"At a location to be determined. He's hired me to create another explosive device. I'll see him when he takes delivery of it. I'm supposed to finish it no later than this weekend, but he said he could meet me earlier if I finished it before then."
"What's the purpose of this device?"
"Actually, it's several devices. It's to provide protection for a fifty-square-yard area on the ocean floor. It's supposed to be rated at fifteen hundred feet."
Hannah and Kirov shared a glance. "Do you think he's found it?" she asked.
"No, but he's obviously making plans to protect it if he finds the location before we do."
"Hey." Niler's eyes were glittering with curiosity. "What are we talking about here?"
Hannah turned back. "Pavski didn't tell you?"
"No. I don't want to know what most of my clients are involved with, but it must be something special if Pavski and you guys are involved." Niler grimaced. "Shit. I don't think I've been charging enough."
"Probably not," Kirov said. "But if you work with us, perhaps we can make it up to you."
"I'm not saying I will or won't, but there's something I need to find out from you."
"By all means."
Niler paused to put his thoughts into words. For the first time, Hannah noticed the slightest trace of a Russian accent in his speech. "For years, I've heard rumors about what happened to the crew of the Silent Thunder. Pavski's name comes up in most of the stories."
"And?"
"I knew men on that sub," Niler continued soberly. "I suppose a good many Russian sailors had a friend or a relative on the Thunder. But you of all people would know what really happened."
"Oh, I do," Kirov said.
"If half of what I've heard is true, then I would have no problem giving you Pavski. So that's the first condition of our deal: I want to know the truth about what happened."
"Fair enough." Kirov leaned back in the sand, gazing out at the surf. "We were carrying bacteriological weapons on the Silent Thunder. We didn't like it, but we had our orders. And then we got the order to…"
Dane Niler was finishing a telephone conversation when Hannah and Kirov came into the bar the next afternoon. He cut the connection and smiled. "Hi. Fix you a drink?"
"No, thanks," Hannah said. "Have you spoken to Pavski yet?"
"Just got off the phone with Koppel, one of his lieutenants. I think I mean that literally-you know how he likes those ex-military types. Anyway, we're set for the Bay County Farmers Market Sunday morning at eleven."
Kirov nodded. "Pavski will be there himself?"
"That's what I've been led to believe, but no guarantees. He does like to inspect the merchandise himself before he lets go of cash. But I do expect payment whether he makes the trip or not. In any case, you'll have a lead that should take you right back to him."
"Fair enough," Kirov said. "But I'll give you a bonus if you'll come through with two other items. First, I want you to set up a call with Pavski before the delivery date. Not one of his lieutenants, himself. I want to verify you're dealing with him."
"You don't trust me?" He shrugged. "It will be hard to do without tipping my hand, but I'll manage. Pavski doesn't usually deal with the peasants except during the initial negotiations. And the second?"
"I want to see the device you're making for Pavski."
Hannah was just as surprised as Niler appeared to be. "Why?" she asked.
"I just want to see what Pavski is up to," Kirov said.
Niler smiled. "I can tell you all you need to know about it right here, over a tall Pineapple Fizz."
"I don't want to hear about it. I want to see the device."
"Not much to see yet. I've always been a last-minute kind of guy, you know?"
"I'll understand."
Niler switched on his stereo system, flooding the bar with Caribbean island music. He shrugged. "If that's what it takes to make you happy, we'll go tonight after dark."
"Why not before?"
Niler smiled as two bikini-clad women strolled into the bar. "It's better if no one sees me coming or going. I've got a pretty good spot, and I don't want anyone stumbling onto it. Nine o'clock." He turned and headed toward the two women. "You look hot, pretty ladies. I have just the drink that will fix you up."
You're joking, right?" Kirov shouted above the roaring surf.
Hannah, Kirov, and Niler aimed their flashlights ahead as they half walked, half slid down a sandy embankment to a narrow strip of shoreline. They were on a lonely stretch about forty minutes' drive from Niler's bar.
