“I will not profit from what is about to happen.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what: I’m sure as hell not going to suffer because of it.”
“If you jeopardize the mission-”
“I’m not jeopardizing anything. I’m just recouping my costs.” With a little extra, Walker thought. He let his gaze linger on the stretch of turquoise water before him and felt its calming influence. “Relax, Boyd. Things are going better than we ever expected. In less than a week, it will all be over.”
“Really? I’d say that by this time next week, it will have only just begun.”
29
Kaliningrad, Russia: Monday 26 October
9:10 P.M. local time
The flight from Kaliningrad to Berlin smelled of raw onions and vodka and hot, closely pressed bodies. Tobie leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes, but she was too exhausted and jittery to sleep.
Jax passed out before the flight even pushed back from the terminal.
Watching him sleep, she knew a welling of frustration that only seemed to grow with each passing minute. In less than a week, an unknown group of terrorists would launch a deadly attack on the United States. She had successfully located the U-boat the men had salvaged. But the true nature of its cargo had turned into an enigma, while the identity of the terrorists themselves remained a mystery.
No one knew better than Tobie the limits of remote viewing. Anything she tried to view from here on out could be dangerously influenced by what she already knew about the case. And tasking herself was always tricky. Without the protocol of an official viewing in place, no one in the intelligence community would give credence to anything she “saw.” But she had to try.
Taking a deep breath, then another, she willed herself to relax, sinking slowly down into her Zone. Her target was a person: the leader of the force that attacked the Yalena Saturday morning and killed its crew. Her target time: now.
The first images were, as always, indistinct. She saw a man. Dark hair. Dark skin. A flat nose. Full lips. Dark jeans. A heavy pullover sweater. She could feel the anger seething within him, combined with a lethal determination that sent a chill down her spine.
She pulled back from him, trying to get a sense of place. She was aware of the pinch of cold. Smelled damp earth and wet leaves. He stood outdoors, in the country, perhaps, or in a garden. In the darkness, trees and bushes were all reduced to indistinct shadows buffeted by the wind.
Pulling back further, she saw the faint glow of a lamp spilling through an uncurtained window. The sulfurous haze of a streetlight shining on wet pavement. A city, but not a crowded city.
What city?
Patiently, she returned to the man standing in the shadowy garden. The house behind him began to come into focus. High gables. Jutting dormers. Steep roof. Mullioned windows. A large house, well cared for, yet quiet.
She shifted her perspective to the street, the images of the neighboring houses becoming increasingly cleaner, stronger. If she were ever to find herself on this street, she would recognize it in an instant. But when she tried to move beyond the darkened houses, to the city itself, her impressions became less distinct and dangerously susceptible to “overlay” by her imagination.
With a sigh, she opened her eyes to stare out the plane’s small window at the darkness beyond. She felt the vibrations of the jet’s engines thrumming through her, and she knew it again, that sense of frustration combined now with a growing urgency. She had seen the man they sought; she was sure of it. She had felt his anger and his dark purposefulness. But who was he?
And where was he?
It wasn’t until their flight hit the runway, bounced, then rattled to a shuttering halt that Jax opened his eyes.
She said, “How do you do that?”
He glanced over at her and yawned. “What? Sleep? Practice.”
“I’m beginning to think I might kill for a bed and a shower.”
“You should be able to get both at the station.”
“The station? What station?”
He got that look on his face, the one he always got whenever she reminded him just how little she knew about espionage or the world of spycraft. “The CIA station at the embassy. Every embassy has one. They’ll probably debrief you there before sending you back to the States.”
She paused in the act of leaning over to pick up her carry-on bag and straightened slowly. “The States? But…I thought we were going to follow up on Baklanov’s contacts in the Middle East.”
“No. I’m following up on Baklanov’s contacts in the Middle East. Your role in this assignment is over.”
She felt a pulse of anger throb through her, making her fingers tingle and her face grow hot. She said, “Why? The U-boat was in Kaliningrad, just like I said it would be.”
“And what did you see in Turkey?”
She looked at him blankly. “I didn’t see anything in Turkey.”
He unbuckled his seatbelt and stood. “Exactly. The woo-woo part of this mission is over.” He didn’t say it, but she knew what he was thinking: Thank God.
She followed him down the narrow, crowded aisle. “You’re going to Turkey?”
“Yes.”
“But…why?”
“Because Kemal Erkan is in Turkey.”
“But Erkan was interested in buying the submarine, not the cargo; I think we should go to Lebanon. That’s where Baklanov was planning to sell the cargo.”
He glanced back at her over his shoulder. “Did you see that in your crystal ball, too?”
“I don’t have a crystal ball and you know it.” She waited, but when he still didn’t say anything, she said, “I vote we go to Lebanon.”
He went to stand in one of the long immigration lines. “This isn’t a democracy. I’m going to Turkey. And you’re going to New Orleans.”
They’d just cleared Customs and were pushing their way through the crowd waiting outside the wide double doors when a female voice with a pronounced Bronx twang said, “You can stop right there.”
Tobie turned to find a stocky woman with short-cropped dark hair descending on them, a manila envelope clutched against her brown pantsuit jacket.
“Why, Petra,” said Jax with a smile that didn’t exactly ooze charm and good cheer. “You didn’t need to put yourself to the trouble of meeting us.”
The woman’s dark brown eyes narrowed down into hostile glints. “Believe me, meeting you is a lot less trouble than cleaning up after you.” She slapped the manila envelope against his chest. “This is for you. Don’t even think about leaving the airport. You’re both booked on the red-eye flight to Izmir.”
“Both of us?”
“Both of you.”
Tobie poked him in the ribs with her elbow. He ignored her.
Petra said, “You got a report from Division Thirteen headquarters. It’s in the envelope with your e-tickets.”
Jax’s hand tightened around the envelope. “You’re very efficient. Thank you, Petra.”
Her frown darkened. “You haven’t asked, but I’m going to tell you anyway: we cleaned up your little mess.”
Tobie looked from one to the other. “What mess?”
For the first time, Petra’s gaze shifted to her. “What mess? He was in Berlin less than eighteen hours and he still managed to find the time to kill someone.”
Tobie blinked.
Jax said, “Did you ever find out who the guy was?”
“No.” Petra turned to leave. “The tickets to Izmir are one-way. Make sure that however you come back, it’s not through Berlin.”
“Thanks, Petra. You’re a champ.”
She spun back to face him. “Catalano. My name is Rita Catalano.”
Jax gave her a smile that showed his teeth. “You’ll always be Petra to me.”
“You’re gloating again,” he said as they pushed their way into the waiting area for the flight to Izmir.