by Jack Mars
The agents ducked, ran, and leapt for cover as he fired recklessly. Then he tossed the SMG over the wall and scrambled up over it himself. Return fire pounded the stones as he vaulted feet over head and landed with a jolt on the other side. An electric pain sizzled up his spine and neck; crashing the gate had given him whiplash. He’d definitely be paying for that later.
He grabbed up the SMG again and fired the last of the rounds over his shoulder. Then he pulled the second Glock from his pants and started firing that back at the wall, even as he ran. A head appeared at the top, and then dropped back out of sight just as quickly as the bullets chipped stone.
Then Karina was beside him, keeping pace as they ran through grass adjacent to the narrow road. There were headlights coming up around the bend. “The trees!” He pointed, and the two of them sprinted toward the stout, thick-limbed trees lining both side of the road.
Zero reared back and hurled the empty SMG about fifteen yards out into the grass.
“Up!” he whispered.
Karina stared at him blankly. “Up? Up what? The tree?”
“Yes, the tree!” He could hear the voices shouting behind him, the Secret Service agents up the hill vaulting the wall and rushing down after them. Zero laced his fingers together and held them at knee level to give her a boost.
He was well aware of how ludicrous it sounded, hiding up in a tree like a squirrel, but they had no other choice. They couldn’t outrun them on foot. They couldn’t hide. They couldn’t fight them off.
Karina seemed to come to the same conclusion. She stepped into his hands and he pushed her up high enough to reach the lowest limbs. As she pulled herself up, Zero ran past her, to the next nearest tree, and he jumped up and grabbed hold of a sturdy bough.
Pain shot through his back once again as he struggled and pulled himself up. Yup, getting too old for this…
The vehicle that had been coming up the winding road screeched to a halt mere yards from them. At nearly the same time, four agents ran over to meet it. Zero peered through the leaves as best he could.
It was a SWAT van. Thank god we got out of there when we did.
The SWAT captain got out, in full body armor and helmet, and nodded to the agent that approached him. “Sir.”
“We’ve got two suspects on foot,” the lead agent said quickly, “a thirty-four-year-old Russian woman and a man in his mid-forties.”
Mid-forties? Zero almost scoffed aloud. Screw you, pal.
“They should be considered armed and extremely dangerous,” the agent continued. “They can’t have gotten very far. They’ll most likely try to find a place to hide or steal a vehicle—”
“Sir!” one of the agents called out as he picked the SMG up from the grass. “Looks like he dropped this. They must have gone this way.”
“All right,” said the agent in charge. “You four, head that way on foot. Look for any trail, footprints, evidence of where they went.” He turned to the SWAT member. “Captain, I want your guys canvassing every house in the vicinity. There aren’t many. Look for tripped alarm systems, cameras feeds, and check for missing vehicles. You.” He turned to the agent beside him. “Head back up to the house and help the others secure the Russian president. Emergency services are en route. Check on whoever might still be alive up there. Then call local PD and have them set up roadblocks a mile in each direction. Any car that comes by gets searched. Even if it’s one of our own.”
The SWAT van backed up, pulling a K-turn on the narrow road as they headed back down the way they came. For a brief moment, Zero’s tree was awash in their headlights and he held his breath, fearing being spotted, but the van rumbled back down the long drive. The agents headed out on foot, their vehicles inaccessible until emergency services could clear the wreckage he’d caused by crashing into it.
Even after they’d all left, Zero remained in the tree for another thirty seconds or so, waiting and listening to the silence. It felt like much longer. Eventually he clambered down, noting the ache in his limbs, and then helped Karina down.
“Now what?” she whispered.
In response, he took her by the hand and led her down the winding road, sticking to the darkness of the tree line until they reached the crossroad. Zero dared to peer out and looked both ways. He saw no movement, no headlights. The last thing the agents would have expected them to do was stick around; they assumed the two were running for their lives at the moment.
“Come on.” They crossed the road and stepped down the gentle slope on the other side, and then followed the road the same way Zero had originally come. If they followed it long enough, they’d reach the wreckage he’d left behind, but they wouldn’t need to go that far.
“Is this wise?” Karina asked nervously. “Following the road?”
“Ordinarily, no. But we need a phone. I don’t have one, and I doubt you do.”
She shook her head.
“I found this place using one of the Russians’ phones. But I tossed it. Now we need to find it.” He scanned the grass in the darkness, trying to ascertain how far along he had been when he threw it. It hadn’t been all that far from the mouth of the winding drive that led to the house.
“Can’t they track it?” she asked. “The Russian’s phone?”
Zero crouched, squinting down at the grass near his feet. “They can, but I don’t think they will. Whatever’s going on here, whatever dirt you’ve got on them, I think it’s a good bet it’s limited to the two presidents.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Those Secret Service agents are loyal men. They attacked us because they were told we’re the enemy.” The Russians learned their lesson last time. They’re keeping this small, personal.
“You realize you might have killed a couple of those ‘loyal men’?”
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I realize.” Then louder, “It should be right around here. Help me look.”