"Nope," Niler said. "This used to be a nice little beach, but Hurricane Opal took most of it away a few years ago. There was a set of stairs on that embankment, but they're gone too. That's good for me, because it keeps people away."
"Maybe it should have kept you away," Hannah said.
"Nah." Niler aimed his flashlight ahead at a small dilapidated structure. "That's an old snack stand. One of my old girlfriends used to get hot dogs and boiled peanuts from there when she was a kid. Anyway, I own it now."
"The bomb maker's lair," Kirov said.
"It's out of the way, and I can test fuses and detonators on the beach without causing a fuss."
Kirov chuckled. "Pity the poor passerby who tries to duck inside for some shelter from the elements."
Niler produced a large key ring. "It's securely locked. Someone would need a crowbar to get inside."
"Meaning that they would deserve to get blown to bits by your booby traps?" Hannah said.
"Damned straight," Niler said. He raised a tiny car alarm remote much like the one he'd used against Hannah the previous night. A doorbell-like tone sounded inside the structure. He raised a second remote, and a second tone sounded. Niler unlocked the door and threw it open wide. "Ladies first."
Hannah smiled. "This is one place I'd rather you lead the way."
"Still a little shell-shocked from the necklace I gave you, are you?" Niler strode through the door and turned on the overhead fluorescent lights.
"Wow," Hannah murmured. Niler's workshop resembled a laboratory clean room, bearing no resemblance to the weather-beaten shack outside. Bright fluorescent light flooded every nook and cranny of the windowless, almost antiseptic room, and an equipment-laden workbench dominated three of the four walls.
Niler smiled. "You expected a grimy little toolshed?"
"I don't know what I expected, but this wasn't it."
"Building bombs isn't like fixing lawn mowers. It's an exact science, or at least it should be." He pointed to four steel platters on the workbench. "There's the current project."
Kirov inspected the gray platters, which were approximately four inches thick and eighteen inches in diameter. "You're building these for Pavski?"
"You've got it. There will be a total of eight for a total covered area of fifty square feet. They'll be spaced just close enough together that one detonation will trigger the one next to it, which in turn will detonate the next in line, and so on."
"A ring of destruction," Kirov said. "So whatever they're protecting will be totally destroyed?"
Niler gave him a sour look. "Do you see a sign around here that says 'amateur bomb maker at work'? You must really enjoy insulting me."
Kirov turned to Hannah. "Artists are so sensitive about their work, aren't they?"
"Artist is right," Niler said. "And for that you've just won your way back into my good graces." He gestured toward the discs. "There's still a protected area of about twenty square feet. The main purpose of my devices is to protect, not destroy."
"Twenty square feet," Kirov said. "That seems small for the cargo were looking for."
Niler shrugged. "That's what Pavski needed. Maybe he wants this for something else."
"It doesn't matter," Kirov said. "It's Pavski we want, not the objects."
Niler smiled. "It wouldn't exactly suck if you got both, now would it? Money makes the world go round. Speaking of which, we need to have a chat about logistics."
/> "What do you mean?" Hannah asked.
"I don't know what you have planned for Pavski and friends, but you'll need to wait until my business with him is done."
"After you've handed off these devices?" Hannah said.
"And after I've received my money and gotten the hell out of your way."
"We'll try not to blow your deal." Kirov smiled. "No pun intended."
"It's not just the money. If it gets out that I've ratted out one of my clients, it might make my other customers… nervous."
"Understood," Kirov said. "I don't suppose you'd want to get on the bad side of a South American drug lord."
"Damn straight." Niler nodded. "You screw this up for me, I'll make damned sure you're on his bad side, too."
SIXTEEN
Hannah watched Niler pass them in his Z-98 and disappear down Highway 98.
"What did you think?" Hannah asked Kirov.
"I'm pretty well versed in the art of demolitions, and Niler clearly knows what he's doing. I still can't get past the small size of the protected area. The treasure occupied a good part of the forward hold of the Silent Thunder, which as you know is well over twenty square feet."
