Silent Thunder

by Iris Johansen

  "If you'd been with me, we'd both be dead. The only reason I was able to maneuver with that bomb weighing me down was that LISA was a man short."

  "Stop being reasonable. I'm not in the mood for logic." Kirov sat down next to her. "I'm mad as hell."

  "At me?"

  "Yes, you should have gotten out of there." He scowled. "No, I'm mad at myself. I should have seen it coming."

  "Why? How could you? I sure as hell didn't."

  "I know Pavski. After all these years, I should know how his mind works. He obviously knows how mine works."

  Hannah studied him. "When this is over, after Pavski is dead, what will you do then?"

  "You think my entire existence has been defined by a thirst for revenge? Once I lay down this last piece of the puzzle, my life will have no meaning?"

  "It crossed my mind."

  "Not true. Just the opposite, in fact."

  "How do you mean?"

  "My life will have meaning only after Pavski is gone. Until then, I have to stay in limbo."

  "In limbo?"

  "Yes. Caught between my old life and the new life to come."

  "It's a long time to be in limbo."

  "For a while I was dead inside, and then I began to come alive again. There are all kinds of pleasures to be had in this world. There are good people as well as evil, new worlds to be discovered if you have the eyes to see them. Companionship and sex." He shrugged. "Perhaps even love. Though that's the grand prize and not to be taken for granted."

  "I don't believe you take anything for granted."

  "I did once. I'll never do it again." He reached over and pulled the blanket closer around her. "You've probably never looked uglier in your life. Your nose is swollen, your eyes are bloodshot, and you're white as a sheet."

  "Thanks. Do you want to make me feel worse?"

  "No, I just wanted you to know that it doesn't make any difference." He gently brushed a scraggly tendril of hair away from her cheek. "Everything you are still shines out of you. You're like Silent Thunder. All the strength and the grace and the spirit. No matter how beat-up you get, no matter how much punishment you take, nothing can take that away." He leaned forward and brushed his lips across her forehead. "And I'm sorry I risked you because I didn't think far enough ahead."

  She didn't know what to say. She was feeling… "That's the second time you compared me to Silent Thunder," she said unevenly. "I'm not a sub, dammit. Conner used to tell me that I identified more with machines, but he never said I was like one."

  "Perhaps because he never reached that final empathy that some men have with ships and the sea. Close but not quite there." His hand dropped away from her cheek. "From what you told me he was very much involved in the human race."

  Her cheek felt strange, sensitive, now that he was no longer touching it. "Yes, he was that." She felt too close to him, too… intimate. She straightened. Get back to business. "What's next, Kirov?"

  "After we return LISA, we need to pay another visit to our favorite antiques dealer. Petrenko was obviously instructed by someone to give us that satchel, so there may be some coercion in order to find out what he knows."

  "Just don't ask me to wait in the car again. After what I've been through this morning, I'd like to see him get anything you can dish out."

  "As you wish." Kirov nodded. "By the way, I could hear you in the pod even when you couldn't hear me."

  "So?"

  "You were on quite friendly terms with LISA down there. 'Give me some distance, baby.' 'Good girl.' Is that any way to speak to an inanimate object?"

  "It's just… slang."

  "It was more than that. LISA surprised you, didn't she?"

  "Yes. She's-It's very well constructed."

  "And well designed."

  Hannah bowed her head with mock modesty. "Well, now that you mention it…"

  "But there's more there, and you know it."

  "You mean a soul."

  "Yes, and when the chips were down, even you felt it. I guess there are no atheists in foxholes, eh? Had you ever called a vessel 'she' in your life?"

  Hannah sighed. There was no use arguing with him. "I'm sure I've slipped once or twice."

  He smiled. "There's hope for you yet, Hannah Bryson."

  BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS

  The call from Pavksi had finally come.

  After days of trailing Congressman Preston, Dananka had received his instructions. It wasn't what he had expected, but in this business, he'd learned to expect the unexpected.

  Preston was a full block ahead of him.

