Flight of the Raven

by Rebecca York

  The question struck chords she couldn’t be aware existed.

  “The less you know about me, the better.”

  “Why?”

  In frustration, he ran a hand through his thick black hair. “We must talk, and there’s so little time.” Taking her hand, he drew her to the couch that occupied an alcove across from the two beds. Before releasing her fingers, he pressed them tightly.

  “I think we could both use a drink.”

  Like most European hotel rooms, this one was equipped with a minibar. It was locked, but that didn’t bother Aleksei. Julie watched in fascination as he hunkered down, pulled out something that looked like a Swiss army knife, and selected a tool. In a moment he had picked the lock and opened the door. He turned and looked back at her. “A brandy, I think.”

  “I can’t drink on an empty stomach.”

  “Did you miss dinner too?”

  “Yes. But why didn’t you eat?”

  “I’ve been too worried about you.” The admission should never have left his lips. He looked down quickly and began inspecting the contents of the small refrigerator. “We can share a bag of corn chips, some salted almonds, and a candy bar for dinner.”

  After bringing the snacks and two brandies back to the coffee table in front of the sofa, he sat down next to her.

  “So we both know you’re not a spy. Then how are you involved in this?”

  With slow deliberation, she opened one of the packages and took out a salted almond. The feeling of trust for him had been growing. But was that confidence misplaced? Was she being carefully led down a path that he had chosen? Or even worse, had this whole evening been staged to gain her confidence?

  “Look at me,” he demanded.

  Unwillingly, she raised her dark eyes to meet his blue ones. They had deepened to the cobalt color she had come to associate with strong emotion. “Julie, you are still in a great deal of danger. T’fu!” He spat out the Russian expletive, using it as an outlet for his frustration. “And I can’t do a damn thing about it unless you help me.”

  “You’re asking me to betray my country.”

  “No.”

  “Then what?”

  He sighed. “Let me start with a very basic assumption. You know absolutely nothing about what Dan Eisenberg was involved in. Am I correct?”

  She nodded almost imperceptibly.

  “Then someone—presumably a CIA operative—is using you to try and get information about Eisenberg’s activities. But he can’t care very much about your welfare if he gave you that ticket and sent an innocent like you to the theater on a fishing expedition.”

  “That’s not right. I found the ticket in Dan’s desk after he died.”

  His eyes narrowed. “So our CIA man was just taking advantage of your naïveté. That’s not much better. And he’s not—” he hesitated as he fumbled for the American idiom “—playing straight with you, either.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Either he’s a bumbling idiot or he already knows that the San Jeronimo bombing wasn’t directed at Eisenberg. If he had shared that piece of information, you wouldn’t have gone over to Calle Hermosillo this evening, would you?”

  “Cal knew?”

  “Calvin Dixon?”

  “Oh, Lord. You’re right. I’m not very good at this.”

  He reached for her hand. “It would have saddened me if you were.”

  Julie took a sip of her brandy. It burned all the way down.

  “Why did you use the ticket in the first place?” the man across from her finally asked.

  “Dan and I were friends. I wanted to prove to myself that he wasn’t...that he wasn’t involved in anything illegal.”

  “But you thought he might be?”

  “Cal thought so. And then there was Dan’s calendar. There were cryptic notations...”

  Aleksei interrupted her. “No, don’t tell me anything that’s going to compromise you. It’s obvious that your Cal Dixon is swimming out of his depths in shark-infested waters and doing his best to pull you under with him.”

  She raised her eyes to his. “You seem to know a great deal more than I do about what’s going on. What can you tell me?”

  “Nothing.”

  “But I thought...”

  “You can’t make assumptions.”

  “So I really can’t trust you, can I?” The words were spoken with vehemence, sadness.

  “Only so far.”

  “You must be enjoying this.”

  “You have a strange idea of what gives me pleasure.”

  She put her glass down on the table. “I think I should go home now.”

  He shook his head. “I wouldn’t advise it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because the person who wants you eliminated is going to be very upset when he finds out the attempt failed. He will try again. I can guarantee it.”

  The only way to get through this was not to surrender to the terror building inside her. Her thoughts flew to Paula. She only hoped that she had indeed left the apartment at eleven and that nothing had happened to her. “Then I’ll go to the embassy.”

  “You might not be safe even there.”

  “Are you telling me this hotel room is my only sanctuary in Madrid?”

  “Tonight, yes.”

  “Are you trying to frighten me?” It was impossible to keep her voice steady.

  “I wish it were only that.” He reached across the sofa and pulled her against him. His arms went around her shoulders, and he cradled her head against his chest. One hand stroked her thick brown hair. Neither of them spoke. The feeling of strength she’d felt that first time he’d held her enveloped her again. For the moment she felt protected in his embrace, but she understood just how false the sense of security was.

  “Aleksei?”

  “I can buy you some time.” For her sake, he said the words with confidence, but inside he knew it would be a miracle if he could pull it off. “But you’re going to have to do exactly what I tell you.”

  Her face was still pressed against his chest. “Why should I trust you?”

  “It’s your only option.” He held her close for a little longer and then shifted her body so that he could see her face once again. “I have to leave you.” His strong hands caressed her hair, her cheeks.