"Maybe it's not the treasure he wants to guard. Maybe it's a clue to the location, like we thought those canisters might be."
"Possibly." Kirov nodded to a roadside diner up ahead. "That looks like a four-star establishment. Are you in the mood for a gourmet meal?"
"Sure. Greasy hamburgers are just what I need after looking at lethal weapons."
He pulled into the parking lot. "I might spring for a steak."
"I'll take the hamburger." She got out of the car. "There's nothing fancy about my palate. My ex-husband used to say that I was very lacking in that department."
"That's the first time you mentioned your husband." He opened the glass door for her. "I gather he's totally out of the picture?"
"Totally." She slid into a red leather booth, picked up a menu, and handed him one. "But my relationship isn't one that I'd discuss with you, Kirov. It's personal."
"There's personal and there's personal." He looked down at the menu. "I'd never ask you to talk about the child you lost. But ex-husbands are fair game."
"Why would you want me to talk about either one?"
He grimaced. "You're right. I've changed my mind. I don't want to hear anything about such a stupid bastard." He smiled. "It would tell me nothing about who you are now. We all change according to our experiences, and you've gone through a lot since you were with him."
The death of her child, the murder of Conner. "Yes, I have." She looked him in the eye. "And did the death of your wife change who you are?"
"Turnabout?" He shrugged. "Yes, I changed."
"How did she die?"
"Pavski."
She went still. "What?"
"She was sucked down in the morass after Silent Thunder was taken over. Pavski had staked out my home and was trying to use her to capture me after I escaped. For years we had a special code word. Whenever one of us used it in a telephone call, telegraph message, or e-mail, we knew to pack up and immediately proceed to a prearranged rendezvous spot. Those were uncertain times, and many officers had such arrangements with their loved ones." Kirov stared out the window for a long moment. "I called Mira with the code, but she never showed. I heard later that she was murdered by Pavski's men when she tried to escape from him and get to me."
"Jesus, I'm sorry."
"So was I."
"Does Bradworth know about your wife?"
"No; I needed him and his resources. If Bradworth knew that Pavski killed Mira, he'd know the chances were zilch I'd leave him alive long enough to turn him over to them. He's doubtful with what he knows about me now. He would have frozen me out."
"Like he tried to do to me."
"To his credit he was probably concerned for your well-being. On one hand you have Pavski, whose only concern is extracting information you have about the sub and those plates. On the other hand there's me, who obviously has no problem using you as bait in order to trap Pavski. I think Bradworth was trying to protect you as long as it didn't get in his way."
"You didn't mention your wife's death when you told me about the death of all those seamen on the sub."
His lips twisted. "And Mira would have said that it was characteristic that I told you about them and not her."
"Because she always thought you put the sub before her?"
"It was a joke, but maybe she really felt like that." He wearily shook his head. "I don't know. But that wasn't the reason I didn't tell you Pavski killed her. You'd suffered the loss of your brother. I didn't want you to think I was trying to identify with that loss."
"And you don't think the death of a hundred and three seamen wouldn't cause me to identify? You said they were a personal loss to you. Were you telling the truth?"
"God, yes. Every one of those men were like family." He met her eyes. "But they weren't my family. There's a fine difference."
"I still don't see why you-" She stopped, studying him. "Were you, by any chance, being honorable?"
"Perish the thought."
She smiled. "I think you were. How funny."
"It's not funny." He scowled. "Okay, perhaps I had a soft moment and wanted not to influence you unduly, but honor isn't the word. Honor doesn't fit me anymore. It would be like wearing squeaky shoes."
"Squeak. Squeak."
"I believe I need a diversion." He waved to the waitress across the room. "I think I'll feed you. And after your meal I have a favor to ask."
She stiffened. "Ask it now."
He shook his head. "When we get back to the hotel. After I've plied you with greasy hamburgers and strong coffee."
