Snowbound with the Secret Agent

by Geri Krotow

  She reported that Ivanov had been alarmed when the storm hit and shut down all transportation, overreacting a bit by the trains being stuck for so many days. It was record breaking and risky—the shipping companies and receiving customers could have opted to move their goods via other means, like eighteen-wheel trucks. But a storm the size of the one they’d just experienced had shut down all possibilities. A stroke of good fortune for ROC, as far as Ivanov was concerned.

  Better luck for SVPD, TH and all the other LEAs working to confiscate the illegal drugs. It meant they’d be able to proceed with the plan of attack they’d practiced for the past several weeks.

  “Is that her?” Ben asked and nodded toward a beat-up sedan that had sputtered to a stop in the lot, at the very edge of the plowed pavement, next to a twelve-foot mound of snow.

  “Sure looks like it.” But before he raised his binoculars to his eyes, gunshots rang through the night air, their pitch higher than the squeal of the train’s brakes.

  “Go, go, go!” He shot out the order as much to himself as Ben and they exited their vehicle, low on the ground, weapons drawn. Using their doors as shields, they looked around to see the source of the gunfire.

  It was two men, from their size, at the engine’s door. By the time Kyle ascertained the scenario, one of the shooters was down flat on the ground, and he watched the second drop as the “engineer” dismounted from the engine.

  “Two shooters down,” a female voice sounded in his headset. So the FBI had used a female agent. And she’d done her job as well as Kyle knew he could have. Probably better tonight, as he was fighting like heck to keep thoughts of Portia from distracting him.

  “Copy that. Remove their weapons from the scene and—” Claudia’s orders were cut off as more gunfire sounded. The undercover FBI train engineer ducked back, but she needn’t have, because the bullets pinged off Kyle and Ben’s vehicle.

  “Kyle and Ben are under fire, repeat, we are under fire.” Kyle issued the report as he stayed low, avoiding the bullets that strafed their car. The initial shots had turned into rapid fire, indicating either a second gunman or weapon. Only an automatic weapon could fire so relentlessly.

  “Sounds like AR-15 fire to me,” he spoke into his headset but for Ben’s benefit. “Trademark Markova. She’s happiest with a Kalashnikov, though.”

  “Stay down and hold your fire. We have the shooter in target range,” said Claudia. Her voice revealed nothing but her orders, yet Kyle suspected she wasn’t amused by their musings over Markova’s weapon of choice.

  Another sign that he was tired and had allowed his feelings for Portia to affect him. He was avoiding the reality that he could be killed and never speak to Portia again. It was one thing when he made that choice, decided to go off to California for good. Being killed by his ROC target was a whole other matter, though.

  Kyle felt helpless as he and Ben witnessed the takedown of fifteen ROC drug dealers who’d showed up to get their share of the shipment. He wanted to find Markova, be the one to cuff her.

  After what seemed like hours, the all-clear came.

  “Do we have Markova?” He held his breath, waiting for an affirmative from one of his colleagues.

  “Agent Girardi has a female suspect in custody who was driving Markova’s vehicle,” Claudia informed him, but her statement wasn’t good enough.

  “Are we sure it’s her?”

  “You’re free to go see for yourself, Kyle.”

  Kyle didn’t spare Ben a glance. “Follow me.”

  “With you.”

  They had to walk around several clusters of LEAs, who were taking potential drug dealers into custody. Their statements would be recorded at SVPD, then analyzed to see what new ROC information could be gleaned.

  Kyle didn’t care about anything but being able to look Markova in the eyes and let her know he’d been on to her all along.

  He approached the group of LEAs, three women and two men, who surrounded the petite woman. Anticipation built, but he refused to allow himself the pleasure of thinking about how soon he could see Portia, tell her she was completely safe.

  “Excuse me,” he said.

  The officers parted to let him into the process and he looked for Markova’s signature glacial blue gaze. The mark of her sociopathic personality.

  Instead he looked into two very wide, very shocked eyes.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  The woman didn’t speak, just trembled as tears rained down her cheeks. He saw the blonde wig on the dirty snow, recognized Markova’s clothing on the woman. She spoke in broken English with a good smattering of Russian.

  “She says Markova made her do this,” one of the FBI agents informed him, while tapping into a tablet. He looked up. “And left you a message.” He then read from his notes, “Portia DiNapoli and the man protecting her will enjoy fireworks at the end of the Library Fund-raising Gala. On me.”

  Among Markova’s many criminal skills was a talent for explosives. She’d taken out an entire SWAT team in New York City two years ago. ROC had claimed it but intelligence pointed to Markova as the actual culprit.

  Markova was going to blow up the gala venue. With Portia in it.

  Kyle leaned past the FBI agent to grab the woman, to find out where Markova had gone, but Ben stopped him. “Easy, Kyle. She’s not your target.”

  He turned toward him, and Ben visibly braced himself. He thinks I’m going to hit him. Kyle realized he was tensed as if for the fight of his life.

  But it wasn’t his life he was concerned about; it was Portia’s. And possibly everyone else’s at the gala.

