Everything else was meaningless.
But as things stood, they had a problem. A major problem. Their objective was ill-defined. What started out as a rescue mission had turned into something else along the way. Something messy. Payne used to call it a potluck mission because it had a little bit of everything. Part fact-finding, part rescue, part mystery, part death. The problem was, they wouldn’t know what they were dealing with until they jumped into the fray. And that was dangerous.
Especially against an unknown opponent.
To make sure they didn’t do anything reckless, they would get a good night’s sleep in a nice hotel. They would shower, change, and eat a large breakfast. Maybe even go for a walk to clear their heads. After that, they would discuss everything they knew and make sure they were in total agreement on the mission’s parameters. If they were, they would get started right away, doing whatever was required. If not, they would hash things out until their goal was clearly defined. Until both of them were comfortable with the stakes.
With their lives on the line, they figured it was better to be safe than sorry.
But first, before they slept-before they were able to sleep-they had a promise to fulfill. One they had made to a scared stranger who was counting on them for survival.
Everything else could wait until morning. Everything except their pledge.
They had to rescue Allison Taylor.
30
Allison Taylor didn’t need to be rescued. She wasn’t the type.
She was a doctoral student at Stanford who had lived on her own since she was eighteen and knew how to fend for herself. She paid her own bills, had several jobs, and still found time to research her thesis-which she planned to finish if she got out of Russia alive.
But that was the problem. She was stuck in Saint Petersburg.
The murder of Richard Byrd had been a shock to her. It had shaken her to her very core, leaving her vulnerable for the first time in years. It was a feeling she despised. The tears, the grief, the displays of weakness. None of those things were a part of her life. Normally, she was the strong one. The rock in the raging storm. The one her friends clung to for support.
But this was different. Completely different.
What did she know about guns? Or assassins? Or sneaking through customs?
She was a student, not a spy. The rules of espionage were foreign to her.
A long time ago, when she was a little girl and her father was still alive, he used to say, “A smart person knows when they don’t know something.” For some reason, that expression had always resonated with her. It gave her the confidence to ask for help when she was confused or out of her element. It wasn’t a sign of weakness. It was a sign of strength. It meant she was smart enough to recognize her limitations and secure enough to get assistance.
And this was one of those times.
She knew she needed help. And she hoped Jonathon could provide it.
In reality, she knew very little about him except his name. But what she had learned during her frantic phone call was enough to soothe her. At least for the time being.
Jonathon was confident, not arrogant. He had listened to her problem, then offered a sensible solution. Go to the American consulate. Get its protection. It was a simple answer, but one that revealed a lot about his character. He hadn’t suggested something dangerous or illegal. Instead, he had suggested the safest thing available: getting help from the American government.
Any other time, that would have been her first choice. But on this particular trip, she knew things weren’t that simple. There were other issues to worry about. Byrd had made sure of that. Otherwise, she would have left the Peterhof and gone directly to the consulate.
On the phone, when she had balked at Jonathon’s idea and said she couldn’t go, she had liked the way he had kept his composure. He hadn’t yelled or tried to change her mind. He had simply offered another solution. He had calmed her down, reassured her of his expertise, and then said he was coming to help. Before she could reject his offer or question his abilities, he was telling her what she needed to do and where she needed to go. And she followed his instructions like scripture.
She booked a suite at the Nevskij Palace Hotel, one of the most exclusive hotels in the city. She paid in cash, not by credit card. She registered under a false name. When the clerk asked to see her papers, she told him they had been stolen but replacements would be delivered within forty-eight hours. He was reluctant at first, until she asked for her money back and a cab ride to the Grand Hotel Europe, another five-star hotel in the area. Suddenly, he was willing to make an exception. She thanked him by giving him a large tip in American currency.
She had been told to sit tight after that. When she got hungry, she ordered room service. When she got lonely, she was supposed to talk to herself. No one else. Not friends. Not family. Not even the busboy. The lone exception was if Jonathon or his friend D.J. called her cell phone. Other than that, she was to remain silent, in her room, until they showed up at her door.
And if anyone else came knocking, she should fight for her life.
The knocking started at 2:37 A.M. It was soft but forceful.
She was wide awake, staring at the ceiling above her bed, when she heard it. Her heart instantly leapt into her throat. She was wearing an extra-long T-shirt and panties, just as she would at home. Now she regretted her choice. She Suddenly, felt vulnerable.
A chair was wedged under the door handle. Both locks were set. The safety chain was attached as well. If someone tried to break in, it would take a lot of effort and make a lot of noise. But not as much noise as her screaming. If necessary, she would wake the whole damn hotel.
Nervously, Allison stared through the peephole. Two men were standing in the hallway. One black, one white. Both of them looked muscular and lethal. “Yes?”
Payne answered, “I’m Jonathon. This is D.J. We’re here to help.”
“Just a minute,” she lied. “I’m getting my gun.”
“Great,” Jones mumbled. “I feel safer already.”
Allison hurried away from the door and grabbed her cell phone, the one that Byrd had given to her. It was programmed with only one number. She hustled back to the peephole before she placed the call. A few seconds passed before she got the response she was hoping for. Payne looked at his phone and smiled. Then he held it up to the door. It was vibrating in his hand.
“Yes,” he said, “it’s really me.”
“Just checking,” she said through the door. “Give me a minute. I have to get dressed.”
“Take your time.”
Jones leaned forward and whispered to Payne. “She’s smart, naked, and carrying a gun? She’s my kind of girl.”
“Keep it in your pants, soldier.”
“Good point. She’s scared enough already.”
A few minutes later, they saw the door rattle as she pulled the chair away. Then they heard the locks, one after the other. Finally, she opened the door and peeked through the crack.
She was wearing a T-shirt and jeans. No shoes. No makeup. Yet she was stunning. Her hair was blond and hung to her shoulders. Her eyes were the color of sapphires. Payne offered his hand in greeting, and she grasped it firmly. Her skin was soft, but her grip was strong.
“I’m Jon.”
“Allison,” she said as she opened the door wider.
“Nice to meet you. How are you doing?”
“I’m fine. But I’m glad you’re finally here.”
He smiled. The feeling was mutual. “May I come in?”
“Of course,” she said, still holding the door.
“Thanks.” Payne brushed past her as he eased into the suite. He glanced around, making sure that she was alone. “That’s D.J. He’s harmless.”