“Anyway,” she finally said, “I’m still serious about divorcing Bill. I contacted a lawyer yesterday. He’s filing the papers.”
“Yeah, well,” I said.
She gave me that toe-tingling smile. “Open and shut, the lawyer said. He really loved those pictures of Bill slipping in and out of hotels with different women. There’ll have to be a year-long separation, but I’ll have freedom to see who I want.”
Those breasts pressed a little closer. Those blue eyes turned a little more imploring. “I don’t want to lose you at this point, Sean. I, uh, I… well, I hope we can… maybe… well, maybe recapture what we once had.”
I stared at her.
She pressed a forefinger against my lips, the way they do in those mushy movies. “Don’t say anything,” she murmured. Of course it was already evident I wasn’t about to anyway. “I know you’re confused right now. I don’t blame you. There’ll be plenty of time to sort things out later. Just come back safely, okay?”
“I plan to,” I said, which was as neutral a signal as I could offer under the circumstances.
She stepped away and I looked over at Katrina, who was gazing back at me curiously, wondering what in the hell was going on here. I shrugged, then walked over and joined her. We departed with Jackler and climbed into a windowless van parked right at the base of the steps.
You could tell by Jackler’s sour expression what he thought of this whole thing. Actually, his thoughts probably weren’t any different from mine. Katrina was a civilian. If I was glaringly short of field crafts, she was ten gallons past empty. We were going into a complex, high-risk operation with a couple of complete hacks who could clumsily trigger a huge international incident with the one country the United States didn’t want to piss off right at that pivot point in history.
But there really wasn’t any other way this could work. It might not work anyway, but it was the only shot. We were pitting Alexi’s affection for Viktor against his affection for Katrina, and it was still a flip of the coin. However, there’s no disputing the influence of human plumbing in these situations.
Jackler put tiny microphones under Katrina’s and my shirt collars and then ran a few quick tests to be sure the electronics worked. They did. One of Jackler’s agents was driving. Another was riding shotgun in the passenger seat-literally riding shotgun, because he had a lethal-looking sawed-off model resting on his lap. I looked at my watch; 4:30 A.M. local time, right on the dot.
The drive took thirty-five minutes. A radio operator in the back with the rest of us kept receiving reports from various teams that were already maneuvering into position. The operation was still an hour off, but nobody was taking any chances of getting caught in traffic, or having an accident en route. Since it was my ass on the line, I highly approved of that. I’ve never been one who likes to hang out with type A anal-retentive assholes, but in situations like this you gain a whole new appreciation for them. Katrina sat calmly, while I drummed my fingers and peppered Jackler with incessant questions about precautions and failsafes in the event anything went wrong. He humored me. I was obviously keyed up and overanxious.
Katrina and I climbed out of the van a block down from the subway station. We looked around and there was hardly a soul there, unless you want to include a bunch of beggars and miserable-looking veterans, the normal shrubbery of Moscow streets. We rushed to the subway entrance and down the stairs till we found the sculpted she-bitch from hell, and we scraped our three stripes at the base of her foot.
Then we rushed back upstairs and to the ninth floor of the hotel that overlooked the kiosk. Neither of us said a word. We were both too immersed in our own thoughts to make small talk, which was the only kind of talk possible in moments like this.
At 5:45, he came out of the subway entrance and then walked nonchalantly toward the kiosk. He bought a magazine from the vendor, then stood for a moment, flipping through it and studying the pages. Katrina stopped breathing. If Alexi didn’t head for the bakery, this was the last time she’d ever see him alive. I put a hand over her shoulder and held her.
Finally, Alexi casually walked away from the kiosk and headed straight down the sidewalk and hooked a left into the coffee shop. Katrina and I left the window and raced down to the lobby.
Just as we were going through the entrance, a short, chubby woman dressed like a street person shoved her way past us to get to the warmth inside the lobby. At the instant we passed her, she swiftly whispered, “Abort.”
I was stunned. We were so close-there was no time to think about it, though. On the sidewalk I grabbed Katrina’s arm and whispered, “That lady just said to abort.”
Her brown eyes glanced at my face for a brief instant. Then she ripped her arm out of my grip and raced down the sidewalk to the bakery. I hadn’t expected it and was caught flat-footed for a critical moment. I finally came to my senses and ran after her, but she dove into the bakery before I could stop her. That was always the problem with Katrina: She was too stubborn and willful by half.
She was seated at the table, kissing Alexi, when I entered. This time Alexi had ordered three of everything, I guess in the event we both showed up.
Alexi broke away and gave me a delighted smile. “Ah, Sean, how very good to see you.”
Unfortunately, there wasn’t time for pleasantries. In a very quiet tone, I said, “Alexi, appear normal, but listen closely. You’ve been followed. Viktor knows about you. He’s known for years.”
I chuckled like I’d just told some big joke, then picked up my coffee cup to take a sip, and Alexi did the same thing, although in his case to disguise what had to be his shock.
Katrina was whispering, “It’s true, Alexi. We’re here to get you out.”
He put his coffee cup on the table, to his credit appearing perfectly unaffected. “You are making mistake, Katrina. Viktor cannot know about me. This is not possible.”
“There’s no mistake,” she assured him. Under the table I pressed a tiny earphone into his hand. The earphone was connected by a wire to the tape recorder I also slipped him under the table. There was a moment of confusion until he figured out what the earphone was. Then he carefully reached up and placed it in his left ear, where nobody in the bakery could see it.
While he listened to a carefully condensed version of Martin’s confession, I gave Katrina a hard stare. I whispered, “Do you know what you’re doing?”
She smiled, like I was flirting with her. “Don’t be going soft on me now.”
“These people are pros. We’re in big trouble.”
She smiled harder. “We’re not leaving without him.”
I turned my head and did a few big phony sneezes, using the chance to spy around. Fifteen or so people were seated at tables and about twenty more were standing in line. It was impossible to tell who the followers were. There were probably fifteen young or middle-aged men-any of whom, or all of whom-could’ve been SVR agents. Or any of the women in the shop, for that matter.
Or maybe none of them were SVR people. Maybe Jackler just wanted to call it off. He hadn’t seemed the least bit enthusiastic anyway, and by calling it off he could say, “Hey, we did everything you demanded, only the operation was compromised, so tough shit.”
Katrina suddenly said, “My bladder’s killing me. I have to go to the bathroom.”
She reached under the table and gave my hand a hard squeeze, and then left me with Alexi. I didn’t say anything till he reached up and pulled the earphone out.
“This makes no sense,” he whispered.
“Tell me about it,” I complained.
“Where did Katrina go?” he asked.
“The bathroom. Wait ten more seconds, then go join her. She’s going to tell you about our escape plan.”
He looked indecisive, like he wasn’t sure what to do next. Finally, he got up and went to the bathroom, leaving me alone at the table. I sipped from my coffee and pondered this whole thing. I’d had some lousy cases before, but nothing comparable to this. I’d nearly been killed three times, found out my dream woman was a manipulative, coldhearted witch, and I was clearly facing an ugly confrontation when I got back and tried to explain to my superiors how I killed six men, and tortured a suspect, and blackmailed the Central Intelligence Agency-and all for a client I could barely stand to look at.