Cassandra opened Nathan’s first. It held an update regarding the house they were interested in “renting.” The premises are still available for the next few weeks. No tenants have reserved the location. She grinned. She had to give him credit. He had been inventive in passing on that bit of information regarding the safe house. As she continued to read, a frown creased her brow when she saw the closing: Think of me. She rolled her eyes and moved on to her father’s email.
She mentally crossed her fingers and hoped for answers to her questions about Boris Kostas. As she read, her hand stilled and her focus moved inward as the names—Boris Kostas, Boris Badenov, Boris Kostas, Boris Badenov—formed a continuous loop in her mind, hammering at her until suddenly, things made sense. She fell back in her chair shaking her head. Holy hell! Boris Badenov was Boris Kostas.
His favorite quote, “It’s good to be bad,” brought shivers to her skin. The sneaky little Russian cartoon spy she’d seen on the old reruns of Rocky and Bullwinkle sometimes engaged in his own schemes, like the episode where he wanted to start his own organized crime gang. Was her sixth sense trying to tell her something? Either way, it was time to get Jessica and George to work their magic.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Quiet Before the Storm
TRADITIONAL RUSSIAN MUSIC PLAYED SOFTLY in the background as Boris nursed a glass of aged port while relaxing in his comfortable recliner. He was enjoying the calm before the storm when a call rang through to his cell phone. He suspected who the caller was. One more reason to have ignored the first call to the house phone earlier.
Boris’s tone was sharp when he finally answered the call in his mother tongue. “You should not be calling me. Especially not now.”
The familiar voice laughed and, with a hard edge, answered in kind, “Skittish, are we? Should I remind you who the boss is?”
“What do you want?” He wasn’t up to games. The events over the past days were snowballing. To top it off, he had become the focus of Mikhailov’s latest henchman—or henchwoman, to be exact. He pictured the woman in his mind. There was something about her….
The caller’s casual, unhurried response drew him from his musings. “You have not called in a while. I just thought I would check on you. I do not want you to think I have forgotten you. I am watching. We are always watching,” Boris’s boss continued. “Do you have the information we need?”
“Not yet.” Boris was treading very carefully. It had taken him almost ten years to get this close to Mikhailov. “Do not ruin it by meddling. You will get what you need. Soon. I will make sure of that.” Boris’s tone was confident. He would get his hands on the information the man on the other side of the call wanted desperately.
Russian organizations took each other out regularly. Betrayal among rival gangs was common, even within the gangs themselves. What made the Russians exceptionally ruthless wasn’t the violence, but the willingness to turn members, hand them over to the police or rivals if the situation called for it. Flipping the weakest to cover their ass and pay their way out of the hole. Boris knew his way out of holes. He had used his connections in the past to help Mikhailov avenge his wife’s murder, and now that “good deed” was finally paying off.
He never thought it would take so long for Mikhailov to take into account the services he had provided and finally bring him in, but the man had become more suspicious and cruel over the years, as if the loss of his wife had created a violent progression that was getting worse each year—catapulting Mikhailov into the annals of brutality, extreme even for the Russian mafia.
“When?” the man demanded.
Boris sighed. “I do not know for sure. I will know more tomorrow.” He paused and added, “Do not call again. I will call you when I have what you need.”
Boris disconnected the call before the man had a chance to retort and took a long sip from his glass. The smooth sweetness of the port coated his tongue and relaxed him as he considered what he would have to do. He had gotten used to living a double life. Boris missed his old self, the one who could laugh and enjoy the small things. When had he lost that part of him?
Alina’s face crossed his mind and he tried to push back the memories of her, to no avail. Alina. His long-lost love. A sigh burst from him at the thought of her. He swirled the glass in his hand and took another long pull of his port, all but shooting back the rest of what remained in the glass. A nice warmth filled his chest, but didn’t reach his heart. She’d left him when she could no longer handle his dedication to his activities and the associated hazards that had come with it.
