“That is impossible!” Potrenko snapped. “Major Smyslov has been charged with mutiny and a massive breach of state security. These are very serious matters! I am warning you, Mr. President, these are strictly the internal affairs of the Russian Federation!”
Castilla smiled back without humor but with some pleasure. “And I just hate having to violate the internal affairs of the Russian Federation, Yuri, but then, I’m having to do a lot of things today that I’m not pleased about. What’s one more?”
“This man is a Russian citizen and military officer of the Federation!”
“Colonel Smith seems to feel the major is also still a member of his team, and as I said, I am inclined in the colonel’s favor at the moment!”
“This matter is not open for discussion!”
“Then forget it!” Castilla half rose from his chair. “The whole deal is off! Upon returning to Washington, I’m calling a press conference and I’m blowing the whole thing: the aborted nuclear war, Stalin’s assassination, the anthrax, the attack on our investigations team, the cover-up-the whole nine yards goes public!”
Potrenko’s face went bloodless. “You’re mad! You would not do this thing! You would not trigger this catastrophe between our governments over the fate of one man!”
Castilla sank back into his chair. “Yuri,” he said, peering coldly at Potrenko over the frames of his glasses, “I’m not a happy camper. Humor me.”
Chapter Fifty-three
Seattle-Tacoma International Airport
The cabdriver glanced in his rearview mirror at the tall, quiet man in the Army greens and black beret. Since 9/11 he’d carried a lot of soldiers to the airport, some of them heading home, others heading out to somewhere. From the multiple rows of ribbons on this man’s uniform coat, there had been a lot of somewheres, and from the weariness etched in his face, he’d been to one not long ago. But like most of the best, he wasn’t saying much about it.
The cabbie smiled to himself, looking back on his own somewheres, among them the rice paddy south of Bear Cat where he’d exchanged his right hand for a steel hook.
The Yellow Crown Victoria swept around the great curving reception bay of the terminal building, finding an unloading slot amid the milling streams of traffic. The soldier dismounted, drawing his barracks bag and briefcase out of the backseat. Stepping up to the front window, he reached for his wallet.
The cabdriver reached over with his prosthesis and zeroed the meter. “Forget it, Colonel. This one’s on the house.”
The tall soldier hesitated and then smiled. “If you insist.”
“Damn straight I do,” the cabby called back, pulling into traffic with a blare of his horn. “Eleventh Cav, ’sixty-seven. Good luck, sir.”
The shift manager wouldn’t mind. He was an ex-Marine, and he’d been some places, too.
Jon Smith pushed through the glass doors of the terminal to the ticketing counters, the luggage check-in, and the sluggish shuffle of the security inspection lines. The wait didn’t bother him particularly. At the moment he was in no rush.
He recognized the phenomenon, a combination of the biological backlash of the past week’s extreme exertions and the usual postmission psychological letdown. It would pass. At his last long-distance debriefing with Fred Klein, the director had told him to stand down and take some of his backlog of leave. The director had even waved his magic wand and arranged for it to happen.
The problem was, Smith didn’t feel like going anywhere or doing anything particularly. And back in Bethesda there was only the house that had never had the chance to become a home.
Snap out of it, Smith. You don’t need a leave. You need to get back to work.
But that brought up another point for consideration. Just exactly what was his work now? When he had accepted his position with Covert One, he had viewed himself as a research microbiologist performing an occasional specialist’s assignment for Fred Klein. Now, though, it was feeling more and more as if he was the dedicated operator and his position as USAIMRIID was the filler.
And hadn’t he taken that research slot to begin with specifically so he could work with Sophia? So they could be together? Since the Hades plague that wasn’t going to happen. That idealization was gone forever. Why the hell was he still going through those motions?
The X-ray machine and the security shakedown was a welcome distraction, his uniform and his government ID rating him the most cursory of inspections. He strode on down the concourse toward the United boarding gates. He was early for his flight to Dulles. Maybe he had enough time to get himself a cup of coffee before boarding. Not a drink in the mood he was in, but a cup of coffee.
“Jon, hey, Jon! Hold up!”
Randi Russell was trotting toward him, towing a squeaking piece of wheeled luggage. The white ladies’ gloves she wore contrasted with her comfort-faded denims. Coming to a halt, she smiled up at him, an open, happy, pleased smile, very different from when they’d met across the street at the Doubletree.
“I saw that dermatologist you wanted,” she said, holding up her gloved hands. “He said they might be a little sensitive to cold from now on, but he doesn’t think there will even be any scarring.”
Smith found himself smiling back. “I’m glad to hear it, Randi. Where are you off for?”
She made a face. “I can’t really say. You know the drill.”
He nodded. “I do. I’m glad we at least have the chance to say good-bye. It was good working with you again and just good seeing you again.”
“The same for me.” She hesitated for a moment, glancing around at the other hurrying occupants of the concourse, and then seemed to make a final call on some debated question.
“Could you come with me for a second?”
“Sure. Why not?”
She led him over into a small pocket of privacy behind an advertising kiosk. “I was hoping for the chance to tell you about something, Jon,” she said, “something that happened on the island. I feel kind of strange talking about it. But after thinking about it for a while, I guess it’s something you should know.”
“What is it?”
She hesitated a moment more, then looked into his face, her dark eyes sober. “Remember that night on the north beach when I just about froze to death? You know, when you found me after I’d called out to you?”
“Of course,”
“This is the strange thing. I wasn’t…alone out there, Jon. Sophia was with me. I know it sounds crazy, and maybe I was or am crazy, but for a minute Sophia…came back. She told me to call out for you. She made me call out. If she hadn’t, you’d never have found me.”
She dropped her eyes. “There, now go ahead and call me a nutcase.”
Smith frowned. “Why should I do that? Sophia loved you very much.” He lightly rested his hands on her shoulders. “If you were in trouble and if there were any way in this universe for her to help you, she would. I don’t think it’s crazy, Randi. I’m not even particularly surprised.”
Randi looked up and gave a sheepish grin. “Well, she loved you a whole lot, too, Jon Smith. So don’t be surprised if she shows up for you sometime, too.”
He nodded thoughtfully. It wasn’t a displeasing notion. “Maybe that explains why we keep bumping into each other. We’re bonded through her.”
“It must count for something.” She came up on her toes and lightly brushed her lips against his cheek. “I have to run. They’re calling my flight. You take care, Jon, till next time.”
“Till next time.” And he knew there would be a next time.
Smith found his shoulders squaring and his mood lightening as he finished the walk to the boarding gate. It improved further when he found someone else waiting for him at the United jetway.