The Spy Wore Red

by Wendy Rosnau

  Feeling worse was hard to imagine. “All right, Paul. Day after tomorrow. Nine o’clock, your office.”

  When he hung up, he sat down and made a list of what had to be done before he admitted himself into the hospital. Sly was somewhere in the Greek Isles with Eva, and couldn’t be reached.

  I’ll be found when I want to be found, Merrick. When there’s a good enough reason to come back.

  For the time being there was no reason for Sly to return to Washington. Pierce was in Hungary and Ash in Mexico. That left Jacy. The half Blackfoot Indian was recuperating in the mountains in Montana. But while he was sitting on his ass drinking green tea there was no reason why he couldn’t become Bjorn’s controller.

  His decision made, he headed for his office to see to the details, and by late afternoon, he was in the air again, his plane headed for Big Sky country.

  “Are you sure that Jacy Madox is going to let us bring all this equipment into his house? I heard he’s kind of funny about people trespassing on his turf. Heard he was once in the Hells Angels or something like that.”

  “They call it territorial,” said Vic Krandle, dusting a piece of lint off his dress pants. He was one of Onyxx’s top physical therapists, but he was also a connoisseur of fashion. “And up here they don’t call what he lives in a house. It’s a log cabin, right, Merrick? Most likely a twelve-by-twelve with an outhouse out back. Which brings up the question of how we’re going to fit all this equipment in such a small space.”

  “You’ll have to make it fit” was Merrick’s answer.

  “I heard he’s one of those loner types,” Tommy the technician said, pulling his stocking cap lower over his ears. “The kind of guy you don’t want to piss off or feed red dye number sixteen to.”

  Merrick glanced over his shoulder to the two men he’d brought with him to transform Jacy Madox’s mountain cabin into a high-tech information center. Thirty minutes ago they had landed the plane at the nearest airstrip, then climbed into a helicopter.

  Merrick was hopeful that this was going to work. Bjorn and Jacy were as close as brothers, and he intended to use that to his advantage. Even in a wheelchair Jacy was mentally up for the challenge. In fact it would be good for him—get him back into the swing of things.

  The last mission had left Jacy with his knee blown to bits. Five surgeries later the prognosis wasn’t outstanding, but he still had his leg.

  He’d called Jacy and told him he was flying in today to see him. He’d made it sound like it was a social call—his commander checking up on one of his rat fighters.

  “There, sir. I see it. Down there, in the trees.”

  They had just come over a mountain range of treetops covered in snow. Merrick saw Two Medicine Lake, the landmark Jacy had given him. The cabin was a hundred yards back from the frozen water. The area was surrounded by giant pine trees, and there was one lone road leading up to it. But it was the kind of road that only an all-terrain vehicle would be able to maneuver.

  The cabin was bigger than he had envisioned. It wasn’t anything elaborate, but it wasn’t a one-room shack with a couch that converted into a bed, either. Merrick smiled over that—the six boxes were going to fit just fine. A coil of smoke drifted from a rock chimney and there was a black pickup parked not far from the back door. He motioned for the pilot to take the helicopter down—there had to be a flat piece of ground somewhere.

  This is the middle of nowhere, sir,” Vic said.

  “Just the way Jacy likes it” was Merrick’s reply. “How’s he going to take us dropping in?” Tommy asked.

  “We’ll know soon enough.” Merrick noted the worried looks exchanged between the two men.

  “Maybe you should call him and tell him not to shoot us before he knows who we are.”

  “He knows I’m coming,” Merrick assured them.

  “But what about us?” Tommy asked. “Did you mention us?”

  Merrick grinned. “You’re part of my surprise. You and those six boxes of equipment.”

  “Shit,” Tommy said.

  “Double shit,” Vic Krandle muttered.

  He might be an asshole, but Nadja was being a royal bitch, Bjorn thought. She had refused to tell him the exact location of Holic’s hideout—the one she claimed she could find in the dark, drunk—her excuse being that once he knew the particulars he wouldn’t need her anymore and he’d ditch her.