If only he’d had the insight into his life then that he had now, he would have made different choices. Would I have, really? Would I have given it all up for her? Followed her to the ends of the earth. Gone wherever she had wanted to, as long as she would stay with me? Would she have stayed then? That part of his life was water under the bridge. He would never know for sure. Boris exhaled a deep sigh and set the glass on the side table. It was time for bed. He would catch a few hours of sleep before he had to brave the storm.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
You Belong to Me
CASSANDRA CURLED INTO TREVOR AS the first tendrils of consciousness pierced her. Laying her head on his shoulder and wrapping an arm around his waist, she stared off into the darkness. Her thoughts focused on the danger he was about to face and how he would be at the mercy of a lethal Russian mafia leader.
What concerned her most was that he wouldn’t have anyone whom he could completely trust to watch his back. The microphone in the shoe was fine and dandy, but it would only give her ears. Without eyes or a way to communicate directly with him, there wasn’t much she could do for him if trouble ensued. A war of emotions raged inside Cassandra and her mind worked overtime again as she ran through different scenarios in her head, but couldn’t formulate a single viable backup plan. Her old fears were back with a vengeance; loss, a devil rearing its ugly head again.
If only they had a better handle on Boris, they could determine whether or not he could be of help within the mansion’s walls. Boris. Her thoughts tumbled to Robert’s good friend. He’s a good man, Robert had asserted in his email. I wish I knew that for sure, Dad, she berated in her head. But until she could eliminate all of her doubts about his motivations, he was one of them.
Feeling once again somnolent, she tucked her face in the crook of Trevor’s neck and inhaled his clean, warm, musky scent as she drifted at the edge of sleep. An hour later, the glow of the new day crossed her eyelids, rousing her. She stretched and, as she opened her eyes fully, her gaze collided with Trevor’s sparkling blue ones.
“Good morning sleepyhead.” He dropped a kiss on her nose. “It’s time to get up, a ghrá. Boris will be here any minute.”
Instantly alert, Cassandra swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Damn. I don’t know what happened. One minute I’m awake, ready to get up, and the next you’re calling me sleepyhead. This is not good. I have things to get done before you leave.”
Scurrying, she dressed in jeans and a sweater, hurried to the bathroom, and emerged, feeling more like herself. Stepping into the kitchen, the smell of coffee engulfed her senses, her mouth watered at the thought of a hot cup in her hand and caffeine in her system.
Trevor smiled and handed her a cup. “Something to jumpstart your brain.”
Cassandra took the cup he offered and grinned. Closing her eyes, she savored the delicious scent invading her nostrils. “Heaven.”
While Trevor took his turn in the bathroom, Cassandra moved to the closet and pulled out the contingency bags. She double-checked each to be sure all was in order—tickets, passports, ammo, clothing, necessities, food staples, and water—before setting them by the front door.
She popped her head in the bathroom and her eyes connected with Trevor’s in the mirror. His gaze expressed loud and clear the conflicting feelings that were also churning in her chest. Trevor held the contact a moment longer, a lifetime of words spoken in a blink of an
eye, before he returned to shaving.
Cassandra’s pulse was a livewire of activity, beating out of control. She wasn’t ready to face what the day had in store. She booted her laptop, her focus turned inward, the wheels in her head in constant motion. She needed to contact George and Jessica and have them tap Boris. Dig into his past, find any skeletons hiding in the closet—a closet her father apparently hadn’t explored.
The computer beeped; as she glanced down, she realized her hand was rubbing along her scar, which didn’t necessarily make her a happy camper. That can’t be good. The scar—a gunshot wound sustained years before—had become a sixth sense of sorts.
The pad of Trevor’s approaching steps drew her attention. He was dressed for the meeting in a dark gray pinstriped two-piece suit and a blue shirt that intensified the blue of his eyes. She glanced at his hands as she took her first sip from her coffee and noticed he didn’t have his usual cup of tea in his hands. “What, no tea? Who are you and where is my tea-toting husband?”
