Silent Thunder

by Iris Johansen

  "Why?"

  "Because they tried to kill Ivanov. That's why he went on the run and defected."

  "Then how does he know that Captain Vladzar didn't just go on the run too?"

  "He saw Pavski's goons take him off the sub. And he had contacts in Sevastopol who told him that the captain's reported 'retirement' never happened. He never showed up there. Ivanov waited six months on the run, one step ahead of the GRU before he contacted us. He wanted to be sure that there wasn't any way he could find to save the captain and get him out of Russia."

  She frowned. "Who is this GRU?"

  "Military equivalent of the KGB. They handled all military intelligence but their existence wasn't publicized by the government. They're Russia's largest intelligence agency and even commanded 25,000 Spetsnez troops in 1997. Very powerful, very nasty."

  "And Ivanov was willing to risk his neck against an organization like that? Why?"

  Bradworth paused before he said reluctantly, "Ivanov and Vladzar were related. That may have something to do with it."

  "Related?"

  "Ivanov was his stepbrother. The captain sponsored his entry at the naval academy and pulled strings to get him accepted as a junior officer on the Silent Thunder."

  "Stepbrother… Gratitude and family feeling?"

  "More likely he wanted revenge and was pissed off because his fine career went down the tubes with Captain Vladzar."

  "You really do dislike him." She shrugged. "But you could be right. I'll have to find out."

  Bradworth swore beneath his breath. "Didn't you learn anything tonight? He's a killer, an assassin, and he wouldn't give a damn if he had to snuff you out to get to Pavski. You'd be a fool if you don't stay away from him."

  "Perhaps I'd be a fool if I did. If he wants Pavski that much, then I may need him."

  "You don't need him. You have the United States government."

  "Who decided they needed Ivanov themselves several years ago." She turned to face him. "Don't talk to me about trusting you or any other bureaucrat, Bradworth. I've no more faith in you than I do Ivanov. And, at least with the Russian I'm dealing with someone who obviously doesn't give a damn about rules and red tape."

  "Look, he doesn't care anything about you, and you're going to need protection. Pavski's calling out the big guns. I was trying to reach you to warn you."

  "About what?"

  "The men who attacked you at that gas station." He drew a computer-printed photograph from his pocket. "The lab was able to extract DNA from both men, and we've managed to ID one of them. His name was Anton Leonovsky. Familiar?"

  She took the photograph. The picture was slightly blurry and shot from across a crowded restaurant, but it was clearly the man she'd last seen on fire next to the gas pumps. She shuddered. "I recognize him." She handed the photo back to Bradworth. "What do you know about Leonovsky?"

  "An extremely lethal Russian assassin. We didn't even know he was in the country. Leonovsky was ex-KGB, then associated with some particularly vicious Mafia families in Kiev. More recently he was freelance. You're lucky to be alive. If Pavski sent that caliber of assassin after you, then you need me."

  She shook her head.

  "You can't believe anything Ivanov says. He's a murderer. He's as bad as Pavski."

  "No," she said fiercely. "As far as I'm concerned, no one's as bad as the man who killed my brother. No one." She drew a deep breath, trying to control her anger. "Now get out of here. I can't look at you without remembering how you set Conner and me up."

  "I thought we could protect you."

  "But you didn't do it, did you?" she said wearily.

  "How can I convince you that we need to be on the same team?"

  "Tell me what Pavski thinks was so important on that sub that he was willing to kill to get it."

  He shook his head. "I wish I could."

  "Then get the hell out of here."

  He hesitated and then headed for the door. "I'll be in touch. I'm not leaving you at the mercy of that son of a bitch."

  "Mercy? You're joking." She turned her back on him. "I don't expect mercy from either one of you."

  She heard him mutter something and then the sound of the door closing behind him.

  Jesus, she felt raw and hurt and filled with searing anger.

  Chess pieces. That's all she and Conner had been to all those bastards who'd circled the Silent Thunder like deadly predators. Bradworth and Ivanov and, most of all, Pavski. Damn them all to hell.

