Heart Strike

by Cooper-Posey, Tracy

  For a moment which seemed to stretch for a very long time, he just stared at her. “Not a cliché, after all.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve let you down in some way.”

  He leaned forward, his hand sliding across the table, to splay across the surface so his fingertips were within an inch of her forearm. He did not touch her, yet she suspected he wanted to. He didn’t smile, yet there was warmth in his eyes. “I am very good at reading people. I knew you were holding back on something. I am honored you revealed this to me.”

  “It’s just a gimpy leg,” she said, her cheeks heating.

  “It is more than that to you,” he said, his tone certain.

  She swallowed. “Yes. In a way I cannot explain, it is the reason why I came to find out about my uncle now, and not years ago.” It was as close to the truth as she dare to come.

  He considered that. “How did it happen?”

  “A terrorist bomb,” she said.

  He nodded, as if it was the answer he had expected. “Which made you reconsider how life can be snatched away without warning. Better to squeeze in what you can, in the time you have.”

  Invisible fingers walked up her spine. There were not cold, yet they sent a shudder through her. “Since it happened, I cannot stand having time wasted. The idea of spending a week sunning myself on some Caribbean beach, which is what I used to do, is repulsive to me now.”

  “Grasping at life…” His voice was strained.

  The hoarse note in his voice caught her attention. “You know something about not wasting time, don’t you?”

  “Something, yes.” He cleared his throat.

  “Can you see why I don’t give a damn where you’re from, or who you work for? To me, it is irrelevant.”

  His gaze met hers. “Right at this moment, staring into your eyes, I agree. It is all completely irrelevant.”

  “Get the civilians out of here,” Dima snapped to Leander and Scott.

  They moved fast, physically grabbing Cain and Peter and hauling them from the room.

  Leander stayed outside the room. He would keep them from busting back in, which Dima suspected Cain was more than capable of doing, if he thought Agata was in danger.

  Dima had lived with the mini Beretta strapped to her ankle since her house had blown up, nearly taking out both her and Scott. She bent and yanked it from the holster as she moved across the room to where Ren stood with her gaze narrowed thoughtfully upon the closed door and Scott standing before it with his arms crossed.

  Dima leveled the Beretta upon Ren and cocked it.

  No one gasped in shocked. She could sense their sharp surprise and the spike of attention around her, though.

  Ren raised her hands. “I’m not the mole,” she said quickly. She had put it together as quickly as the others.

  “Right now, the evidence is pretty damming,” Dima told her.

  “What evidence?” Ren demanded.

  “I have been feeding you—all of you—false information for months,” Dima said. “A different set of convincing lies for each of you. Information which would generate a measurable reaction from the Kobra, when he got the data from you. The assignment of senior known CIA operatives to different embassies. Fake projects in the Sudan and Sri Lanka. Micro economic reports on border cities.”

  “Economic?” Quinn whispered, to Noah.

  “When the CIA sets up a unit in a new city, they do a series of reports to measure the viability,” Scott said from the door. “One of them is the micro-economics of the city, which gives data on possible legends for the officers, longevity and stability of the political structure, the level of corruption and vulnerability of key figures.”

  Ren’s jaw flexed. Her throat worked. “Check my laptop,” she said, her voice hoarse. “It’s over there, against the wall. Lochan knows his way around an operating system. You’ll see, I haven’t passed on a single byte.”

  Dima nodded to Lochan. He moved over to the wall where Ren had parked her padded briefcase and picked it up. Dima returned her attention to Ren. “Do you remember the memo Scott sent to everyone, maybe six weeks ago?”

  Lochan held out the open laptop to Ren. “Password,” he said softly.

  She stabbed at the keyboard ten times.

  “Thank you.” He took the laptop back to the long table with its white cloth and silver cutlery and pink ribbons.

  Ren frowned at Dima, marring her smooth forehead. “Scott sends memos all the time.”

  “A breakdown of port facilities on the North African Mediterranean coastline,” Dima added.

