No way did he want to give them a face to go with it. After getting the money he destroyed the cards, hopefully leaving behind a trail that said he was still inside Slovakia, once the police determined whose ticket was tied to the carnage in the sleeper car.
He’d holed up in a cheap, by-the-hour hotel, paying in cash, then set out for Warsaw the following morning, after four hours of sleep. Using euros and his language abilities, he’d managed to reach Warsaw riding shotgun with four separate long-haul truckers, completely covering his tracks and giving himself a clean break.
Dropped off in the city center at the giant communist monstrosity known as the palace of culture, he snagged a cab, asking for a cheap hotel near the old town that would take cash, the implied statement being that they also wouldn’t ask any questions.
The cabby stopped at a brick turret, looking like it had been built ages ago, but that was actually a modern construct, as was most everything in Warsaw. World War II had not been kind to the city. The Poles had refused to submit to their Nazi occupiers, and as a result, the German war machine had demolished every single building, the fighting a brutal house-to-house slugfest.
The cabby pointed through the turret and gave instructions in broken English, giving landmarks and left and right turns. Mikhail exited and began walking, weary and rumpled. He followed
the directions, tripping on the cobblestone streets, looking for a bell, or maybe a plaque. He was unsure what the cabby had actually said.
He reached a square and was pleasantly surprised to find an old bell in the center, kids rubbing its top and walking around it in circles. He glanced at the walls of the nearest building and saw the plaque, now realizing what the cab driver had been trying to tell him by repeating the word strong. The plaque was for a man code-named Jack Strong, a CIA asset who had helped bring an end to communist rule in Poland.
Mikhail cared not a whit about any of it. Wishing bells or Cold War heroes. He only wanted to sleep, and the hostel was down a tunnel right next door. He found it under an arch of bricks, a small sign out front. He entered, seeing a claustrophobic lobby the size of a closet. Two other patrons were in front of him, one a twentysomething female with dreadlocks, the other a male with a backpack, a scraggly neck beard, and less than stellar dental work. They began kissing while waiting, and little did he know they would soon be the bane of his existence.
He paid for a room, went up the stairs, and was surprised to see he’d be sharing it with the greasy couple. They introduced themselves, stating they were from France and tromping around Europe, then began to probe why a single guy like him, an “old man,” was staying there. He’d made up a story about starting a career too young, forcing him to miss out on the experiences of youth, and he was now making up for it. Impressed at the lie, they offered to share a bottle of wine. He’d begged off, saying he was too tired.
He’d taken the bunk closest to the door, laying down fully clothed. They’d moved off to the end of the room, near the window. And then the activities had begun.
The thumping started to increase in speed, and Mikhail rubbed his face, then set his feet on the floor harder than necessary. The noise ceased. He stood up, hearing whispering. He flicked on the light, and got “Hey, shut that off.”
The man with the crooked teeth glared at him, incensed, hunched over the woman, her face turned away. Mikhail said, “Sorry. Gotta go.”