  Chess pieces.

  She was coming.

  Kirov watched Hannah walk down the pier toward him. It was almost dawn, and the misty gray light made her figure appear ghostlike and without substance from a distance. As she drew nearer, he could see there was nothing of the phantom about her. Her stride was as purposeful as her expression.

  She stopped as she caught sight of him sitting on the deck. "You were expecting me," she said flatly.

  He nodded. "Actually, I thought you'd be here sooner. I was betting you'd come back as soon as you found out Bradworth was an exercise in futility. You're not one to waste time once a decision is made."

  "And what decision did I make, Ivanov?"

  "Call me Kirov. Both the CIA and I prefer the world think my alter ego is dead these many years. It's safer for me."

  "What decision did I make, Kirov?"

  "That I'm the lesser of two evils. You need help to get Pavski, and Bradworth isn't aggressive enough for you."

  "And are you aggressive enough?"

  He smiled. "Oh, yes. Ask Bradworth."

  "I don't have to ask him. He's already volunteered your dubious credentials. He says you're an assassin."

  "On occasion."

  "That you only want to use me."

  "I do want to use you."

  "And that you'd kill me if I got between you and Pavski."

  "Then you'd better not get between us."

  "I've no intention of preventing you from killing Pavski. I'd hand you the gun."

  "That's kind of you, but I don't like guns." He leaned back against the rail. "But I take it that you're extending a helping hand?"

  "I want Pavski. I'm not going to take a chance on Bradworth's letting him slip through his fingers." She stared him directly in the eye. "You told Bradworth I was yours. I know it was part of the tug-of-war game that you two are playing, but I'll make it true. Everything I know and everything I am are at your disposal. You can help me. I can help you."

  "To get Pavski."

  "To get Pavski. What else?"

  "And you're not heeding Bradworth's dire warnings?"

  "I'm heeding them. I'm just not acting on them. Why should I? I don't trust him. I don't trust either of you. I'm not even sure that there is a Pavski or that he's responsible for Conner's death. As soon as I get back to Boston, I'm going to call the congressman and ask him to check out all the information he can gather on Pavski."

  "Very wise."

  "And about Dimitri Ivanov."

  "Even wiser. I'm sorry, but I can't afford to twiddle my thumbs here until you check us out. I'm sailing in twenty minutes."

  "You're not going to rush me."

  "I'm not trying to rush you. Unfortunately, last night you were probably followed here by Pavski's men, and I can't run the risk of staying here until you make up your mind. I want Pavski, not his errand boys. Bradworth is probably having you watched, but be careful all the same." He rose to his feet and headed for the bridge. "You have my cell phone number. Call me, and I'll come to you."

  She frowned. "Why are you in such a hurry now? Before you didn't think the danger was too great to wait until this evening."

  "Yes, I did." He started the engine. "But you were worth waiting for. You're very valuable. I told you, Bradworth was right. I do want to use you." He backed away from the pier. "Call me…"

  RASTADT, RUSSIA

  Dananka parked his motorcycle next to the market on the outskirts of town. Christ, how could people live in such a depressing littl
e shit hole? He had yet to see anyone under the age of seventy, and the houses were crumbling under their own weight. Another decade, and this pathetic little village could be a beautiful resort, Dananka thought. It couldn't happen soon enough.

  He knew he stuck out like a sore thumb in places like this. He'd turn thirty on his next birthday, and he took good care of himself. He was young and strong, and any thoughts that he might be getting old were erased by a few minutes in this place. The town represented the Russia he hated, the disintegrating country that proudly hung on to its old-fashioned ideals even as they plunged the country deeper and deeper into the abyss.

  He found the house and pushed the door buzzer. It didn't work. Naturally. He knocked on the door.

  After a minute, an elderly man with gigantic black-framed glasses answered. His entire face seemed to squint. "Yes?"

  Dananka flashed his most boyish smile. "Frederick Samsova?"

  "Who are you?"

  "I'm an admirer of yours, sir. It's such an honor to meet you."