  There was obviously more to Preston than met the eye, or Pavski's orders wouldn't have been so urgent. What had seemed to be a fool's errand suddenly became much more interesting.

  Preston disappeared in the shadows. Shit. Where did he go?

  Dananka walked faster, keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of the congressman.

  Preston finally stepped from the shadows, walking back toward him.

  "Preston?"

  Preston stopped. "Yes?"

  "I'm Dananka. I was told you were expecting me."

  "Unfortunately."

  "No time like the present." Dananka reached into his pocket and pulled out a velour-covered ring box.

  Preston tensed. "What's that?"

  "Well, I'm not asking you to marry me." He opened the ring box to display a tiny wireless microphone. "You know what to do with this?"

  "Pavski explained it to me. There's an adhesive backing, and I'm to put it somewhere in Cathy Bryson's living room."

  "Correct. Behind a picture frame, maybe on the underside of a lampshade. Just like in the movies."

  Preston took the box and closed it.

  Dananka handed him a disposable cell phone. "He'll call you tomorrow morning at 9:30 A.M. Be sure this is turned on." Dananka smiled maliciously. "Would you care to tell me what Pavski has on you?"

  "I would not." Preston turned and strode away from him. "Good night, Mr. Dananka."

  Device delivered," Dananka told Pavski when he picked up the phone. "And so was the message."

  "Good," Pavski said absently, and hung up the phone. He spread the photos from the Danzyl delivery out on the desk in front of him. He had gone through these photos after Heiser's father's death, but he hadn't remembered there were so many of them. There were at least forty or fifty ranging from childhood to the professor's senior years. The GRU had taken them out of the family albums at Pavski's request after Heiser's death on the sub. He'd thought there might be a clue among them after he'd been cheated of interrogating the old man. He'd studied these photos for hours all those years ago, but he'd found nothing.

  Or maybe he had found something and not realized it. That symbol on the plate had not been Samsovian but it had been damnably familiar. He had seen it somewhere…

  He'd gone through over thirty photos when he found it. He froze in his chair.

  A photo of Heiser smiling into the camera. He was outside in the sunlight and behind him…

  Yes.

  FAIRFIELD, CONNECTICUT

  A yellow crime scene police tape now stretched in front of Petrenko's antiques store.

  "Not an encouraging sign," Kirov said. "We may have difficulty getting answers to those questions."

  "Pavski?"

  "We'll have to see, won't we?"

  Hannah peered through the front windows. "Nothing looks as though it's been disturbed."

  "Let's check in back. Most of these shops have living quarters over the store."

  In the rear of the store a wooden stairway led up to a second-floor apartment over the store.

  "It seems this shop is no exception." Hannah climbed the steps and knocked on the weathered oak door.

  No answer.

  Kirov glanced around and produced his lockpick.

  Hannah used her body to try to shield him from view. "This isn't a good idea. It's a crime scene. What if a policeman-"

  "The store is a crime scene. Not the apartment."

>   "You're quibbling."

  "Yes." He bent over the door. "And breaking and entering is small stuff compared to what Petrenko tried to help do to us. Get a little perspective."

  A young female voice called from below. "You don't have to break in. I'll unlock it for you."

  Anna, the teenager who had held the gun on them only two days earlier, stood at the bottom of the stairs. She carried a bag of groceries in one hand, a set of keys in the other.

  "What happened, Anna?" Hannah asked.

  Anna didn't speak as she trudged upstairs and unlocked the door. "Petrenko's dead, that's what happened." She threw open the door and walked inside.

  "How?" Hannah said.

  "Two bullets in the head. I found him behind the main counter yesterday afternoon when I came home. The police think it was a robbery."

  "What do you think?" Kirov asked.

  "It wasn't a fucking robbery." Anna deposited the contents of her grocery bag into an already-stuffed knapsack on the floor. "The cash register was emptied, but we never had much money in there. It's a check and credit card business. There were a pair of twenty-five hundred dollar vases right next to the register, and they were untouched."

