A short while later, Yakov turned on to a dirt road, which opened to a small, faded-white farmhouse with a half-broken porch running along the front. Zoya looked back at them. “Welcome to our humble home.”
Exhausted, they all piled out of the car. Trevor’s shoulder hurt like a bitch; all he wanted was to be on his way. “How do we get to Vyborg from here?”
Zoya turned to their motley crew, “Do not be stupid, boy. Come in. Eat. It is late.”
“Ivanov. Be reasonable. We have not eaten since this morning.” Dmitriy’s tone was pleading. “It would be rude to refuse. We will leave as soon as we can.”
Had Trevor been alone he would have been on his way, but now the responsibility for Dmitriy and Tatiana’s lives weighed heavily on his shoulders. “Okay, we eat, but then we are gone.”
“Thank you.”
Once Zoya and Tatiana finished tending to Trevor’s wound, Zoya went about getting their meal ready, and a little while later called them to the table. The thick stew let out a delicious aroma of spices and hearty meat. Its mouth-watering scent wafted to his nose and filled the room, mixing with the rich scent of the warm crusty bread their hostess had set on the table. His stomach rumbled and he realized how hungry he truly was. He wasn’t alone. They all dug in and scarfed the delicious homey meal.
During dinner, while watching the affinity the couple had for Tatiana, a new idea popped into Trevor’s head. It would be like killing two birds with one stone. Once finished, he took Dmitriy and Tatiana aside. “I have no idea where we are right now, but I need to reach Vyborg as quickly as possible.”
Tatiana patted his hand soothingly. “I can ask them how we can make it there.”
Trevor reached out and caught her hand in his. “Not us. Me. Do you think your friends will let you two stay here for a couple of days?”
Tatiana frowned and narrowed her gaze at him. “Are you dumping us?”
“No. You are both safer here. Nobody will know to look for you on a remote farm. Whoever is looking for us will be looking for three people, not just one.”
“But your wound—”
“I think I can handle it. I am not in as bad a shape as I was before. Besides, you and Zoya have already cleaned and packed it nicely.” He cupped his shoulder. “The way you stabilized my arm, I think it is fused against my side. For the record, all that probing and poking hurt like a bitch. I do not think I will ever be able to look at another shot of vodka again. Please thank Yakov for the shirt.” Trevor read the concern in Tatiana’s steady gaze and squeezed her hand. “Really. I am good to go. Besides, I cannot wait any longer. I have resources in Vyborg that will help us all, but I am under a deadline.”
Reluctantly, Dmitriy nodded and Tatiana hurried off to find out how to get to Vyborg from their location. She returned in no time at all. “Yakov and Zoya agreed to let Dmitriy and me stay a bit longer. He has offered to give you a ride to Vaskelovo. It is a fifteen-minute drive from here. From there you can hitch a ride to Vyborg.”
“No,” Dmitriy said, reaching to his pocket. “Take the money. Not much, but it should be enough to get you there.”
“It is perfect. I will send for you.” Once at the safe house, he would contact Stephan to make arrangements to hire Dmitriy. They would find a position for him at Brennan Enterprises until things settled. Trevor’s gaze shifted to Tatiana. “Can Yakov leave now?”
Tatiana reached for Dmitriy’s hand and smiled at Trevor. “Just say when.”
“When,” Trevor answered promptly.
Chapter Forty-Six
Where’s Waldo?
CASSANDRA APPROACHED THE PROPERTY, STAYING to the tree line and the cover of the woods. Locating an old, decaying fallen tree, she stashed the backpack and duffel bags inside it and covered everything with fallen needles and brush. Light filtered through the leaves of the branches overhead, and the smell of warm sod, flowers, and old foliage flowed on the breeze. Crouching next to the tree, Cassandra pulled the Grach from her waistband, released the safety, and pulled the slide, cocking the gun.
She studied the landscape—the neglected flowerbeds around the back porch, the patchwork fence lining the property. A true testament to the lack of care given to its upkeep. An eerie quiet broken every so often by the songs of birds and buzzing of bees embraced the house and surrounding yard.