  Not only had she refused to talk about Holic, but she had refused to talk to him altogether, saying that she was too exhausted at the moment to think clearly. That she hadn’t slept well the night before and could use a nap before they landed.

  She was either playing a game with him, or she’d lied through her teeth about where they would find Holic. He couldn’t believe she would lie to get on this mission, but he would never underestimate a woman who carried a custom-made .45 under her skirt.

  She had reclined her seat and closed her eyes soon after telling him he needed more patience. No, what he needed was to stop remembering how well they had fit together in that goddamn shower.

  Bjorn contemplated his situation. He was two days behind the other agents hunting Reznik. He had a partner he didn’t want, a lover he couldn’t forget, and they had just landed in the middle of a freeze-your-ass-off blizzard.

  “The day just keeps getting better and better,” he muttered.

  “Did you say something?” Nadja asked, unbuckling her seat belt.

  She raised her arms and stretched, arching her back. Her breasts said hello, and the fitted black sweater moved upward high enough to expose her flat stomach and the shiny diamond stud in her belly button that winked at him.

  Bjorn stared. That stud hadn’t been in her navel five years ago, and that made him curious as to what else was new. Again Polax’s words came to him. She has an amazing tattoo. It’s in a place I call the dead zone.

  The winter storm was still raging as they left the airplane. If it didn’t subside by morning they would be forced to rent an all-terrain vehicle, and hope that the roads between Vienna and Innsbruck were open.

  Bjorn spied the taxi he’d arranged to meet them. It was a van of sorts meant to accommodate six to eight people. It was only the two of them, however, and two pieces of luggage.

  He said to Nadja, “That blue van over there is ours.”

  He saw her shiver, then pull her cape closer as a gust of wind swirled around them. It prompted another memory—the two of them on the run through the streets of Vienna. It had been snowing then, too. Damn cold as they had dodged flying bullets to stay alive.

  The similarities prompted Bjorn to say, “A shower would sure feel good about now. It would warm me up, and in your case, thaw out that cold shoulder you’ve been giving me since we left Prague.”

  His words caused her to stop abruptly and turn around to glare at him. It was the only thing that saved her from being shot in the head.

  The familiar pop from a sniper’s rifle broke through the night. When the bullet whizzed past Nadja’s head, she immediately shoved Bjorn to the tarmac, then joined him, making herself as flat as possible.

  She pulled her Springfield and raised her head to see that Bjorn had rolled and come to his feet. In a low animal crouch, he had drawn his weapon and was now searching his surroundings.

  His unflinching courage was a rare thing, a visible sign why he’d been named a rat fighter, and she wondered how she had missed that five years ago.

  He remained in the crouch, as if defying the sniper to take another shot. The sniper accepted the challenge and a shot rang out, sending a powder puff of the snow six inches from her left shoulder into the air.

  Nadja heard Bjorn swear, then he came out of his crouch. Yelling at her, he ordered her to get her ass up and run like hell to the van. The words were barely out of his mouth as he spun on his heels and shot out the security lights leading to and surrounding the van.

  She scrambled to her feet and sprinted across the tarmac, her red cape flying around her long legs. She never doubted fo
r a minute that Bjorn was close behind her.

  Two more shots confirmed the gunman was using a night-vision scope on his rifle. The second shot shattered the back window of the taxi van.

  She reached out and slid the door open, and was scrambling into the back bench seat when Bjorn tossed his duffel inside. It bounced off the other side door and landed at her feet. A second later he was diving inside on top of his bag.

  The door was still open, when he yelled at the cab driver, “Schnell! Schnell!”

  The cabby took off, as anxious to get out of the parking lot as they were. The van shot forward and made a left that caused the vehicle to careen around the corner on two wheels. The vehicle rocked back, jarring Nadja almost off her seat. Then they were racing out of the lot and past the glassed-in terminal at breakneck speed.

  After Bjorn pulled his legs inside the van, Nadja leaned forward and shoved the door shut.