  Scott lowered his arms. “Even I don’t remember that one.”

  “Because I sent it,” Dima told him. “Just to Ren. Look at her face. She remembers it, now.”

  Ren nodded. “It was the usual double-speak. The survey was across the coastline yet it was obvious they were really interested in Ceuta, which is a Spanish territory and only eight miles away from Gibraltar, which is why the Russians use the port all the time.” Her sharply pointed chin quivered. “I read it and forgot about it.”

  “Then how do you explain the build-up of Russian personnel in Ceuta?” Scott asked as he bent over Lochan’s shoulder and peered at the laptop.

  Ren’s lips parted.

  Dima saw the shock mirrored on everyone else’s face, too. Their alertness increased. They watched Ren with wariness, now.

  “I can’t explain it,” Ren said, her voice low. “I don’t have to. Lochan will tell you I haven’t passed on a goddam thing that wasn’t to a secure company server.”

  “It does look that way,” Scott murmured.

  Ren blew out a shuddering breath.

  “It only looks that way,” Lochan added.

  Dima’s chest tightened. She gripped the gun, fighting the impulse to squeeze the trigger. “Looks?”

  “There are missing activity logs in the operating system,” Lochan said. “They’ve been deleted.” His voice grew strained. “Someone who knew what they were doing removed them.”

  Ren’s face grew white, her lips bloodless, the edges gray.

  Then her eyes rolled up. She slumped.

  “Noah!” Agata cried, for he was standing closest to Ren.

  Noah jerked forward to catch Ren. Before he got his arms under her, Ren thrust out a foot and rammed her shoulder into his chest, making him stagger.

  She rammed the heel of one hand against Agata’s chin, dropping her to the floor, then sprinted for the door, which Scott no longer guarded.

  Dima held her shot. The door was thin chipboard. A bullet even from this little gun would drill right through it. She didn’t know who was on the other side.

  “Catch her!” she cried instead. She lifted her voice even higher. “Leander!” It would alert Lea, wherever he was on the other side of the door.

  Ren wrenched the door open and slipped through it, as the hydraulic arm swung it closed once more. Lochan, Scott and Noah raced after her.

  Dima held her hand up to Quinn. “Guard the laptop. No need for you to get sweaty.”

  Quinn nodded and moved over to the laptop.

  Dima ran for the door and hauled it open. She paused on the other side, her heart sinking.

  Leander was just pushing himself up into a sitting position, a hand to the back of his head.

  Ren was gone.

  [4]

  Kiev, Ukraine. At the same time.

  As the train wound its way through the outer suburbs of Kiev, passengers around them got to their feet and stretched. Bags were packed. Parents woke children. It was very late.

  In a few minutes they would be at the train station.

  Fabian got carefully to her feet, to avoid twisting her knee. As she moved and stretched and returned the few items to her bag and zipped it closed, she stole glances at Mischa. He did not look at her as he repacked his own bags.

  Her heart pattered unevenly. A wild impulse gripped her to blurt to him the swirl of heavy feelings in her middle. Her heart ached with it. She w
asn’t sure what she was feeling, except it all came down to one sensation which grew clearer the closer they drew to the train station: She didn’t want to end this time with Mischa.

  Which was a ridiculous sensation to have. She had an agenda here in Ukraine. She had work to do and, now, less than a week to do it.

  Yet as the train came closer to the station, the greater grew her need to speak. Time was running out. Bright neon lights shone in the windows, flashing past at regular intervals. The train pulled into the station.

  She opened her mouth to speak as Mischa put his bag on the table and zipped it shut. “I wanted to—”

  “I wonder if—” Mischa began and stopped. He shook his head. “You first.”

  “It’s nothing.” She felt completely foolish. She should not let temptation side swipe her intentions. This was her one opportunity to find out more about Aslan. After this, someone back in her father’s office would figure out what she had done. Then any chance to return to Ukraine would vanish. Yet she said politely, “I wanted to thank you for keeping me company. It’s a long train ride, and you helped it passed very quickly. Thank you.”