  "I'm sorry," Hannah said. "You said that he wasn't your father. How was he related to you?"

  "He wasn't."

  "Boyfriend?" Kirov said.

  She made a face. "Please. He was my mother's boyfriend. Two years ago, my mom got a new guy, and she left us both. I didn't have any other family, so Petrenko let me stay with him."

  "That was nice of him," Hannah said gently.

  "Yeah." For the first time, Hannah saw genuine emotion creep from behind Anna's tough veneer. "He didn't have to do that. He was a nice guy. You know, until that time I never liked him. He was just another one of mom's guys."

  "Do the police have any suspects?"

  "I told the police about the two of you."

  Kirov's lips twisted. "Of course."

  "I had to do it. But I told them that I didn't think you were involved. Petrenko pretended to be afraid of you, but he wasn't really. I could tell." She shrugged. "I was always worried about something like this happening. He dealt with nasty people. He was into some bad stuff. Smuggling antiques, smuggling people."

  "But not last weekend," Kirov said.

  She shook her head. "No, but somebody paid him a lot of money to make sure you got that bag."

  "We know that now," Hannah said. "Can you give us any idea who?"

  "No. Petrenko didn't even tell me about it until after you left here. Here I was ready to blow your heads off, and he'd actually been waiting for you to show up. Someone must have made the arrangements with him after he got back from Paris on Monday." She frowned. "Are you detectives or something?"

  "Or something." Hannah glanced at Anna's duffel bag. "Where are you going?"

  "A long way from here."

  "Where?"

  "Don't know."

  "Honey, you just can't-"

  "Why not? I'm only four months away from my eighteenth birthday, and I'd rather not spend that time trying to break free of Protective Services," Anna said. She zipped the duffel closed. "I'll be fine. I've already been accepted at Cal Arts for the fall semester. If I'm careful, I'll be able to get by on student loans and tuition grants."

  Kirov handed her a thick fold of bills. "Until then, this might help you get where you're going."

  She pocketed the bills without counting them. "If you thought I'd refuse this, you thought wrong. Everybody needs help sometime. I'll just pass it along when it's my turn." She nodded as she headed for the door. "Thanks."

  She stopped, hesitating at the door. "Look, there was another package."

  "What?" Kirov said. "Along with the satchel?"

  "No, it was brought in the night before Petrenko was killed. It was a rush job. Someone came to the shop to pick it up."

  "Have you any idea what was in it?"

  She shook her head. "But Petrenko did. He opened it and looked through it before he turned it over. I was thinking maybe he shouldn't have done that."

  "It wasn't smart. Chances were the package had a security seal to tell if it had been tampered with. He might have signed his death warrant."

  "He was nervous. You scared him. He didn't want to have that happen again."

  "You don't know anything about the contents?"

  "It was from Moscow. There was an official-type paper on top and other papers and letters, photos and stuff underneath." She frowned, thinking. "And there was a name stamped on the folder. I caught a glimpse of it but I only caught a few letters before Petrenko shoved it back in the package."

  "Can you remember?"

  "It was Russian. Petrenko was teaching me but it was damn hard. H, E, I…" She shook her head. "That's it. Does it help?"

  "It helps," Kirov said.

  "I'm glad." She opened the door. "Good luck to you. And if that good luck means catching up with the guy who killed Petrenko, I hope you score big."

  Hannah turned to Kirov as the door shut behind Anna. "The information packet your source in Moscow said Pavski was expecting? Heiser?"

  "Probably."

  "Which Heiser? Captain Heiser or his father?"

  "I'd bet he wanted more background on Heiser's father. Heiser was trying to tell his father about the location of the cradle. Everything was aimed at him."

  "But Pavski has the plates. What does he need with info about Heiser's father?"

  "I've no idea. I find it curious that it was a rush job. That means he did send for it after he had the plates. That may mean he saw something on the plates that he wanted to verify."

  "What?"

