by Rebecca York
“You mean the mysterious murders in the BWI satellite parking lot?”
“Um-hum.”
“Those two dead men aren’t from the Clayton gang. I’d say they were Soviet agents.”
“My thought exactly. And I’d be willing to bet that they were looking for the same person we are.”
Connie nodded. “The fact that they’re dead and he isn’t is a hopeful sign.”
“Marginally. We still have a lone agent on the loose whose chances of getting through to us are almost nil. We don’t know if he got out of Spain with the information we need, and we don’t know if he’s been wounded. The only thing we do know for sure is that Moscow is trying to kill him.” He paused and stroked his chin. “That does make it more likely that he has the Topaz material. Unfortunately, it also means that he’s better off shooting first and asking questions later—which certainly doesn’t make the job of contacting him any easier.”
“You forgot to mention that if the American authorities find out he’s here, they’re going to consider him a threat—and fair game.”
Gordon’s expression darkened. “Yes, we mustn’t leave out that little detail. So what would you do if you were in Aleksei Iliyanovich Rozonov’s shoes?”
“Find some help.”
“Too bad Conti is out of the country on that damn opera tour. If he weren’t, I’d bet on the Raven showing up at his New York apartment. I thought about trying to get him back—with a fake appendicitis or something. But by the time he’d get home, it would probably be too late.”
“So who else would the Raven trust with a secret that could change the balance of world power?”
Gordon laughed harshly. “No one I know of off the top of my head. That’s why I want you to start cross-checking our data bases.” He paused and looked thoughtful. “And get those McLean debriefing tapes from State. Dixon’s cockamamie operation threw her into contact with Aleksei several times. Maybe she learned something from him that will give us a clue.”
Connie looked doubtful.
“Dammit,” the Falcon rasped, “I know it’s a long shot. But long shots are all we have at the moment.”
“I’ll get right on it.” She turned back to her computer, a feeling of urgency making her usually steady fingers tremble slightly. There was not a doubt in her mind now that some operative of the KGB was going through the same kind of search she was about to initiate. It was just a question of who found Aleksei Rozonov first—the Falcon or the assassins.
* * *
JULIE DUMPED the cleaning products out of the bag onto the kitchen floor and opened the kitchen cabinets. Into the bag and another one went some food. It took her only a few minutes more to throw a few changes of clothes into a suitcase. The gun she stuffed gingerly back into the flight bag.
After loading the few supplies in the car, she cranked the right front seat down so that it was in full reclining position. If only she could make Aleksei more comfortable. But it was the best she could do with a Toyota.
When she reentered the living room, his head was thrown back against the cushions and his eyes were closed.
Sitting down beside him, she touched his face tenderly. His skin was cool and damp. But his lids snapped open.
“It’s only about thirty steps to the car. We’ll take it slowly.”
“Where are we going?”
“My uncle has a little place near Solomon’s Island. I’ve been there before. It’s very private, very secluded. He suggested that I use it to relax and gave me the key.”
“Julie, you don’t know what you’re...” In his weakened condition, the long speech was too much.
“I love you. That’s all I need to know.” As she said the words, she realized their truth. She loved him. She had known for a long time but hadn’t been able to admit it, even to herself.
For a moment his expression registered shock mingled with an intense joy that he had no right to feel. He tried to speak again but she silenced him with her palm.
“We can talk about it later. You’re the one who said it was important to get out of here.”
“All right.” The gravity of their situation took precedence over any emotional considerations.
She looked at his arm. Thank God there was no more fresh blood. “Do you need anything before we go?”
“Water.”
She brought him a large glass and helped him drink. He was terribly thirsty but even swallowing seemed to sap his energy.
The walk to the car was agonizing. Though he leaned heavily on her shoulder, he could barely stay on his feet. The way he sank into the seat made her want to cry. But she couldn’t allow herself that luxury.
Julie headed east out of the city through Upper Marlboro and then south along the Chesapeake Bay. Her hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly that they ached. She drove with one eye on the road, one on the rearview mirror. No one set of lights seemed to be constantly behind her. She had so little experience in this kind of thing, but Aleksei’s life—and hers—might depend on that judgment.
It was a two-hour ride that seemed more like ten. Every time the car hit a bump, she glanced anxiously over at the man beside her. Mercifully, he slept.
The beach house loomed dark and silent at the end of a winding private drive, but it looked like a haven after the harrowing ride. As they pulled to a stop in the gravel parking area, Aleksei stirred.
She put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “We’re here, safe and sound. You wait in the car. I’ll open up and come back for you.”
He nodded.
Julie turned on a few lights and raised the windows. The house felt stuffy, but the decor was pleasantly rustic, with white wicker furniture and sisal rugs. After bringing in the luggage, she opened Aleksei’s door. To her surprise, he pushed himself to a sitting position with his good arm.
“Don’t...”
“I’m a little better. I must have needed the sleep.”
Still he had to lean on her as they climbed the wooden steps to the wide front porch and made their way to the living room couch.
“I should get you into bed,” she murmured, gazing down at him with concern. “You need rest.”