  The train came to a shuddering halt, with a clink of wheels.

  “Believe me, it was an absolute pleasure,” Mischa said. He stepped out into the aisle and stood aside to let her pass. It gave her nearly the full width of the aisle to move through, instead of squeezing around standing passengers. She appreciated the room.

  She looked up at him to thank him for his thoughtfulness and caught an odd expression on his face. It was almost as if he was in pain. Then he wiped the expression away and gave her a crooked smile.

  Was she unwelcome, now the journey was done? Had she misinterpreted his appreciation of her company? Feeling like a fool, she moved to the door at the end of the carriage and waited for her turn to step onto the platform.

  On the concrete, she extended the handle of her cabin bags and looked around for a sign bearing an exit symbol. Unlike most of Western Europe, there were frequently no English translations in small letters underneath the Ukrainian signage.

  “Well,” Mischa said behind her. “I suppose this is goodbye.”

  Fabian cleared her throat. “Yes, I guess it is. Could you point me toward the exit where the taxi stand would be?”

  He pointed. “I would take you there myself, only my car is parked on the other side…”

  Fabian gripped the handle of her case, her palm damp. Just walk away, she told herself. One step. That was all that was needed. One step, then another.

  Deep reluctance held her where she was. Mischa was not moving either, only his expression seemed to say he was merely being polite and waiting for her to leave.

  She was inconveniencing him. Fabian squeezed the handle and turned to leave. Her knee gave a tiny flare of pain, telling her she had put lateral twist on it. She hissed in pain.

  At the same time, fingers gripped the back of her elbow and anchored her there. Mischa stepped up beside her and spoke in a swift low voice. “I don’t want you to go. Or go and let me come with you. Or let me meet you again.”

  Fabian stared up at him. Her heart was lodged in her throat and was trying to pound its way out of the side of her neck. Her pulse thudded in every finger and all her toes. Her whole body throbbed.

  He wanted her to stay.

  Mischa glanced from side to side, as if he had recalled once more their public position. Then he shook his head. She could almost read his thoughts. I don’t care who sees. “We only have this one time.” His voice was low, with a hoarse note which spoke of genuine emotion. “Stay with me. Even just for a little while.”

  It was unreal and unreasonable. It was the sort of thing which happened in movies, not in real life. Fabian tried to hold on to the fast-fading ambitions which had brought her to Kiev. She was to find Aslan then find the man who made him. The Kobra.

  “I have things to do here…” Her voice faded as she spoke. It was a weak excuse.

  Instantly, he let go of her arm and stepped back. “Of course you do. It was merely a passing thought. Forget I spoke. It has been lovely to meet you, Pía.”

  The use of her fake name jolted her. It gave her a measure of how far she had moved away from the ambitions which had brought her here.

  Fabian nodded at him. “And you, too.” Her voice was strained.

  She made herself walk away, weaving between the passengers and clumps of people greeting each other.

  Fool! He could help you. He speaks Ukrainian and he knows his way around the city.

  Fabian turned sharply on her heel, ignoring the flare in her knee.

  Knowing it was merely an excuse which happened to give her what she really wanted, Fabian hurried back through the people, moving against the tide which headed toward the exit.

  Now her heart screamed in panic. What if he had already left? He was not the sort of man who would linger against all hope—and she had given him none.

  Except, he was still there. When he spotted her, his shoulders lifted, as if he had drawn in a sharp breath.

  Fabian stopped in front of him. “It occurs to me, that, as you have offered and if you don’t mind, perhaps you could help me with finding…”

  He didn’t seem to notice she had stopped talking. She barely recognized she had come to a halt, herself.

  His eyes!

  Fabian didn’t know she was going to kiss him until her lips pressed against his.

  When Dima, Scott, Noah and Lochan burst into the foyer of the hotel, they found Cain waiting where the big revolving door led out into the night. He turned to face them and gestured with his hand.