  He began to run back to his car, with Ben on his heels.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Gala. At the Weddings and More Barn.”

  He heard Ben relay the information to Claudia over the wireless headsets but it was in his peripheral awareness. Kyle had no room to focus on anything but getting to Portia.

  Before Markova did.

  Markova grinned as she took the best seat in the house at the top of the silo, with a throwaway phone at hand to call in to SVPD when the bomb’s timer was at the ten-minute mark. Her rifle was in top shape and ready to go. She’d even splurged on a laser tracer after watching an American war movie. It had inspired her to use their own tactics against them.

  She might be working for ROC for another twenty minutes, but she couldn’t help her FSB background. It came to the forefront as she faced down what she’d learned was American arrogance. Did Portia DiNapoli and the man she’d seen her with, who she knew had to be an undercover cop or FBI, think they’d survive against the best training Russia offered its agents? Ludmila’s training, combined with ROC money and backing, made her invincible.

  Almost. What really pushed her abilities into the unstoppable range was her desire to be free of all of this. She had a disguise waiting in the brand-new SUV she’d just stolen and placed fake license plates on. They’d never find her. No one. Not ROC, which would want retribution, nor FSB, which was still sore she’d left after only a couple of tours of duty. And the American law enforcement agencies? Amateurs, all of them.

  She looked at her watch, and then called in to the Silver Valley Police Department. It was 9-1-1 that she dialed, but she knew who’d get the message.

  “9-1-1. What’s your emergency?”

  “I don’t have an emergency, but your police department does. There’s a bomb in place at the Weddings and More Barn on highway two-twenty-two outside Silver Valley. It’s going to blow in ten minutes.” She loved that she’d perfected her American accent while still in the FSB. It made tasks like this so easy.

  “Who are you, ma’am?”

  She disconnected and picked up her other cell phone. With a sense of purpose she’d never felt before, because this was not only the end of her duties for ROC, the end of the annoying investigators and
agents who’d tried to stymie her efforts, it also was her beginning.

  She touched the button and started the bomb timer. A laugh escaped her at her generosity. She’d given the stupid Americans an extra thirty seconds.

  Chapter 20

  Portia’s jaw began to ache from constantly smiling. In truth, it was because as happy as she was that the gala was going well and had raised twice as much as last year, allowing for funding for the homeless shelter, it wasn’t completely what she’d envisioned.

  Since he’d come into her life, she’d dreamed of Kyle being at the event with her. What good was success if she didn’t have someone to share it with?

  And she’d shared in Kyle’s accomplishment by working on the spreadsheets with him and discovering how ROC was trafficking heroin via rail transport. By now, he’d finished his mission. Markova would be behind bars, and hopefully so would many other ROC operatives.

  She couldn’t wait to find out that her town was safe again.

  “Portia!” Annie appeared from the midst of the swaying crowd, with at least half of the attendees on the dance floor following the instructions of the deejay to flap like a chicken. Annie wasn’t laughing along with the dance, though, her face tight with concern. Portia’s stomach flipped. Kyle.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I need you to follow me, quickly.”

  “Can it wait? I’ve got to announce the silent auction winners in five minutes.”

  Annie’s expression chilled Portia to the marrow. She stepped closer and whispered in Portia’s ear. “Josh texted me. They’ve stopped the shipment, arrested all the players except one. Markova. Kyle thinks she’s on her way here.”

  The silent auction items could wait.

  “Where do you want me to go?”

  “For starters, follow me out to my car. We’re getting you out of here.”

  “I’m right behind you.” She followed Annie through the crowd, danced her way through several overzealous groups of liquored-up guests. They’d each paid for their tickets, which included an open bar, and Portia would have made a mental note about reexamining that policy for next year’s gala. Except she was being targeted by an assassin.

  “Hey, Portia! Come dance with us.” Gary, one of the volunteers at the homeless shelter, circled her waist with his beefy arm and pulled her off course. In the center of a dance circle, she lost sight of Annie. Gary was a friendly guy, and did a lot of the heavy lifting at the shelter, from repair work to stocking the pantry. She was no match for his brute strength. What Gary didn’t know, and what she couldn’t tell him, was that his jubilation could very well be what got her killed. Worse, she was putting all of the guests at risk the longer she remained in the barn. She looked around for Annie, knowing her friend would circle back the second she discovered Portia had been waylaid.

  But Annie was still making a beeline for the back of the hall, toward the kitchen.

  “Annie!” Portia yelled as loudly as she could, but to no avail. Her competition from the partygoers and booming music was too great. She’d have to get out of here on her own.

  Forcing a bright smile, she yanked Gary down far enough that she could shout in his ear. “I’ve got to pee! I’ll be right back.”

  “You’d better!” Gary said, and then guffawed as he made an opening for her, and she wished she’d thought to use the excuse as soon as he’d drawn her in.

  Finally she was free, making good headway through the rest of the dancers. Until she slammed into a large man blocking her path. She saw the white tuxedo shirt, the shiny black studs, and looked up to excuse herself as the man’s arms encircled her, his hands on her forearms.

  “Excu—” She looked up into the only eyes that made her head spin and her heart flip. Silver eyes.