Karina crouched low, scanning the dark, tall grass for any sign of the phone. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. For calling you inept and useless.”
“And ineffectual,” he reminded her.
“Yes. And ineffectual. Your methods might be a little… uncouth, but at least we got out of—”
Zero grabbed her arm and pulled her down to the grass as he scrambled to lie flat beside her. A vehicle rumbled by slowly up on the road, a mounted spotlight on the passenger side scanning the small hillside slowly. The light shined over their heads and passed.
Zero glanced up as the car moved on. As he pushed himself up from the wet grass, he grinned—the phone was lying two feet from his head. “Bingo.” He grabbed it up and helped Karina to her feet. “We’re not out of the woods yet,” he reminded her. “Save your sorry until we’re actually clear. Come on.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
They hiked for another two miles, through a wide field and across a couple of back roads, barely talking, staying as silent and alert as they could. Zero spotted one of the roadblocks in the distance, two cop cars with their lights flashing and sawhorses set up across the asphalt. Hardly subtle and easy enough to avoid. They came to a gas station but skirted around it; there was a police cruiser parked in the small lot, the officer visible through the window chatting with the clerk. Looking for them.
Beyond the gas station was a stretch of trees. He knew where they were; if they crossed through the woods they’d come out in the DC suburbs, and the city beyond that.
In the relative safety and darkness of the trees, Zero paused. “I just need to know one thing. Did you actually record that meeting?”
Karina didn’t reply. Instead she stared at her shoes.
“It’s okay,” he told her. “I understand. The only reason you’re still alive is because they thought you might have.” Though this whole thing would be much easier if you had. “So we need them to keep thinking that, but it paints a much bigger target on both our backs. Sanders—or rather, Veronika—wants me to get you to Kiev, but we’ll have to take what we can
get.”
“But how will we get out of the country? They’ll be watching every airport, every highway, every port…”
“I know. That’s why I’m going to call in a favor.” He punched the number into the Russian’s phone and waited as it rang three times. Just when he thought it was going to go to voicemail, the line clicked and a gruff voice said, “Yes?”
“Alan. It’s Zero.”
“Zero! Whose number is this? Why are you calling so late? Are you okay?”
“Not really,” he admitted. “I’m in a bit of a bind. I could use some help.”
“Of course, anything you need.”
“Great.” Zero took a breath and said, “I need safe passage overseas for me and one other, as close to Kiev as we can get. Non-commercial, under the radar. I need aliases; IDs and passports. I’ll need some cash too. A couple grand, ideally. Whatever you can spare.”
Silence on the other end of the line.
“Alan?”
“When I said anything, I meant I’d help you move a sofa or something like that…”
“Alan, please.”
“Christ, Zero. What did you get yourself into?”
“Long story. Too long to tell right now. Can you help?”
Reidigger blew out a sigh. “My contacts aren’t quite what they used to be, but I can help. Where are you?”
“On foot. Eluding the cops.”
“Of course you are,” he muttered. “I’ll come get you.”
“Meet us at Walker Mill Road, near the little park, in twenty-five minutes.”
“You got it.”
“Thanks, Alan.” Zero ended the call, but he hesitated with his thumb on the phone’s screen. “I have to make one more call,” he told Karina. And it’s not one I want to make.
“We shouldn’t linger,” Karina said nervously.
“I know. It’ll just be a minute.” He dialed the number before he could think twice, and as he put the phone to his ear he meandered a short distance from the interpreter for some measure of privacy.
“Johansson,” she answered. It sounded like she was driving.
“Hi, Maria.”
“Kent! What the hell have you done?!” She sounded furious. He assumed she would have heard by now, but he thought she’d be more worried than angry. He was wrong. “One minute I’m sitting in bed, wondering where you are and if you’re going to come home, the next I’m getting a call that you attacked the Russian president?”
“It’s not what it seems like—”
“He was shot!” she shouted. “And a Russian diplomat was found dead on the road…”
Diplomat? He scoffed. The gangster he’d shot was a glorified thug, hardly a diplomat.
“Several Secret Service agents are hospitalized, two in critical condition—”
“I know,” he said quickly, “but there’s more to it than—”
“All this for an extortionist?”
“She is not an extortionist,” he said forcefully, feeling anger rising in his face. “Maria, she knows what went down in that secret meeting, and it’s nothing good. It’s happening again, but they’re being smarter about it this time—”
“And you know that how?” Maria interrupted. “Did she tell you what was said?”
“Well… no.”
“Jesus, Kent.” Maria scoffed. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because…”
“Is it because of what happened? Between us?”
“No!” he said sharply. “It has nothing to do with that.”
“Then why, Kent?”
“Because…”
She needs me.
“Because I was asked to,” he said. “Because I can’t turn a blind eye to something like this. You know that.”
“This isn’t who you are anymore,” Maria insisted.
“It’s who I always was. I just forgot that for a while.” He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back off his forehead. “Look, I called you to tell you the truth. I’m not asking for your help.”