  Several emotions registered in her eyes. Surprise, fear, regret.

  “I want you to promise me that you will stay here tonight. Don’t answer the phone if it rings. Don’t make any calls. And don’t open the door for anyone. Will you do that?”

  “Yes,” she whispered as she realized now she couldn’t call Paula to be sure she was safe.

  “At the lake you offered me NATO documents. Was that just a bluff, or did you mean it?”

  “Cal told me to stall, but he had something for me to give you.”

  “I may need it.”

  She didn’t expect him to tell why, so she simply waited tensely in silence.

  “You’re due to go home next month,” he said.

  She was past surprise and only nodded her confirmation.

  “You must leave Madrid by the end of the week.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I said I could buy you a little time. But after that you won’t be safe until you’re back in the States.” If then, he thought, but he couldn’t say it aloud.

  “They won’t let me go just like that. My tour’s not up.”

  “They’ll let you go if you threaten to make a public statement.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He laughed mirthlessly. “You might start by letting the ambassador know what the enterprising Mr. Dixon has been up to. I doubt he’s been fully informed. Don’t hesitate to use whatever you can. Put in a call to your uncle the senator if you have to. He has a lot of influence with the White House.”

  He stood up and glanced at his watch. “It’s 4:00 a.m. in Moscow. I’m going to have to get some people out of bed. But you should be able to report back to your
embassy tomorrow morning at nine.” He crossed to the door. “Put the chain on after I leave.”

  “You could lend me your gun for protection.” She tried to make her voice light.

  “I wish I could. But I didn’t know I’d need one this evening when I left the office.”

  “Then back there on the street...”

  “I was using your assumptions about me to my own advantage. Good night, Julie.”

  Before she could answer he was gone.

  * * *

  ALEKSEI ILIYANOVICH had done his share of things that he’d regretted. But one point of personal ethics he’d prided himself on was never using his father’s political connections for his own advantage. Now he searched his memory looking for members of the premier’s staff who would remember the son of Iliyan Alexandrovich and be willing to pull a few strings for him. There was another criterion in his search, as well. He also needed someone who’d welcome an opportunity to put the ambitious Slava Bogolubov in his place.

  He finally settled on Deputy Foreign Minister Misha Panov, who had been his father’s friend and superior as head of the Soviet delegation to the U.N.

  Aleksei glanced at his watch. It was still the middle of the night in Madrid. But if he timed things right, he could catch the minister after he’d awakened but before he’d left for the office.

  He didn’t like placing the call at the embassy, where it would be recorded. But if he were going to pull rank on Bogolubov, he had to make damn sure the general couldn’t find any fault with the procedure.

  When it came to actually placing the call, his hand hesitated over the red phone. He had only one chance to get this right, and he didn’t want to think about the alternatives.

  He listened as the phone rang thousands of miles away, imagining the heavy overstuffed furniture in Panov’s Moscow apartment and the grandfatherly-looking man who complemented it so well. Panov was a study in contradictions. He might look soft, but his aging exterior concealed a mind as sharp as a military saber.

  The minister himself picked up the secure phone on the fourth ring. He sounded as though he’d already had a cup of coffee.

  “Aleksei Iliyanovich here,” the younger man began.

  “My boy, how are you? I thought you were in Madrid.”

  “I am, Misha Davidovitch.”

  “Then this must be an important call.”

  “Yes. I’d like your advice about a problem I’m having.”

  “Go on.”

  “I was assigned to cultivate a particular information source. Things had been going rather well and she had offered us a look at some NATO planning documents.”

  “Ah, a woman,” Panov remarked knowingly. “But you can’t have come to an old man at six o’clock in the morning for advice about her.”

  “No, it’s about the information. I believe our comrades at headquarters would be very interested in these documents.”

  “Oh, very interested I’m sure.”

  “That’s what I’m distressed about. General Bogolubov has taken a strange about-face. After I’ve spent weeks on this assignment, he’s decided to abort the mission just when my work is about to pay off.”

  Panov snorted. “Slava does things like that. There are times when I suspect he’s more interested in one-upmanship than in doing his job effectively.”

  “Yes, and that sometimes makes it hard for those under him to serve the motherland.”

  Panov laughed. “So you really called to get me to tie his hands behind his back while you complete the assignment.”

  “Are you making that offer?”

  “Actually, I owe Slava one myself. How urgent is this?”

  “Very.”

  “Then I’ll wake him up as soon as we get off the phone. But remember, an old man can take chances and it won’t really matter one way or the other how it turns out.”

  “You provide good counsel.”

  “Bogolubov is a dangerous enemy. You’re putting your neck on the chopping block if it turns out you can’t produce.”

  “I’m prepared to take the consequences. Thank you for your help, Misha Davidovich.”

  After hanging up the phone, Aleksei reached for his pocket handkerchief to wipe the perspiration off his brow. The white cloth was the one he’d lent Julie. It was covered with cement dust. He couldn’t use it on his face. Instead he dropped it into the bag designed for sensitive documents that were to be destroyed. Before he went home to change and shave, he dropped the bag in the incinerator.