  Once they were through the airport gates and settled on a route heading toward Vienna, the taxi driver asked, “Where are you staying, Frau Larsen?”

  Nadja heard the question and recognized the name. Irritated that he would use the same name he’d used five years ago, she kicked Bjorn where he sat on the floor in front of her. He grunted in pain at the force of her boot connecting with his ribs.

  “Ja, Frau Larsen,” she said in a heavy accent to mimic the driver, “where are we staying?”

  “At a pension in the heart of the city,” Bjorn replied. “Nossek.”

  “Sehr gut, Herr Larsen. Nossek, nice place. Beeilen Sie sich?”

  “I think hurrying would be a good idea,” Bjorn agreed. “Unless you’re interested in early retirement. The permanent kind, if you get my meaning.”

  “Sehr gut, Herr Larsen.”

  The van picked up speed.

  The pension Nossek was quiet, the rooms small but clean. The best news of all was that they had arrived in one piece.

  Bjorn had had his doubts after the taxi driver had damn near rolled the van on his way out of the airport, and damn near put them in the ditch twice after that.

  There had been no mention of the broken back window when the taxi driver dropped them off. He’d barely hung around long enough to collect his fare.

  Bjorn had stayed at the Nossek before. When he’d called ahead and made the reservation, he’d asked for his usual room on the second floor. It offered a clear view of the street, and the second exit was less than a minute away.

  Another reason he was fond of this particular pension was that each room had not only a shower, but a bathtub, as well. As soon as he checked out the place, and was satisfied it was safe to get buck naked, he intended to spend half the night in that tub thawing out his frostbitten bones—he had nearly frozen to death in the van with the back window shot out.

  He felt old tonight. Far older than thirty-eight. He tugged on the collar of his coat and adjusted the duffel bag that weighed heavily on his shoulder as he followed Nadja up the stairway.

  “Why didn’t you pick up my bag, too? You had time to grab yours, but not mine?”

  They were the first words she’d spoken to him since they had climbed out of the van and registered at the desk as Mr. and Mrs. Lars Larsen.

  “I guess I was too busy chasing your ass to worry about your makeup bag.”

  She glared at him, swiped the key out of his hand and lengthened her stride as they cleared the landing. They were staying in room six, and he followed her inside after she unlocked the door.

  He dropped his gear to the floor. “Don’t get comfortable until I make sure this place is all ours.” He unzipped his bag and pulled out a second gun—a Ruger target side. He attached a night-vision scope and walked to the window. Bringing the gun up, he searched the street using the scope, then the rooftops directly across from the pension. Once he was satisfied he lowered the gun, took a step back and pulled the shade, then the curtains.

  He left his coat on while he checked out the room. He ransacked the place, searching for electronic bugs stuck under the corner table and behind the two scenery pictures on the walls. He checked for C-4 strapped to the bed springs. He even took the phone apart. The closet got the same treatment, as did the bathroom.

  The sniper at the airport had been unexpected. He’d also been a lousy shot, but maybe that was part of his or her game, Bjorn thought. They weren’t the only ones after that kill-file. The race had started two days ago—the minute Holic Reznik had escaped—and the rules were, there were no rules.

  He heard her sigh heavily, then she said, “One bed. I hope you enjoy sleeping on the floor.”

  “I don’t, and won’t be.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “We will.”

  It was going to be a long night, Bjorn decided. Nadja’s mood was in the crapper, and his was no better. But his reasons were better than hers. He was back hunting Reznik, a man he’d already caught once. He never liked doing anything twice. Well, that wasn’t true. There were definitely things worth doing over and over again. He glanced at Nadja’s long legs, let his mind wander for a minute, then his eyes.

  A minute later he was back on track, wondering who had shot at them. He’d changed their flight destination at the last minute, so no one had known they were flying into Vienna except Merrick and Polax.

  He turned his head to the side and the movement reminded him that he needed to tend to his injury. He shrugged out of his coat and dropped it to the floor, then his scarf. Hefting his duffel, he walked into the bathroom, only this time he closed the door behind him.