“Good,” said Maria. “Because I don’t think I can help you now, Kent. I’m on my way to Langley for an emergency meeting to determine what the agency is going to do about you.” She lowered her voice. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but the best thing you could do right now is cut her loose. Let her go her own way, and turn yourself in. Given your track record, we can vie for some leniency. Maybe tell them you were lied to, that you didn’t know who Kozlovsky was…”
“You know I’m not going to do that.”
“I care about you, Kent. But you have no ties to the agency anymore, no protection. If you keep going, this ends with you being locked up or dead. And I’m going to be obligated to do what I can about it. About you.”
“Yeah,” he muttered. “I know. It’s your job, right? You’d better get to your meeting, Deputy Director. Be seeing you.”
“Kent, wait—”
He ended the call. Before she could call back, he tore the battery from the phone and stomped it to pieces, out of practicality and catharsis in equal measure. That hadn’t gone at all how he’d hoped.
But what were you hoping? That she’d offer help? Amnesty?
There was a time when Maria would have dropped what she was doing and destroyed anything and anyone that got between her and him. How many times had she told him that it was the two of them against the world? Against radical factions that threatened entire countries. Against assassins hell-bent on ending their lives. Even against the CIA and people they’d once called friends.
But not anymore. Maria had changed. The mysterious, dangerous beauty he’d found holed up in an Italian safe house was gone, replaced by a career woman and would-be mother playing the game of politics while wanting him to be the stay-at-home dad.
Zero almost laughed at himself as the realization hit him. That was the problem, wasn’t it? There was no more mystery or intrigue between them. His memory had been restored. He knew who she was, and she knew him. They’d traded guile and covert operations for a domestic partnership and quiet dinners at home, but that wasn’t what either of them really craved. At least not him. The love might still be there, but their spark, the lust, the fire they’d both once felt, was rooted in mistrust and deception.
Am I really that broken? he wondered.
He felt a hand on his shoulder. “Zero,” Karina said gently. “We should go.”
“Right.” He had to get his head together. They were on the lam from every law enforcement agency in the land now, including the CIA. Which means they know we’ll try to leave the country. Maria was plenty smart enough to know that he’d turn to Alan. He could only hope that she wouldn’t give Reidigger up—or at the very least, give them a head-start.
“My contact is going to meet us. Let’s go.” He led the way, picking his way carefully through the meager woods.
“That second call,” Karina said in a whisper behind him, “it didn’t seem to go well. Was that someone you care about? A wife? Or girlfriend?”
He glanced over his shoulder at her. In the dim moonlight filtered through the trees, Karina’s features were shadowy, dark, except for her brown eyes, which appeared to shine brighter than they should have been able.
Zero shook his head. “No,” he said simply. “Former partner.” He started again through the trees. “Come on. We have to move fast.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Maya rubbed sleep from her eyes as she followed the officer down the corridor, her bare feet padding softly against the tiled floor. She ran a hand through her hair and tried to look awake. Not five minutes earlier, she’d been shaken from sleep in the barracks by the MP, who had leaned over and harshly whispered, “Cadet Lawson. Come with me. Now.”
The man hadn’t said another word. He hadn’t even given her time to pull shoes on; he simply led the way out of the barracks and toward the administrative wing of the academy. Maya was in a T-shirt and shorts and bare feet, feeling rather stark as she followed the uniformed MP, fairly certain s
he knew their destination.
This is it, she thought glumly. Greg reported me for leaving him behind in Virginia last weekend. Or maybe for kicking his ass in judo class. Then a worse thought struck her: if the administration deemed Greg’s complaint as assault, Maya could get booted from West Point. Attacking another cadet was a grievous offense, and Greg’s parents had pull.
As she suspected, the MP led her straight to the closed door of the dean’s office. Her heart sank as the officer positioned himself beside the door and without even looking at her said, “Go on in, cadet.”
Maya swallowed the lump in her throat as she turned the knob and pushed the door open.
It was after eleven o’clock at night, yet the dean was still in full dress uniform, seated behind her desk in the spacious but admittedly austere office. Brigadier General Joanne Hunt was the first female USMA Dean in history, a 1984 graduate of the Point herself, and an accomplished and decorated officer. Maya had met her personally on two brief occasions before, as Dean Hunt liked to make time for short meetings with each cadet every year. Their interactions had been little more than a checking-in, but still she’d found the dean to be personable, even likable.
Tonight, however, Dean Hunt had her hands on the desk, fingers tented pensively, and a tight, if not stern expression on her face.
And she was not alone.
Maya closed the door behind her and stood at attention. “Ma’am.”
“At ease, Ms. Lawson.” Dean Hunt gestured to one of the two green guest chairs in front of her desk. “Please, have a seat.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Maya lowered herself into the chair, trying not to look directly at the man standing beside BG Hunt’s desk. He was older, early sixties perhaps, in a crisp blue suit. Between the dean and this stranger, Maya felt practically naked in her gray shorts and shirt.
“Do you know who this is?” Hunt asked, gesturing toward the man beside her.