Without even the smallest quirk of a smile, he responded, “No time, Boris is due any minute.”
“Right.” She sensed his need to get straight down to business and switched gears. Sitting in front of her laptop, she initiated the graphic interface of the sound equalizer they would use to record the incoming signal from the shoe’s microphone.
“Are we good?” Trevor looked over her shoulder at the screen.
She watched as the wave modulation registered the high and low tones of his voice. “Yep. We’re good,” Cassandra confirmed out loud, more as a reassurance to herself. They were okay, they would be okay. Damn it. Since when had she become such a whiner? Maybe the question should be, where’s Cassandra Bauer and what have I done with her? She struggled to understand why she was emotionally all over the board.
The aspects of their projects were nothing new—surveillance, analysis, and planning were all second nature, and they had been working together for several months like a well-oiled machine. So why am I getting so emotional? Where had the no-nonsense-get-it-done-take-no-prisoner Cassandra gone?
She turned her head and watched Trevor as he finished his preparations for the meeting. Since giving her heart to him, her outlook on life had changed. He’d taught her to have fun, loosen up, and relax, her strength as deeply rooted as ever before. After a quick self-assessment, she realized what was different—very different: the stakes were higher. Trevor’s life was on the line in a way it had never been before.
Her determination to keep him safe was equal to his own to keep her out of the physical infiltration and danger’s path. Fortunately, she was determined to find a way to keep them both safe. Once Trevor walked out the door, she would secure resources for all the information she could get regarding Boris. That information could be the ticket to getting them out of Russia alive.
The ring of Trevor’s cell was a double-edged sword—dread for knowing it was Boris calling him and relief in knowing it would take them one step closer to going home. On the second ring, Trevor answered.
“Yes? I will be right down. Give me a minute.” Trevor disconnected and met Cassandra’s gaze. “He’s waiting downstairs.” He cupped her face with his hands and placed a soft, gentle kiss on her lips. Cassandra froze briefly, then wrapped her arms around his neck and took charge, deepening the kiss, sliding her tongue between his. He moaned and allowed himself time to enjoy her taste before gently pulling her arms from around his neck. He stared into her eyes and stepped away. “I will see you in a couple of hours,” he said with quiet emphasis.
Cassandra’s heart squeezed tight as she watched him walk out the door. What she wouldn’t give to go with him. A deep breath escaped as she steeled herself for the day ahead.
She turned her attention to the screen and double-checked that the sound recorder application was receiving Trevor’s signal. Turning up the volume, she heard Trevor enter the car and ask Boris, “Any special instructions?”
“I can hear you loud and clear, love,” Cassandra whispered under her breath, knowing full well he couldn’t hear her. She knew it was early in Fort Meade, but she couldn’t wait any longer. With their dialogue low in the background, she called George. While it rang, pulled up the file she had thrown together on Boris.
“Cassie. What the hell are you doing calling at this ungodly hour?” His exasperated tone brought a smile to her lips.
“I know. I’m sorry. I needed to talk to you. Are you alone?”
“What do you think? Duh! It’s two freaking o’clock in the morning.”
Cassandra chuckled at his vehemence. “I guess you haven’t been using the romance cheat sheet we sent you?” she snorted.
George sighed heavily. “Working on it. I’m a quick study. I’ll catch up. So what do you want, crazy woman?”
A frown creased her brow and the smile died. “You may just be right about the crazy bit.”
“What’s up? I can hear it in your voice. Something wrong?”
“Nothing to worry about. I’m working a hunch. Do you have a pen and paper?”
“Yep.”
“Okay, take this number down.”
George repeated it back to her. “This looks like a phone number. Whose is it?”
“It belongs to a friend of Bob’s. His name is Boris Kostas. He’s helping us with getting access into Mikhailov’s den. I need you to trace this number and send me the call records on his phone and any other number that has called him within the last month.”