Congressman George Preston sat in his Prius, staring at the disposable mobile phone that thug had given him on the street the other night. How in the hell had he gotten to this point?
One mistake twenty years ago. One bad night, and now it had come back to bite him in the ass. He couldn't believe he was still paying for it. It wasn't fair. He had spent all those years serving his country. Now he was sitting here, in terror of his whole life going down the tube.
It mustn't happen. He couldn't let it happen.
He pressed the speed dial button on the phone.
"Your damn bug's in place," he said curtly when Pavski answered. "Now back off. Leave Cathy alone and leave me alone."
"I'll leave Cathy Bryson alone if I don't have to use her or the children. It's a matter of need. But you're on the hook until I get what I want, Congressman. There's always a price to pay, Preston."
"And I'm willing to pay it. Hell, I'm evidently willing for every-one else to pay it too. But no violence, Pavski."
"What will be, will be. I have to have Hannah Bryson."
"There's no reason. I told you that she doesn't know anything. Bradworth assured me that she didn't know anything more, and she told him she wouldn't be able to remember the carvings on the plate. She was too traumatized by her brother's death."
"I believe you. I'm working on another angle now, and I may not need her input about the plates. But I do still have another agenda. Kirov. He's been a thorn pricking me, and he's getting nearer all the time. I can't have him getting in my way right now. There's no way I can get close to him. He's too experienced at playing hide-and-seek after all these years. But he's been working hand in glove with Hannah Bryson. I may be able to use her to trap him."
"Bait?"
"No, Kirov would just let me kill her." He paused, and when he spoke again his tone was malicious. "But you've just demonstrated how easy it is to persuade someone to betray a compatriot if the price is right. If I give Hannah Bryson a choice, I think I'll have no trouble getting what I want."
"No violence. I won't permit it."
"Stop bluffing, Preston. You'll weigh your career against an anonymous favor, and you'll close your eyes and bite the bullet." He hung up on him.
What a son of a bitch.
&nbs
p; Preston pressed the disconnect. Pavski had treated him with an ugly arrogance that had made him feel pitifully ineffectual. Was he right? Would he look away and bite the bullet?
Christ, and was the fact that he was considering it already sending him halfway down that path?
Preston had been ridiculously easy to manipulate, Pavski thought. He'd been surprised how quickly he had caved. But then he was a politician, and politicians were always afraid of damage to their image. So much for the Frank Capra mystique.
His phone rang, and he glanced at the ID.
Danzyl. Excitement surged through him.
"Do you have it?" he demanded as he answered the phone.
"No." Danzyl hesitated. "It's extremely difficult. I believe we should renegotiate."
He stiffened. "Are you holding me up for more money?"
"I'm a poor man, Pavski."
"But you're alive. You won't remain that way long if you don't fulfill our bargain."
"I got those files for you. Even that was a risk. People are very cautious about dealing with you these days. What you did to the Silent Thunder left a certain taint." He paused. "But I asked myself why you'd dig up all of this again. It's not safe. You're a smart man, and you should leave it behind you. There are too many people who suspect you of the murder of all those men. But you can't resist. You don't care. That means it must be the Golden Cradle. Am I correct?"
"You're supposed to give me information."
"It has to be the cradle. I remember how furious you were with us when Heiser's father was killed before you could get to him. You'd do anything to get it."
"Yes, I would. That should cause you to be more careful in trying to gouge me, Danzyl."
"Fair is fair. I'm not asking for a percentage, just a little more money to pay the rent."
"How much more?"
"Double."
"Done."
He was silent. "No argument?"
"Oh, I'll give you a big argument if you don't come through. And for that money you'll have to do more than research. I want answers now. Get your ass moving." He hung up.
Slimy bastard. Danzyl had surprised him. He had thought he was a drone like Koppel. Smarter, more lethal, but not capable of facing up to him. It didn't matter. After he got what he needed from Danzyl, he'd remove him from the scene in the most painful manner possible.
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