  Samsova stared at him suspiciously. "It is?"

  "Yes. My name is Ilya Dananka. I'm in the naval academy at St. Petersburg, and you have a lot of fans there. May I come in?"

  Samsova shrugged and swung the door open wide. "The place is a mess. I don't have many visitors."

  "It looks fine." Dananka glanced around the depressing little shack, which was cluttered with newspapers, magazines, and several ship models in various stages of completion. "Just wait until my friends at the academy hear that I was in Frederick Samsova's house."

  "I'm surprised you've even heard of me." Samsova pulled open the window blinds. The late-morning sun highlighted the dust on every surface. "They don't like talking about the old guard anymore. They wish we didn't exist."

  "That's not true, at least not in your case. Many of the students have discovered your navigational system."

  Samsova raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

  "Oh, yes. It's totally brilliant. I'm surprised it's not being used everywhere."

  "That was my hope, but I'm afraid political realities took precedence." His eyes sparkled with sudden eagerness. "Your classmates really know my work?"

  "We all do. It hasn't been easy to research, because your texts aren't in the library anymore."

  Samsova sighed. "Of course they aren't. It's a world that shuns complexity and embraces mediocrity."

  "But I found a box of acetates that you used on the overhead projector in your classes. We borrowed a projector, and some of us get together twice a week in the basement and study your lessons." He smiled. "We've taken your name for our group. I hope you don't mind. We call ourselves the Samsovians."

  Color filled the old man's pasty face. He smiled and gestured to a narrow bookshelf in his living room. "These are my texts and lesson plans. I might have some extras around here for you."

  "That would be wonderful. Thank you so much." Dananka reached into his backpack and pulled out three eleven-by-fourteen prints. "We found this in a box in the archive room. It looks like your system, but we can't read it. Do you have any idea what it means?"

  Samsova took the prints and angled them toward the sunlight. "Hmmm. Yes, it's my system. It's difficult to make out…" He held up the first print. "Points of origin, one primary, and two alternates. These are in the Western Hemisphere, in the North Atlantic."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yes. We'll check the maps later." Samsova held up the second and third prints. "These go together. There are an unusual number of markers here. Far more than you'd need to get from Point A to Point B."

  "What kind of markers?"

  "All kinds. Physical, astronomical, compass readings. These are actually quite advanced. Only a very few of my students were taught to this extent."

  "Tell me about the markers. To what do they correspond?"

  He shrugged. "I've no idea. They don't appear to be complete."

  "What about this mark at the bottom of the third photo? It's different, isn't it? What does it mean?"

  Samsova frowned. "It's not Samsovian. I've never seen it before."

  "Think. Make a guess." Dananka realized at once he'd made a mistake. His tone had been too harsh and demanding for the role he was playing.

  Samsova's expression was suspicious again, closing him out. He could almost see him withdrawing. "I can't help you," Samsova said coldly. "This isn't a navigational map. It looks as if it was written on a wall or some other surface. It almost looks like…" He glanced up from the photo. "Who are you?"

  "I told you. I'm a student at-"

  "I heard you before. But who are you really? I may be a little past my prime, but I still have my wits about me, you condescending bastard." Samsova picked up the phone. "I believe I'll call the academy. I still know a few people there."

  "There's no need to bother your friends." He smiled. "I confess. I'm not a student. Just one of your greatest fans."

  "Lying pig." Samsova started to dial. "Get out of my house."

  "Of course." He took a step closer. "I wouldn't think of abusing your hospitality. And you're right, you obviously can't help me. I'll have to see what I can glean from your books."

  "You won't touch my books. Get out of-" Samsova stiffened, his eyes widening. "Wait, please. I-"

  Dananka's palm drove upward under Samsova's nose and sent the broken bone fragments into his brain.

  BOSTON

  You called?" Kirov bowed as Hannah opened the door of her condo. "The message you left on my voice mail was less than polite, but I'm still at your service."

  "I didn't feel polite." She slammed the door as he came into the room. "I feel angry and frustrated, and I don't want you in my life."