“Cassie, what the hell is going on?”
“George, just get it, okay? I’ll fill you in later. I have to run. Don’t forget, as soon as you can do your magic.”
“Cass—”
Cassandra disconnected the call and placed another, this time to Jessica. When the call to the house went unanswered, she rang Jessica’s cell.
“Hello?” Jessica’s languid voice answered on the second ring.
“Jessie? It’s Cassie. I just called the house. No answer. Where are you?”
“Cassie! Everything okay?”
Cassandra picked up on the avoidance to answer her question, but the timing wasn’t right for further quizzing. “I need you to handle something for me. Can you take notes?”
“Hold on. Let me get something.” Cassandra heard a rustle and, shortly after, Jessica came back on the line. “Okay. I’m ready.”
Cassandra recited a few strings of numbers.
“Okay, got it,” Jessica confirmed.
“The first one is the license plate of Bob’s friend, Boris Kostas, who is helping us. Bob wasn’t able to shed much light on his background. Boris owns a security business here. The other number is his bank account. I’m looking for any large deposits. I was able to get hold of a transaction report, but I didn’t see a lot of activity on it. Can you see if you can find more? Maybe another account? I have a gut feeling there is something more…hold on…”
Cassandra honed in on the conversation and observed Trevor and Boris’s arrival at the mansion through the camera feed. She heard Boris talking to someone at the gate through the audio being picked up by Trevor’s shoe.
“Jessie, listen. I have to go. I need any information as soon as you get it.”
“I’m on it. I’ll let you know as soon as I find something.”
Once she hung up, Cassandra returned her attention to the feed and her heart dropped. They were in the mansion. Trevor’s lowered voice came over the speaker. “Have you been here before?”
*****
Jessica tossed her cell and notebook on the nightstand. She slipped back under the covers and turned into Stephan. His arms wrapped around her and pulled her close.
“Who was that?” he asked in a groggy voice.
“Cassie.”
“Everything okay?”
“Not sure. She wants me to check someone. Go back to sleep—you have a few more minutes.” Jessica snuggled closer and closed her eyes.
*****
Trevor sat back and stretched his legs, tryi
ng to gauge Boris’s mood as the Russian pulled smoothly into the flow of traffic. Boris had picked him up in his luxury sedan—the same Mercedes he had used in the captured surveillance video from days before. The man appeared at ease and unaffected by the fact that he was about to lead him into the lion’s den. “Any special instructions?”
“Keep your jokes to yourself, and whatever you do, don’t smile. Russians do not trust smiles—especially not Mikhailov,” Boris answered sternly, and continued, “Let me do the talking. I will translate the negotiation for you.”
Keeping his fluency in Russian under wraps had been a joint decision made with Cassandra, something that could give him an edge later on. Trevor nodded his agreement to Boris and gazed out the window for the duration of the drive. He straightened in his seat as Boris approached the gates and lowered the tinted window, allowing the camera to register his face. A voice came through the speakers in Russian, “Name?”
“Boris Kostas. Mikhailov is expecting us.”
Trevor focused his gaze ahead of him, scanning the mansion grounds, taking note of certain landmarks inside the property that could come in handy later if he needed to find his way out. The mansion’s grounds were opulent, but not overly so compared to pictures he had seen of some mafia bosses’ homes. The Russian mafia loved to flaunt their power and money. Mikhailov seemed to be an exception, preferring a more understated appearance.
The voice over the speakers came back after a couple of minutes. “Who is the guy?”
“None of your business. Report to Deminov that I am here with the boy.”
Trevor turned his face away to hide the fact that he had understood their conversation and pretended to study the mansion’s façade.
With a quick acknowledgment, the security detail ended the conversation. Moments later, the gates opened and Boris guided the car up the circular driveway to the house, parking in front of the tall double door.
To Russia With Love (Countermeasure Series) Page 24