Inching forward, Cassandra made her way around the house, eyeing the area to be sure she was really alone. Only silence greeted her as she scouted the perimeter, hoping to find some sign that Trevor had beaten her there. Disappointment weighed heavily in her heart when she found no external indication that the house had received any visitors recently.
She tested the handle to the back door. Finding it locked, she ran her fingers along the wooden siding, searching for the hidden panel Nathan had mentioned, locating it at shoulder height next to the doorframe. She disabled the alarms and, holding her gun in one hand, quietly pushed the door open. Cassandra checked as far as she could see, then eased inside, closing and locking the door behind her.
It was bright enough inside that she could see the small serviceable kitchen was clear. Inching her way into the hallway, Cassandra’s mouth dried and her heart raced. She raised her gun and gripped it with both hands, moving incrementally around the next doorway. Slicing the area with her sight and gun barrel, she took a deep breath and surged into the room, sweeping it for any unauthorized personnel. The room was clear.
She ventured back into the hallway and prowled the rest of the house, checking each room the same way. A very thin layer of dust covered the furniture, and nothing appeared to have been disturbed recently. It was as Nathan said it would be—empty. Once she closed all the blackout curtains and switched on a lamp in the living room, she slipped back out to the woods to retrieve her bags.
Back inside, Cassandra took inventory. Nonperishable goods lined the kitchen cabinets; the fridge was empty. Walking into the main bedroom and directly to the imposing armoire, which took up a good chunk of the room, she opened its doors. An assortment of men’s and women’s clothing hung in the stand-alone closet. Parting them, she studied the base of the cabinet with a critical eye. Near the bottom left corner, she spied a depression in the wood. Squatting, Cassandra pushed the dent until she heard a soft click and the fake bottom popped open. Lifting the piece of wood higher revealed a small digital keypad embedded in a metal safe.
She sifted through her memory, keyed the required code, and listened for the soft beeps. The door of the safe cracked and Cassandra completed a quick sweep of the cache of weapons cocooned inside—several M16s and SIGs as well as ammo for each. “Armed and in charge,” she murmured. Hoping to avoid having to dip into the cache, she secured the armoire and returned to the main living area.
Retracing her steps through the kitchen, she spotted a half-empty bottle of vodka sitting in a corner on the counter. Thank you, Mr. Whoever! Cassandra grabbed the bottle and returned to the living room. She sat on the couch, staring at the clear liquid swishing in the bottle calling her name, and wanted nothing better than to drown herself in the bottom of it. Shaking her head, she set it aside and instead reached for the bags, dragging them toward her, and rummaged through them, pulling out their contents. Opening one of the bottles she had stashed, her sandpaper-dry mouth welcomed the fresh water that flowed over her tongue.
Her hand began to shake and she tightened her grip on the bottle, squishing it. She was crashing and burning. Cassandra dropped the empty bottle on the coffee table and reached for the vodka. Twisting off the cap, she brought the smooth, cool lip of the bottle to her mouth and sucked back a good swig. The clear liquid burned a fiery trail down her throat, but even the liquid heat wasn’t enough to melt the ice that had fortified her heart. Hang tight; you’re not finished yet. No rest for the wicked, as Trevor would say...Shit...Trevor.
Shaking her head, Cassandra pulled out Kostas’s other housewarming gifts, lining Trevor’s gun and ammunition on the table. Taking a deep breath, she cocked and e
ngaged the safety on his.
She then retrieved her backpack, pulled out the laptops, and set them up on the table, connecting the small peripherals with precise and quick movements. With that task completed, the first strands of frustration slinked their way in her chest. Is he injured? A prisoner? Or safe and on his way to meet me? The possibility that he could be dead was just too much to process or accept.
The graphic equalizer was a flat line. She didn’t expect any fluctuation. Without the help of the amplifier, Trevor would have to be within a short radius for any signal to be picked up, but in the hopes she would hear his approach, she left the equipment running.
A deep grumble reverberated in her stomach. Startled, she realized how hungry she was, and tore into the bag of nuts she had brought with her. Up until that moment, her numb mind and body had been running on adrenaline, blocking all feelings, focusing on the necessary tasks at hand. Her training and her father’s teachings, the glue holding her together, prevented her from splintering into a million pieces.