  His brows lifted. "Then why am I here?"

  "You know why. I don't have anyone else."

  "True. May I sit down?"

  She nodded jerkily. "By all means, make yourself comfortable."

  "I shall." He dropped down in the easy chair and glanced around. "This is a nice room. It looks like you. Clean and no-nonsense but enough color to keep it from being boring."

  "I don't need an interior decorating critique."

  "Just a comment." He leaned back in the chair. "It's just interesting. I realize you probably wouldn't bother yourself with designing your home. I'd wager you let it evolve around you over the years. Right?"

  She didn't answer. He was far too perceptive. And damnably confident and at ease in her space. He effortlessly dominated the room. He was sitting in her chair, and it was suddenly as if it belonged to him. "Bradworth said Captain Vladzar was your stepbrother. Were you close?"

  He nodded. "As close as a black sheep can be to the shepherd who tends the flocks. Sergai was quite a bit older than I, and he was always my idol." He grimaced. "Except when he rained his wrath down on my head when I got into trouble. That happened a lot during my misspent youth. He never understood the delights of decadence and lechery. He was too stern and upright, and I never appreciated what a solid foundation he gave me until I was older. He was always there to pull me out of trouble and set me on the right path."

  "So you rode on his coattails to become second officer on his sub."

  "You might say that." He met her gaze. "But I prefer to think that I earned my place by hard work and at least moderate intelligence. You can go only so far relying on influence. Sergai would never have tolerated any of his officers who weren't top-notch."

  "Even a relative?"

  "Particularly a relative. When I was accepted on the Silent Thunder, I promised myself I'd learn more, be more valuable to Sergai than any of his other officers."

  "And did you?"

  He nodded. "Of course. I was a complete pain in the ass to Sergai and everyone else who knew any skill that I didn't. I was going to be the fastest-rising officer in the Russian Navy. I was going to make Sergai proud of me."

  "But that didn't happen."

  He was silent a moment. "No, that didn't happen."

  "Why not? What did happen on
the Silent Thunder?"

  He smiled faintly. "If I were Bradworth, I'd tell you it was classified."

  "You're not Bradworth."

  "So I'll tell you that I've no intention of confiding anything I don't find necessary to a woman who'd flay me alive if given the opportunity."

  "Not until I'd wrung whatever use I could from you."

  He chuckled. "I'm already feeling the squeeze. It's a little erotic."

  "Bull."

  "Not entirely." His smile faded. "But you didn't call me to find out my relationship with Sergai."

  "You're wrong. You and Bradworth won't tell me anything else I need to know, so I have to try to judge your motives for tracking down Pavski. Revenge?"

  He looked at her.

  "Bradworth thinks you're pissed off because your career was deep-sixed."

  "Maybe he's right. You'll have to decide for yourself. Did you call your Congressman Preston and ask him your questions?"

  "Yes, he said he'd investigate you, but it would take time."

  "Ah, the common answer of bureaucracy."

  "He'll do his best. And I called a friend of mine in the Russian Navy and asked him to network with his friends and find out what he could."

  "That might be more productive."

  "But I can't wait for answers before I move. Who knows? Pavski might kill you, and I wouldn't have any leads at all."

  "Unfortunate for you. Tragic for me."

  "I don't care about you."

  "That's obvious. Have you made a guess at why I want Pavski?"

  "No." He'd seemed sincere when he talked about Vladzar, but he was an enigma to her. "It's too soon. I'll have to give myself a little time to probe."

  "Heaven forbid." He paused. "Does that mean we're going to be best chums?"

  "Bastard. How can I get Pavski?"

  "By finding out what he wants and holding it out like a luscious carrot."

  "He's got what he wants."

  "Not everything. That navigational chart evidently wasn't complete. He needs more information, and he believes you have it."

  "I don't."

  "But he doesn't know that. And even if he couldn't get back on the sub to find any more plates, everyone who can read a magazine article is aware of that memory of yours. You might have seen something that could be forced out of you under pressure."