  “Peter hit Leander from behind and took off running. I couldn’t figure out what the blazes was going on, until Ren burst out the door after him. She chased him onto the street.”

  Scott groaned and rolled his eyes. “Not Ren at all.”

  “Where are they staying in Washington?” Dima said. They would not be at their house, for Dima had forbidden everyone from returning to their normal abodes. She was personally parked in a YMCA. The others were spread around the city on borrowed sofas and in cheap hotels.

  Scott pulled out his phone. “There’s an Airbnb they were using…”

  “Peter wouldn’t be so stupid as to go back there, would he?” Noah said.

  Dima thought about the way Peter had been losing weight, lately. The haunted look in his eyes. “Let’s try there first,” she said. “I just have a feeling…”

  Scott turned to Cain. “You should head back upstairs. Thanks, by the way.”

  Cain nodded and moved toward the elevators.

  “I have a rental parked on the street,” Lochan said. “This way.”

  He pushed through the revolving door and ran over to a medium-sized sedan which warbled as he hit the key tab. They all piled in. Scott turned his cell phone around so Lochan could see the map.

  Lochan nodded and wheeled out of the parking spot as if the car was a Formula One. Horns blasted behind him. He ignored them.

  It was a tense twelve minutes as he wound through the streets to the private house where Ren and Peter were staying.

  As Lochan pulled the car to a halt, Dima heard small arms being loaded and cocked. “Check your targets,” she said. “There are civilians in the house.”

  “Private entrance, around the side,” Scott murmured. They moved around the side of the house, their feet crunching on the footpath which led to a side door. A light shone over the door.

  The door was ajar.

  Dima held up her fist. Everyone halted.

  Cautiously, she stepped forward and brought her ear to the crack in the door.

  No voices. Heavy, almost gasping breaths.

  Her gun raised to the level of her eyes, she used her spare hand to ease the door open an inch at a time, taking in the view it revealed.

  It was a normal sitting room, with a sofa and coffee table, magazines, and a panel TV on a stand. Pretty curtains, closed. The room was in shadow. No one ha
d turned on the light. Even the LED lights on the TV were off.

  Still, there was enough light for Dima to make out the two human-sized shadows in the room. As the swinging door revealed them, she trained the gun on them. “Ren, put down your gun.”

  Ren stood with her gun trained on Peter, gripped in both hands. Her hands shook.

  Peter bent over, with one hand on the sofa cushion, propping himself up. The other was pressed to his leg. He was the one who bellowed.

  “Take the shot,” he told Ren. His voice was hoarse. “Go on. Do it.”

  Dima let the door swing all the way open, which let Scott and the others slide through behind her. She stayed where she was, with her gun trained on the pair.

  Scott and Noah moved to the right, toward the TV. Lochan moved to the left, along a buffet with a kettle and cups.

  “You have four guns trained on you, Ren,” Dima said. “Put yours down, before things get away on you.”

  “Get away on me?” Ren made a choking sound of disbelief. “We are way beyond that now.”

  “If you kill him,” Lochan said, “then we lose our one chance of finding the Kobra. He is our one lead, Ren. I don’t know about you, but I want payback for Leela. So as a favor to me, please don’t shoot him now. Later, perhaps. I’ll even pay for the bullet.”

  Ren’s hands still shook. “Ten years!” she hissed.

  As Peter was apparently a professional, after all, it didn’t surprise Dima when he straightened and let his leg bleed as it would. He had made the same assessment of the strength in the room and come to the same conclusion; he had nowhere to go.

  “I wanted to make it another ten years,” he told her. “Real years.”

  “If you know what is good for you, don’t dare speak to me,” Ren ground out.

  Peter didn’t answer. After all, he did know her.

  “Lochan is right,” Scott said, his voice firm. The second in command giving orders. It would help stabilize Ren. “We can use Peter to track back to the Kobra. Put the gun down and we can get on with it. You can help us, Ren. You’ll get your turn at the Kobra. He owes you now.”