  * * *

  IN AN APARTMENT not far away, Feliks Gorlov was also caught in the grips of a night sweat. Throwing off the covers, he got out of bed and went to the cabinet where he kept his vodka. A stiff drink might help him get back to sleep.

  He should have stuck to grain deals, he thought morosely, as he poured the colorless liquid into a heavy crystal tumbler. They might be tedious, but they were certainly a lot safer than the clandestine dealings he’d been engaged in lately.

  Taking the glass to an easy chair by the window, he looked out over the sleeping city. The peaceful view didn’t do any more than the vodka to calm his nerves.

  He’d been trying not to think about it, but he could damn well have gotten killed that night at the San Jeronimo. On the other hand, maybe that would have been less painful than what was going to happen if the KGB found out about his extracurricular activities.

  Right now, thank the devil, he had that pup Georgi Krasin running interference with his sanitized reports of the incident. But that wasn’t enough. He was going to have to come up with something better, and soon. Maybe, once he’d made good on this present commitment, he could get out of the whole thing. Or was he simply fooling himself? His covert activities had set some powerful forces in motion. Lately they’d developed a momentum of their own, like a snowball rolling down a hill in icy Gorki Park, getting bigger and bigger as it picked up speed. It wasn’t difficult to picture who was going to get smashed when the damn thing reached the bottom.

  Was there any way out of this? He certainly couldn’t outrun the snowball. But maybe he could develop a good story to explain what it was doing there and how the Kremlin could use it to its advantage.

  The thought made him feel a bit more confident. Setting the glass down, he leaned back against the comfortable cushion and clasped his hands behind his head. There were other avenues he should be pursuing too. Project Topaz, for example. That certainly had the old toad hopping right now. Perhaps there was a way to use what he knew about the operation to buy himself some more time.

  * * *

  A POLICE CAR was parked in front of the main entrance to the embassy when Julie’s cab pulled up. As she climbed the steps to the door, she looked at her reflection in the one-way mirror and cringed. She’d been afraid to get undressed, so her yellow dress looked as though it had been slept in. That was something of a misconception since she’d done little more than toss restlessly on the soft mattress, her ears straining every time footsteps passed in the hall.

  Though she’d washed her face and run a comb through her hair, she hadn’t been completely able to remove the cement dust. What’s more, she didn’t have any makeup to cover the dark circles under her eyes.

  The marine guard inside had orders never to leave his station unattended. But he was at the door and pulling her inside before she could ring for admittance.

  “She’s here,” he shouted into his walkie-talkie.

  “I’ll be right down to get her,” Fitz’s voice answered almost at once.

  She was waiting on the other side of the metal detector when the elevator opened. Fitz’s freckled face looked ashen. “We’ve been very worried about you,” he said, taking her arm. She expected to be ushered into his office; instead he pushed the button for the ambassador’s floor.

  “Are you all right?” he asked as the car moved upward.

  “Shaky.”

  He nodded. “I feel guilty as hell about this, if that does you any good.”

  “I’m not g
oing to tell you it’s all right and try to make you feel better.”

  Fitz slanted her a sympathetic look. “I deserve that.”

  She didn’t reply.

  He changed the subject. “Ambassador Thomas isn’t in this morning, so we can use his office.”

  “All right.”

  At the door he turned to the secretary. “Bring us two cups of coffee, with cream and sugar.” He turned to Julie. “Do you want a roll or something?”

  “Not now.”

  The person who came in five minutes later with the coffee was Cal. It was obvious that the man had been up all night, and a good bit of the starch had gone out of his demeanor. But he wasn’t above trying to put Julie McLean on the defensive immediately. “What the hell is the idea of going off on a wild-goose chase in response to a cockamamie note?”

  “If you had leveled with me about the San Jeronimo, I wouldn’t have gone.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know perfectly well. I don’t have to tell you.”

  “You didn’t have a need to know.”

  “Apparently, I did! And I’d like to know if Paula is okay.”

  “She’s fine,” Cal answered in a clipped tone.

  Fitz interrupted. “I hate to break in on this friendly interchange, but I want to know where Julie spent the night.”

  “With the man who saved my life.”

  “And who was that?”

  “Aleksei Rozonov.”

  Cal muttered a curse.

  Julie closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep, calming breath. She had passed long sleepless hours thinking of what she was going to say this morning.

  “Maybe you’d better tell us about it,” Fitz said.

  “What do you know?”

  “Only that you got a note sending you to an ambush. We’ve made some discreet inquiries. The police aren’t aware you’re involved. They think the explosion was just a piece falling off a building like the one that almost hit the king last month. Whoever did the demolition must have been an expert.”

  Julie’s gaze flicked to Cal and then back to Fitz. She was going to try to stick as close to the truth as she could. “Rozonov wouldn’t say much. I gather there was a difference of opinion about how to handle whatever operation they think I’m involved in. Somebody wanted me killed. Rozonov wants those NATO plans. He says he can guarantee my safety if I give them to him. Last night he took me to a room at the Palace Hotel and left me there while he went to cancel the orders.” She paused. “The orders to have me killed.”