  He shrugged. "But if Pavski wanted in-depth information about Heiser, then I believe we should have it too." He reached for his phone. "I'll fax Eugenia all the information we've gathered plus the transcript of Heiser's conversation with his father. Let's see what she can come up with."

  After they left Petrenko's shop, Hannah and Kirov drove to a coffeehouse in nearby Bridgeport, where they sat on the patio and studied printouts of the sonar readings Hannah had made from LISA. The pages almost resembled X-rays, offering red-tinted views of the cylinders and the tight clumps of mass within them.

  Hannah found it difficult to concentrate on the pages. She was haunted by her last sight of Anna, duffel slung over her shoulder and all alone in the world. So strong, yet so sad. Hannah had always been independent, but she'd never lacked loving family support. Every kid should be entitled to that security. It should be written on a human bill of rights.

  Kirov was frowning down at the readout. "You know, I think your experience with that explosive device on the ocean floor could be of use to us."

  Hannah snapped to attention. "How?"

  "If we knew who built it, we might be able to track him to Pavski."

  "Well, I don't recall seeing a name and address engraved on the damned thing."

  "No, but we now know that the device had some unique characteristics." He pointed to one of the canisters. "Pavski and I both knew a man named Dane Niler, who was probably the best underwater demolitions expert in the Russian Navy. Twenty years ago, he designed a series of mines that are still used in every ocean on the planet."

  Hannah looked closer at the scan. "You think this is his work?"

  "It's a strong possibility. I hear he's been doing a lot of work for South American drug lords in the past few years. They hide their shipments in underwater containers to throw off the drug-sniffing dogs, and Dane secures them with his booby traps. I'm told many of them are damn ingenious."

  "Ingenious like a bomb that suddenly turns into an electromagnet and clamps itself to the target?"

  "It seems like something Dane would create. I've never known him to work with Pavski, but there's a first time for everything."

  "So how does that help us?"

  "Dane is a mercenary. Even if Pavski is paying him, he's still looking for his next job."

  Hannah nodded. "So if
a lucrative offer suddenly floated in his direction, he might surface."

  "Exactly."

  "But how are you going to float such an offer if you don't know where he is?"

  Kirov reached again for his phone. "Where there's Eugenia, there's a way."

  "Aren't you putting a lot of pressure on her?"

  "Checking the GRU package is going to be dicey. Finding Niler should be fairly easy for her." He started to dial. "Besides, Eugenia thrives on pressure…"

  Yes." Eugenia's voice was uncharacteristically subdued as she answered the phone.

  "What's wrong?" Kirov said. "Are you all right?"

  She hesitated before replying. "Yes. You know, just very busy these days. What do you need?"

  "I need some information on Dane Niler."

  "Last I heard, he was working out of Florida somewhere. What do you want with him?"

  "He might be working with Pavski now. I need you to find out."

  "My usual sources have been compromised, Kirov. Pavski obviously knows they've been working on your behalf." She paused. "I also have excellent reason to believe he knows I've been helping you."

  "I know, Eugenia. I never meant this to happen." He paused. "I'm sorry, but you'll need to find a way to insulate yourself from this. Petrenko was murdered yesterday, so Pavski might be taking extra pains to cover his tracks."

  "I understand. I'll call you when I hear something."

  "Be very careful, Eugenia."

  "I always am, Kirov. I always am."

  Eugenia cut the connection and dropped down on the stairs leading up from her office ground floor. Christ, she felt limp. She was actually shaking.

  She stared into the foyer at the dead man lying gazing blindly up at the ceiling. Blood drained from the four tightly clustered bullet wounds in his torso. His twitching right hand still clutched the.38 handgun he'd pulled on her after she'd opened the door for his supposed delivery. She hadn't expected to be this shaken at killing a man. The years of being away from the KGB must have taken their toll. She was softer now. And she liked being softer, dammit. She liked her life, and she liked not having to put down pigs like that man in foyer.

  But you couldn't ignore what you are, any more than what you were. There was always someone knocking on your door to remind you.