  “Portia.” Kyle’s face was a mask of taut tension and she froze. He was here because of Markova. Of course.

  “I know, Kyle. I’m getting out of here, like Annie said to.” She looked over his shoulder, searching for her friend. Why hadn’t Annie returned to get her?

  “Annie’s busy taking care of things,” he shouted, but then leaned toward her ear, just as Gary had moments before. But instead of sweat and fermenting alcohol, she smelled Kyle’s too-familiar musk, mingled with the scent of the bar soap he favored. She fought to stay focused, keep her mind on getting out of the barn, but the assault on her senses threw her. She blinked, and his voice gave her the anchor she needed.

  “Listen to me, Portia. Markova’s rigged this barn to blow up in six minutes. Five by now. I need you to go to the mic and tell the deejay you have an announcement. Then tell your guests to use the four exits and leave as quietly and as quickly as possible. Stay calm, keep them from panicking. Then you go with them.”

  She looked into his eyes for a full heartbeat, absorbing all he’d said, knowing from the steady intensity in his gaze that he was telling the truth. They might all die right now.

  “Do it, Portia.” He gave her a slight shake, a squeeze to her forearms, where he’d gripped her since she’d slammed into him. And then he kissed her, hard, his lips a seal of his promise to keep her safe but more, a show of his confidence in her ability to carry through.

  Portia whirled around and made her way to the soundstage, elbowing anyone in her way. Acutely conscious of the ticking clock, which in this case was really a bomb, she got to the deejay.

  “Cut the music! We have an emergency!” she shouted in his ear. To his credit he complied, handing her the mic. Before the guests’ groans of disappointment turned into a chorus, she held up her hand.

  “We have an emergency, folks. Please stay calm. I need you to pick one of the four exit doors around you and leave the building now.” She pointed to each door, saw that the guests were paying attention, their heads moving and their bodies following. “We believe there’s a minor gas leak in the kitchen but we have to make sure it’s nothing serious. Please exit and make your way to the ice sculpture display, in the field directly behind the second barn.”

  To her great relief, the guests followed her directions. There were whiners, a few people who didn’t want to go out into the cold without their coats, but fortunately the more sober and levelheaded attendees prevailed. As she watched the last ones leave, she put the mic down and headed for the nearest exit. Kyle was gone, but this wasn’t the time to wish she’d said something to him, told him how she really felt. She had to get out of the building, too.

  She stepped onto the exit door threshold, only to notice an odd red line across her arms, which turned into a dot on her chest. Her reaction was automatic as she ducked back behind the doorframe and hit the floor. Shots hit the building on either side of the door and she scrambled to get on the other side of the soundstage, placing the foot-high structure between her and the open exit.

  * * *

  Kyle and Annie cleared out the few remaining workers in the kitchen area, who might have not been able to hear Portia’s announcement. Satisfied that the building was empty, he ignored his mental ticking clock as he worked with Annie to find the explosive. His Marine Corps training had included a rudimentary EOD, Explosive Ordnance Disposal, course but it’d be enough to identify the device and its location for the bomb squad, which was due here imminently.

  “What am I looking for, exactly, besides something with a clock and wires on it?” Annie asked as she searched under cabinets.

  “It won’t be obvious, out here in plain sight. It’s probably close to an energy source.” As he spoke, he realized he needed to find where the pipes that brought in the natural gas were. Gas was the primary source of heat and energy in Pennsylvania, second only to electricity. He hadn’t seen propane tanks outside, so there had to be a shut-off valve inside the barn, as well as a main switch somewhere on the property.

  He stopped to put his hands on Annie’s shoulders. “Stop. I need you to get out of here, clear the area surrounding the
building.”

  “You should come with me, Kyle. We don’t have more than three minutes left.”

  “I’m right behind you, Annie. Get out.” He didn’t look up but heard the sound of her feet hitting the tiles as she reached the ground on the other side of the propped-open door.

  The silence that descended made him insane with the need to find the device. It was then that he smelled the telltale scent of natural gas, at the same moment he heard a gunshot. And then several following.

  “Kyle, get out behind Annie. Now.” Claudia’s voice in his ear, he ran to the sound of the shots.

  “Gunshots, out by the dance floor.”

  “It doesn’t matter, Kyle. You’re down to ninety seconds. Get out.”

  He ripped the earpiece out and ran into the main room, searching for the source of the shots. He immediately spotted Portia lying up against the soundstage, saw the laser target against the doorjamb as shots continued to hit the building. At least he didn’t smell the gas here, or the building would already be gone.

  With Portia still in it.

  Kyle didn’t take time to process or reason things out, or even to figure out the best point of egress. He acted on pure instinct and ran for Portia, not stopping until he slid in next to her.

  * * *

  Portia felt the body slam up against hers and closed her eyes tight. Was this it? Had the building exploded and was she dead, unable to feel any pain?

  Familiar hands, arms around her. “Portia. Are you with me?”

  She turned and faced Kyle. This had to be heaven. Except he didn’t look blissed out but incredibly stressed, an almost animal-like countenance to his expression.