He shook his head. “Not yet. Sit beside me.”
She looked at him questioningly but obeyed.
He searched her face for a moment before starting to speak again. “Julie, there’s a bullet in my arm. It has to come out, and I don’t think I can reach it.”
Her eyes widened. “You want me to do it? You can’t be serious.”
“I’m perfectly serious. Bring my flight bag over. There are some things in it that you’re going to need.”
“Aleksei, we must call a doctor.”
“I can’t explain a gunshot wound to a doctor.”
She had to knit her fingers together to keep her hands from trembling. The hot, close air of the house seemed to press in around her.
“First, we have to cut my shirt off.”
“Aleksei...”
“I’m not going to get better until the bullet is out!”
He was right, of course. “You insist that we have to do this alone?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know so much about this?”
His laugh was harsh. “Part of my training. Now get the bag.”
The note of command in his voice made her obey. She wondered vaguely if he’d ever used that tone to force a squadron of troops to follow him into a hail of machine-gun fire.
“This could be messy. Maybe we’d better go into the kitchen.”
She helped him to the Formica table. Just removing the blood-encrusted shirt made him grit his teeth and brought beads of perspiration to his upper lip. It made her sick to her stomach to hurt him, but she followed his instructions. The arm looked mangled, bruised, and swollen. Julie brought warm water and clean towels to sponge off the dried blood.
“You’ve lost weight,” she whispered, gently running her fingers across his chest.
“I’ll tell you ab
out my adventures tomorrow.”
“I want to hear them.” She was putting off the inevitable.
He told her how to check for arterial damage by taking his pulse. It was fast and weak. He flexed his fingers to show her that the nerve pathways were intact. Then he examined the arm with the fingers of his right hand. The bullet was on the outside near the shoulder. She could see where it had tunneled through lean flesh.
“Well, I don’t think I’m going to lose the arm.”
Julie swallowed convulsively. Was it a grim joke, or had that been a real fear in the back of his mind?
“Lucky. It’s only lodged in muscle tissue,” he continued. “Look. You can see it under the skin.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, gulping in oxygen. When she looked at the purple bulge, her stomach lurched.
“You won’t have to probe. There’s a sharp knife and alcohol in the bag.”
“You came prepared.”
“A necessity. I brought antibiotics too. I should probably start them now.” Getting the tablets and a glass of water bought her another few minutes. Finally she could no longer put off the inevitable.
She studied his face. “It’s going to hurt.”
“I know. I promise not to faint again.”
She turned quickly away and made herself busy. After finding a strong light and bringing it into the kitchen, she sterilized both the knife and her hands. But still she hesitated.
“Do you want a drink first? I think that’s what they do in the cowboy movies.” Her voice was shaky.
“My blood pressure’s probably too low for any kind of depressant.”
She lifted her eyes to his.
“Julie, do it.”
He didn’t move, didn’t flinch, didn’t call out as the sharp point of the knife pierced his flesh. Now she couldn’t risk looking at his face. Out of the corner of her eye she saw his good hand gripping the edge of the table. The knuckles were bloodless. She bent her concentration to the job, as though she were simply cutting into raw meat and not the man she loved. Only when the sweat from her forehead threatened her vision did she pause. Automatically she wiped it away with her forearm. Red blood welled in the incision, making it difficult to work. She hadn’t been prepared for that. But somehow, after what seemed like hours, she got the bullet out and dropped it with a loud clank onto the table.
“Thank you,” he whispered between gritted teeth, reaching up to press the bleeding incision together with his fingers.
“Oh, God, Aleksei.”
“That was perfect. Now you just have to sew the wound together and put on a bandage.”
If she had done the first part, she could do that.
By the time she finished, his skin was clammy, his brow covered with cold perspiration. He was starting to shiver, and his lips were tinged with blue. The ordeal must have sent him into shock.
“Let me put you to bed.”
Leaning on her shoulder again, he allowed himself to be taken to a downstairs bedroom. After folding back the covers, she eased him onto the bed and began to loosen his belt. In a few moments she had stripped him to his white briefs. There was another extensive bruise on his hip and several recent abrasions. Her earlier appraisal was confirmed. He looked like a man who had taken a terrible amount of punishment to get this far. Quickly she pulled the covers back over his trembling body. He didn’t open his eyes, and she wondered if he had drifted off to sleep as she brushed a kiss across his cool forehead.
“Dushenka, stay and warm me,” he whispered.
“I will.”
After taking off her own jeans and shirt, she slipped into bed beside him, turning on her side so that she could press herself against him and share her warmth.
Shaky fingers grazed her waist, her hip, the line of her leg. “I thought I’d never feel you lying next to me again.”
“Alyoshenka, I’m here—for as long as you need me.”
Chapter Fourteen
Yuri Hramov opened the door of the small office three levels beneath the main floor of the Soviet embassy in Washington, D.C. He and General Bogolubov had slipped into North America disguised as an elderly Swiss invalid and his devoted companion bound for a Toronto clinic and had quietly crossed the border in upstate New York. For the last week they’d been waiting anxiously for the Raven to surface. Two hours ago, an alert on the police radio band had brought some mixed news. Their quarry had landed. But he’d also escaped the airport reception committee.