  Merrick, Tommy and Krandle made their way up the snow-packed trail leading to the cabin surrounded by mountain peaks. The helicopter pilot had set down a quarter-mile away, on the only semi-flat piece of ground they could find.

  The air was crisp and the lake beyond the path was frozen and desolate looking. Winter had definitely come to the Montana mountains.

  Just as they reached the steps, that famous voice that Merrick had always referred to as “the voice that could unsettle the dead” effectively stopped them in their tracks.

  “That’s close enough. State your business where you stand.”

  Merrick could vaguely make out Jacy in the fading sunlight where he sat on the deck in his wheelchair. He wore a sheepskin jacket and jeans and a beat-up cowboy hat pulled low over his eyes. He looked surly and in no mood for company. But then, that was Jacy; he always looked like he had a toothache.

  “I’ve come to ask a favor,” Merrick said as his two counterparts slipped behind him.

  “I don’t do favors. Never really did until Onyxx decided to play dirty. But now I’m done with that. All done.”

  What he was referring to was the way he had been recruited. Onyxx had made a deal to wipe his criminal slate clean if he would come on board. If not, they had been prepared to lock him up and throw away the key.

  “I know that’s what you said you wanted in the hospital, that it was over, you working for Onyxx. At the time I felt obliged to let you have your way. You needed some recovery time.”

  “You don’t see me walking, do you?”

  “So how is it going, the recovery?”

  “Like I said, you don’t see me on my feet, and if that’s what you came up here for, you’ve seen me in this thing, and now you can leave.”

  “I mentioned a favor. It’s not for me. It’s for Bjorn. He’s in the field again.”

  “What the hell is he doing there? I thought Onyxx set him up in a desk job running profiles.”

  “He took the job, that’s true. And he’ll go back to it once…he runs down Holic Reznik.”

  Jacy swore. “The son of a bitch escaped. Is that what you’re telling me?”

  “He escaped,” Merrick confirmed.

  “Who’s Bjorn’s partner on this one, or is everyone on it?”

  “All the boys are on missions of their own. Pierce is in Hungary, and Ash is in Mexico. Bjorn has been teamed up with an agent from Quest.”

  “Quest? You’re shittin�
� me.”

  “No. He’s being backed by a female assassin.”

  “How did that happen?”

  “It’s a long story. I’ll fill you in over a cup of coffee.”

  No invitation inside.

  Merrick tried again. “I hope Bjorn doesn’t do something stupid on this one. He was damn upset when he learned Holic had escaped.”

  “I don’t blame him. I read the report. He’s lucky that he walked away from that last mission. He could easily have been sitting beside me, or dead. Reznik is an elusive son of a bitch. He’s an assassin with more than nine lives. He’s never missed a target.”

  It was all true. Bjorn was going to have his hands full.

  “He’s gettin’ too old for field duty, Merrick. You shouldn’t have let him take the job.”

  “He knows Holic better than anyone else at the Agency. They have a history.”

  “You’re talking about that kid he tried to save a few years back. The one Holic shot anyway.”

  Again, what Jacy was saying was true. Bjorn had tried to save a young boy from the assassin’s bullet. He’d been there, had had the kid in his arms. Holic had shot the kid anyway, and the bullet had passed through the child’s body and had gone through Bjorn as well. A piece of the bullet still remained in his spine.

  “That old wound Bjorn carries around is a sour reminder that he failed that kid,” Jacy pointed out. “Where Holic is concerned, Bjorn doesn’t always think things through before he reacts.”

  A string of vulgarities followed Jacy’s words. Then Merrick heard the familiar sound of a shell being injected into the chamber of the hunting rifle that had been laying across Jacy’s legs.

  “I ought to blow your head off, Merrick. Bjorn shouldn’t be the one going after Holic. Not this time, and not with some stranger backing him. A woman, no less.”

  “If you feel that strongly, there’s a way you can help out, if you’re willing.”