Darkness crept into the room. She rechecked all the doors and, grabbing Trevor’s laptop from the table, sat on the floor with her back against the front door to wait out the night. Her position gave her a clear view of the room and the hallway beyond. Pulling the handgun from her waistband, Cassandra sat it next to her and opened the laptop. With a few quick strokes, she checked for any messages, any sign of life. Nothing.
Ah, hell! George! He was going to blame himself for not passing the critical information to them sooner. Using the satellite link, Cassandra sent a message to George. Next, she sent a similar one to Nathan. The one-liner’s meaning was clear. Oh yeah, this situation could definitely be classified as fucked up beyond all recognition.
*****
George paced his office, his hair standing on end, the chaotic result of passing his fingers numerous times through it. It had been over sixteen hours since his last communication with Cassandra. He knew his good friend and his wife were knee-deep in shit. His only hope was that he had gotten the information to them in time. His pocket vibrated and he reached for his cell, finding a message from Cassandra. Thank freaking geek gods. His elation died the instant he read her cryptic email. We’ve been compromised. Keep ears on for Trevor.
“Fuck!” Through the glass window, he saw nobody on the floor paid any attention to him. He was known to let loose foul words every once in a while, and they had become desensitized to his outbursts.
George sighed deeply as a sense of dread clawed its way up his back, his worry thick in the air. Slumping in his chair, he rested his elbows on his desk and his head on his hands. Think, George, Think!
Without anything to go on, he turned his attention back to his keyboard. His fingers spit out commands, searching and finding all calls made and received by Mikhailov’s cell phones within the last few days. It seemed that whatever had happened earlier that day had disturbed the hive. He hoped to find something useful in the transcripts that could lead him to Trevor’s whereabouts.
The query results returned several calls exchanged amongst them and other numbers not previously captured. Pulling the transcripts, George forwarded them to Jennifer, requesting help in translating the conversations.
Reaching for his phone, he replied to Cassandra’s earlier email. Ears on. Will keep you posted. Pushing back from his desk, George rocked in his chair as he waited for the requested translations. His priority had now become tracking Trevor’s whereabouts and easing Cassandra’s and his own fears.
*****
Boris contemplated his next move while lounging comfortably in his small study. He was close to having everything for which he had worked so hard in his hands. The side of his mouth curved and eyes gleamed at the thought of their expressions when he delivered what he’d promised. A part of him felt sorry for having pressured Robert’s family into service and capitalizing on Trevor’s skills. But the other, the one that had given up so much over the years to get to that point, wasn’t. He needed to get that behind him.
A soft creak sounded on the porch and Boris cocked his head, listening for any more disturbances. Another creak sounded. What the hell? Boris switched into action. In a fluid move, he turned off the table lamp next to him, drowning the room in darkness, while palming his gun and cell phone from the table. He dropped to the floor and, keeping to the shadows, slid to the window. He pushed the curtain aside slowly, just enough to peek out, and spotted two shadows moving toward the front door. His heart hammered in his chest; his mind became void of all thoughts until self-preservation took over. On his stomach, he elbowed his way to the hall and the kitchen beyond.
Reaching the pantry, he eased inside and, just as the door closed, gunfire peppered the house. Boris flattened to the floor and shifted the potato bin, revealing the hidden trapdoor. He dove into the dark, damp crawl space, pausing only to close the trapdoor above him before he wormed at a fast pace toward the end of the passage. As he scurried, his thoughts returned to the two men he had glimpsed on his porch.
Considering he had been playing both major gangs in St. Petersburg, he couldn’t tell for sure to which the men belonged. But one of them looked like Lev, a foot soldier in Mikhailov’s organization. At the end of the tunnel, he burst out into the field beyond his house, grateful he’d had the foresight to plan an escape route all those years ago. The game he played was a dangerous one, and he had to be prepared in the event that one day his game was up.