As soon as Hramov had gotten the word, he’d put their fallback plan into operation and headed for Georgetown. Now once again, he hadn’t been quite quick enough.
“His blood was all over the carpet and on the sofa. It was fresh.”
“So you just missed the son of a whore.” Bogolubov’s voice was harsh, the knuckles of his beefy hands white.
“He leads a charmed life. But his luck will have to run out soon.”
Yuri Hramov’s deep-set eyes shone with an intensity that almost frightened the general. If he hadn’t despised Aleksei Rozonov so much himself, he would have felt sorry for the man. He’d seen what Hramov had done to others he’d been sent to bring in. What would he do to someone who had humiliated him?
“What else did you find?”
“They got out of there in a hurry. She left her bedroom drawers open and cleaning supplies scattered all over the kitchen.”
“The film he smuggled out. What about the film?” The general’s tone had taken on a note of desperation. Back in Moscow he’d talked himself out of the mess the Raven had left him in. But it was only a temporary reprieve. Along with the Topaz report, Rozonov had included a secret dossier on his KGB superior. If any of that muck was made public, Bogolubov could kiss more than his dacha goodbye. He shuddered. He was too old to survive many Siberian winters.
“There was nothing that could be a Kremlin report, Comrade General. And I tore the place apart.”
Bogolubov strove to keep the note of authority in his voice. “How far could she have taken Rozonov?”
“It depends on the severity of the wound. From the stains on the couch, I’d guess he took a bullet in his arm or shoulder. The blood loss will slow him down. But I assume he can stand a lot of pain. Maybe we’ll be lucky and he’ll develop blood poisoning or gangrene. Then he’ll have to check into a hospital.”
“If so, the CIA will get him.”
“Don’t count on it.”
Again Bogolubov thanked the devil that Yuri Hramov was on his side.
“I spotted his car on the street,” the hit man continued. “So they must have taken hers.”
“Find out what kind it is—and the license number.”
“Right.” Hramov stood up and moved toward the phone, the lines in his forehead deepening every time his foot hit the floor. He knew something about standing pain himself. Almost anyone else would still be convalescing after the injury to his ankle, but he had asked specifically to be brought along on this assignment. He would get his revenge.
“Check the personnel roster,” the general continued. “Find me someone with a good American accent stationed in D.C.”
“Do you want Midwestern or Brooklyn?”
“Either, just so he can pass for a State Department employee when he starts calling McLean’s friends and relatives. If we make it sound as though they need to get in touch with her right away, maybe someone can give us an idea where she’s gone.”
* * *
THE MORNING AFTER the impromptu surgery Aleksei’s warm gaze followed Julie as she moved about the bedroom adjusting the window shades and straightening the covers. There was no longer any doubt of his absolute trust in this woman. But while she lightened his burden, he knew what kind of jeopardy was being shifted to her slender shoulders. Telling her about his espionage activities had been bad enough. He was also aware that by drawing her into his life he was making her as vulnerable as he to the likes of Yuri Hramov.
He pushed himself to a sitting position in bed. “Julie, I have no
right to involve you in this any further.”
She set down the tray of tea and toast she’d brought him for breakfast. “I thought I made it clear that I want to be involved.”
Her dark eyes told him of the emotion behind the words. He sighed. “The key to getting myself out of this mess is to contact the Peregrine Connection, the intelligence organization Dan was working for. They’re the only ones who can intervene on my behalf.”
“I presume it’s not as easy as simply calling them.”
“No. For obvious security reasons, I don’t even know where their headquarters is located, except that it’s somewhere in the Washington area. The only thing I have is a post office box in Virginia that I can’t be sure is still active, and a mechanism for setting up a mutual meeting.”
“Which is?”
“An ad in the classified section of The Washington Post—under ‘Animals and Pets for Sale.’”
“But you don’t want to call it in from here. And you’re in no shape to drive.”
“Can you do it for me? You’ll have to find a pay phone that’s at least thirty miles away.”
Her eyes flicked to the bandage on his arm. “I don’t want to leave you for that long.”
“I’ll be all right.”
Suddenly she realized she was adding to his problems by voicing her concern. “Are you selling a raven?” she asked lightly.
“Actually a mynah bird.”
She brought him a pencil and paper and he wrote out the exact wording. “Get it for the next possible day.”
“I will.”
She left after she’d cleared away the breakfast tray and tended to his wound again. Because the injury was extremely painful, he showed her how to make a sling to keep the arm immobile.
* * *
THE MOMENT she returned two hours later, he wanted to know when the ad would appear. “Not till Monday,” she admitted, aware that he was going to be disappointed. “The weekend deadlines are early. But while we’re waiting, let me help build up your strength. I’ve even gotten some fresh beets at a produce stand. You can give me a critical opinion of my borscht.”
He smiled and allowed her to fuss over him. There was no point in adding to her burden by dwelling on their precarious situation.