They stopped beside a storage building. Glinkov slumped against the wall and lowered himself to the pavement, breathing hard, shaking.
Stiletto stood at the corner watching the cars. Only a handful for a small staff on duty. He looked at Glinkov. Glinkov’s eyes were closed. Stiletto hoped the strain wasn’t making his injuries worse. He had to act fast, but not recklessly. He swallowed hard, his throat dry, and looked back at the cars. Come on. Somebody exit the building. The glow of the refinery fire continued to light the night.
Finally, a side door opened and a lone man carrying a lunch box exited. A potential weapon, Scott thought, as he told Glinkov to stay put and started for the lot with the .45 in his right fist.
He reached the man as he transferred the lunch box to his left hand, keys jingling in his right as he inserted them into the door lock.
Stiletto did not want the man to yell, swing the lunch box, or cause trouble, but if the man was as hard-headed as the gate guard, there’d be trouble no matter what.
Stiletto swung the pistol and connected solidly with the man’s head.
The man’s legs collapsed under him and Scott lunged to catch the man, lowering him to the ground. He was out cold and breathing steadily and he’d have one heck of a lump on his head. Stiletto gave the keys a twist to finish unlocking the door, jumped behind the wheel. It was an older car with a stick shift. He jammed the stick into first and raced back to Glinkov.
The Russian’s eyes widened as Stiletto climbed out and helped him to his feet. To Scott he seemed to have more energy, thanks to the vehicle and the hope it provided, and Stiletto loaded him onto the passenger seat and slid back behind the wheel.
He drove off. They had half a tank of gas. Stiletto turned on the heat full blast. Hot air filled the interior.
“I can’t believe we made it,” Glinkov said.
Stiletto made no reply as he executed a few turns, the streets mostly empty, an odd glow from the refinery fire filling the night sky.
They were going back to the safe house, minus two, and no promises about what would happen next.
SCOTT LEFT the stolen car several blocks from the safe house. He and Glinkov walked the rest of the way on foot, both having warmed up to the point where at least they weren’t shivering any longer.
Stiletto punched in the code for the safe house door and led Glinkov inside. His wife and daughter sat on the couch, huddled together; she turned when the door opened, eyes wide, and gasped.
Scott could only stand back while wife embraced husband and the little girl joined them, all three hugging tight and crying. Stiletto went down the hall to a bedroom and took out his cell phone. He dialed.
“Yes?” Number One’s deep baritone came over the connection.
“It’s Stiletto.”
“You’ve made quite a bit of noise, Mr. Stiletto.”
“Come and get us. I have Glinkov but we lost Ravkin and Anastasia.”
“Unfortunate. Where are you?”
Scott hesitated, but he saw no other way than to reveal the location. He did.
“I’ll have a recovery team there in fifteen minutes.”
“How—” but Scott didn’t finish the question. The connection ended.
Stiletto put the phone away and sorted through Ravkin’s clothes, his heart heavy with the loss of him and Anastasia, two good people who had only wanted what was best for their country. But they had gone down fighting, and that was the only way it could have happened. Anything less would have been an insult.
Ravkin and Glinkov were almost the same size, and he brought the other man several choices and told him to get cleaned up in the shower because their extraction team was on the way. Glinkov kissed his family again and hurried down the hall.
Rina looked at Scott with watery eyes. Xenia rushed forward and grabbed Stiletto around the left leg.
Neither needed to say thank you.
THE TRANSPORT van collected Stiletto and the Glinkovs on schedule and without incident. The group sat in the back of the van as he traveled through Moscow streets and out to the countryside where they stopped at a private airfield under heavy guard. The guards all spoke Russian and shuffled the four from van to a waiting Lear jet that took off within minutes of their arrival.
The plane was warm and offered not only comfortable leather seats, but plenty to eat and drink as well as satellite television for entertainment. The cabin insulation reduced the roar of the jet engines to a dull throb. The pilots promised them a quick trip to Germany, where they would refuel and collect another pair of pilots who would fly them across the ocean to the U.S.
Vlad, still looking a little dazed, and still sore, but with clear eyes and his head up, cornered Scott in the galley as Scott poured a beer.
“I think we have a mutual friend,” Glinkov said. Then he closed his eyes and winced.
“We gotta get you to a doctor.”
“I’ll live.” Vlad opened his eyes. “Answer me.”
Scott nodded. “This isn’t a C.I.A. plane.”
“You’ve taken an incredible risk, Scott. I’m not sure I’m worth it.”
“I don’t want to hear that, Vlad. And it might have been for nothing anyway. I’m not sure what we’ll do when we land. Ravkin had information stored on the cloud that would have helped get the heat off me and guaranteed safe passage for you, but without him we’re throwing ourselves at their mercy.”
“You think they’ll send us back?”
“I’m not sure what they’ll do.”
Rina came over. “No, wait. He gave me his password.”
Stiletto said, “He what?”
“While you and Anastasia were at the nightclub, he made me memorize his password.”
Stiletto put the beer down and hurried to his seat, where there was a tablet computer bolted to the fuselage. He went through the retrieval process with Rina over his shoulder, and when the documents were open, scrolled through each one carefully. Presently he sat back, stunned.
He glanced over at Xenia, who sat in front of the television watching a cartoon. She had no idea of the real-life drama taking place behind her. If his sacrifice resulted in the little girl living a normal live in the U.S., he considered the mission a success, however the unanswered questions that lay ahead still gave him a twinge of doubt. The last thing he wanted was for her to be sent back to Russia to face the certain death of her father and perhaps her mother too.
He smiled to show the confidence he didn’t quite feel, but the Glinkovs needed to see.
“I think we’ll be just fine after all,” he told them.
Chapter Twelve
THE SHOWER felt good.
Stiletto turned off the water and stepped out of the steamy stall, dripping onto the blue shower mat, drying off in front of the window and grateful for the foggy mirror which concealed his reflection. He didn’t want to see his face. He didn’t know what to think of the Moscow adventure. He was scared about his future. Surely the C.I.A. would want him out, but was the Cabal a better option? Or was San Francisco? Had Ali changed her mind since their visit?
He pulled on some clean clothes, all provided by Number One. Their trip from Russia to Germany to Washington, DC had been smooth, a respite prior to the final battle between Scott and the Agency bureaucrats. Glinkov’s family was two floors below while Glinkov himself was at a clinic being treated for his wounds. The physical ones, anyway. Guilt was going to crush Glinkov before anything else harmed him. Scott wanted to find a way to alleviate that, if he could.
His cell phone sat on the writing table and he had a text message waiting from the Generaclass="underline" DCI agrees. See you soon. Welcome home.