Under the cover of night, he looked back at his house in the distance. A savage curse burst from his lips. About ten men surrounded the house and were still riddling it with bullets. Boris watched the brutal action for a few minutes and confirmed the identity of at least two of Mikhailov’s men among the trigger-happy thugs. Mikhailov was out to get him. Has Trevor been caught? Did he disclose our deal?
His rancor overcame him, hardening his resolve. All those years he had sacrificed—his dignity, the love of his life—all for nothing. To come this far, this close to the final result, only to watch it all go down the toilet. With the strong possibility that Trevor was either in Deminov’s hands or on the run, Boris had an obligation to fulfill: his promise to Trevor. But first, he had to reach Cassandra.
Keeping low to the ground, Boris backed further and further from the house. He hit the tree line and wound his way deeper into the woods. Staying out of clear sight from the road, he ran south in the direction of town.
If he was lucky, Trevor had made it out alive and had been able to smuggle the data out before all hell broke loose. If that was the case, Boris wanted to get his hands on it as soon as possible. Find Cassandra, and he might quite possibly find Trevor.
Once he had placed enough distance between him and the house, he pulled out his cell phone and, after a moment’s hesitation, he made the dreaded call.
“Da?” The voice on the other end sounded furious at the late intrusion.
Hating that he had to ask the favor, he cleared his throat. “I need help.”
*****
Nathan had been in St. Petersburg under official orders for well over twenty-four hours. Three days before, Director Franklin had debriefed the team on a rookie babysitting assignment. Everybody, including him, had groaned at the thought of being deployed on that mission until Franklin had mentioned the location—St. Petersburg, Russia. He couldn’t resist the tempting opportunity to be closer to Cassandra.
Ever since she had hooked up with the Blarney Stone, contact between them had been minimal. When she had made contact, it was always with work-related questions: “Hey, can you check this out for me? Can you get me access to…?” The odd request of a couple of weeks back had pissed him off and gotten under his skin. Something was up.
With that thought in mind, Nathan had raised his hand. “I’ll do it.”
Franklin had lifted his eyebrow. “You? Are you serious? This isn’t the type of assignment I’d have expected you to jump at.”
Sensing all eyes on him, he had shrugged. “What can I say? Maybe
the newbies will benefit from all this.” He tapped his head. “Who better than me to whip them into shape? Besides, I have more field experience than anyone here.”
Franklin had frowned, but accepted his offer, probably relieved at having the decision to assign someone taken out of his hands.
The babysitting mission was to oversee the security detail for a low-profile diplomat in Russia being handled by fresh-off-the-farm and newly deployed agents. But Nathan had his own agenda. He planned on checking up on Cassandra and the asshole to see what they were up to, and to make sure she was safe.
Nathan had arrived in St. Petersburg around dinnertime the day before, the address he’d received from Robert safely stored in his phone. He’d checked into his agency-assigned hotel room and hit the sack. He wanted to be in top form in the morning when he confronted Cassandra and Bauer regarding their activities in Russia. However, his plans were waylaid. Instead, he found himself tied up with work for the whole day.
Nathan was beat, still under jetlag’s influence, and feeling miserable. To top it off, he was performing a task that always put his boxers in a bunch—typing. Not a pretty combination. Rubbing the back of his neck, he glanced at the clock. One in the morning and he was still stuck at the embassy. At some point, I’ll get to the fucking hotel room tonight. Closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the chair, he let his mind wander.
He knew he should have warned Cassandra of his arrival. She is definitely going to blow a gasket, he admitted to himself. He put the finishing touches on the report, adding his thoughts regarding the new recruits assigned to the diplomatic security detail, and hit send. With a fist pump, he stood and arched his back in a big stretch.
Nathan’s neglected stomach rumbled. As he grabbed his trench coat off the rack, his focus once again turned to Cassandra. Shit, I’ll definitely have to face the music tomorrow morning, when I show up at their doorstep unannounced and, most likely, unwanted. Yet he would attain deep satisfaction in watching Bauer burn when he pointed out his shortcomings. Maybe Cassandra would finally realize her husband was a nuisance, worthy only of a temporary fling. She had already been shot because of him, for fuck’s sake. What else is he getting her into? If she ever….
To Russia With Love (Countermeasure Series) Page 39