Part 11
Train Western Russia
Wednesday, January 28
1700 Hours
It’s obvious; to me at least, that Mark’s been waiting for us. His upper torso is reflected in the window. His position is classic frisk mode. He has no weapon on his waistband.
Clay moves into the room. I follow and quickly close the door. There are other people in first class, some are in the dining car; one is in the lavatory. The others don’t even open their doors to see what caused the horrendous noise of kicking in Sokol’s door. Clay stands there taking everything in. "What kind of fool do you take me for, Sokol?"
"My kind of fool, I hope. One who’ll at least listen before he murders me."
I know Clay won’t like it, but I knew something was going on with Mark. I have to know what’s troubling him. "We aren’t here to murder you, Mark. Why did you steal the canisters?"
"Save it Sarah, he’ll only lie."
"Clay, please." I make no move toward either man. "Let him talk."
Clay’s eyes shift from Mark’s reflection to mine, for just a moment. "What’re you doing Sokol?"
"Taking the canisters to Ivan Siamko."
I gasp, but it’s Clay who demands, "Why, damn it!? You’ve always been a fairly straight shooter. Do you KNOW what Siamko will do with the gas?"
"I know what he’ll try to do with it. However, he won’t be successful."
"And why’s that?" I can tell that Clay’s upset on a personal level. I wonder if he and Mark have a history.
"Because I’m going to kill him before he can." Still he hasn’t moved, and I’m beginning to get worried that I’ll drop my guard.
"Mark, why?"
"You’d like her, Sarah. She’s so pretty. Or she was, before." His voice cracks. "But that doesn’t matter. I’m going to kill them both, then…"
"Who, damn you!?" I know that Clay thinks he’s being played. I’m not sure we aren’t, but I want answers.
"Alana Petrova. Petr Dosivitch’s daughter." Mark takes a deep breath. "May I turn around? My gun’s on the seat behind you."
"Just one?" Clay’s sneer twists his voice, and the face in the window.
"Have Sarah search me. Or have Sarah cover me while you do the honors. Or have me strip naked, damn you. Just listen to me. I knew you were coming. Dosivitch contacted me. He’s using you."
Clay snorts and just tightens his grip on his pistol. "And I’m supposed to believe you? Are you going to tell me that you’re sanctioned for this?"
Mark shakes his head. He looks thoroughly defeated. "No. I’m not sanctioned. I don’t expect to live through this. I just want Alana safe. Dosivitch thinks that by sending you to kill Siamko and his minions, he’ll be able to take over the mob. He’s a fool. The mob is too fluid. He’s ruthless enough to try, though. He sold his own daughter to Lazarenko!" There’s raw emotion in his voice. Most people would be moved by it. Clay’s not. I want to believe him, but he did admit taking the case to Siamko. I just don’t know now. But, I want to hear him out.
"Please, Clay. If it’s a trap, if Lazarenko and Siamko are waiting for us, we need to know about it." Clay never takes his eyes off Mark. Instead, he pushes the gun into his lower back.
"Flinch and you’re crippled for life – if not dead." He does a quick, effective frisk, then grabs Mark’s arm and jerks him around. "Sit down, next to the case."
Clay motions me to stand by the door. "If he so much as touches the case…"
I don’t make him finish it. "I’ll shoot him myself, Clay."
Mark gives me a small smile. "You know, I always knew there was something between you and this guy."
"Shut up!" Clay settles back on the seat. Only I can see how much he’s hurting. He looks at his watch. "You’ve got two hours before we reach the city limits of Nizhniy-Navgorod. Tell me a story, Scheherazade." Mark and I both glare at him, but he waves his hand dismissively. I’m getting a real clear picture of Clay in 007 mode. It’s not a pretty sight, but for some reason, it doesn’t make a difference in the way I feel. Besides, the nerve gas IS deadly. And, Mark HAS admitted what he planned on doing with it
Mark keeps his hands on his knees. His voice is firm and steady. "I met Alana six months ago. She’d just married Lazarenko. I was undercover at one of their clubs; she was singing there."
Clay points out a fact that I’d heard somewhere else. "Funny. The mob usually keeps their women hidden away. To keep them out of the hands of their rivals."
"They did that on purpose. Lazarenko and Siamko were showing the rest of the mob that they were so strong that no one dare attack them." Webb nods and Mark continues. "She moved around the club like a goddess. No one spoke to her. They were all afraid, and she wasn’t happy about that." His voice softens, and I swear he gets misty eyed. "She was a butterfly flitting amongst the weeds." Clay grunts in exasperation. Mark grimaces, but says in a firmer voice, "She sat down next to me at the bar."
We listen to him for thirty-three minutes as he details his growing attachment to Alana. When he gets to the part where Lazarenko confronted him with the knowledge that not only did Lazarenko and Siamko know who Mark really was and who he worked for, but that that they’d set the first meeting up, I could tell he was really in love with the girl. "That was three weeks ago. They brought her in to where they were holding me." He closed his eyes in pain. His hands were gripping his knees so tightly that I thought he’d tear holes in his pants. "Don’t make me tell you what they did to her. They made me watch. You wouldn’t want to tell if it happened to Sarah!"
I can tell Clay’s shaken by his story. His face is white with emotion; his lips pinched in fury. It takes him a couple of tries before he can get the words out. "What do you hope to accomplish by taking them the gas?"
"To kill them all."
"And a lot of innocents!"
Mark gets a look that I can only describe as sly. "No, there’ll be no innocents killed; only the people in the stronghold. There’ll be no gas to escape into the community.
Clay and Mark’s eyes lock. "How?" Clay whispers.
For the first time since sitting down next to it, Mark looks down at the case. "I knew you’d show up. I knew you’d take care of Vostof to get to me. I spotted Alexi right away. Rabb, too. I knew that wherever Rabb went, Mac was sure to follow. And, I knew from Dosivitch that you were on your way."
"You didn’t see Webb at the warehouse?" I ask.
He shakes his head. "No. I was concentrating on bullying Captain Volkonov into letting me take the suitcase with the canisters. He’s a good man, but still too trusting. Not like you and I, Webb."
Clay doesn’t even flinch at the comparison. Instead, he glances over at me and smiles wanly. "Well, the world needs heroes, I guess."
"That, we are not. I’ll do what I came to do, if you’ll help me. I’ll take care of your problem – the General told me that you’d promised to kill Lazarenko for him."
"What about you?"
"He expects you to kill me. I don’t think he gives a damn about Alana."
"And if I let you go on with this plan of yours?"
Mark shrugs. "I know you, Webb. You’ll get even in your own way."
"And that’s enough for you?"
I look back and forth at them. "Wait a minute. What have you worked out in your little spy speak here?" I’ve been standing right here, listening to every world they’ve said, but they’ve agreed to something that I can’t figure out. Surely… "What the hell just happened here!?"
Mark smiles and looks a Webb. "May I?"
"Go ahead." Mark opens the case. It’s padded in foam, and the two canisters rest inside. "See? No booby traps." He looks at me. "I take it you have the means to neutralize it?"
"No. We couldn’t bring it with us. It was too bulky. But there’s another way."
"Of course." He thinks for a moment, then nods. "There’s a steel mill in Nizhniy-Navgorod. They have a blast furnace that will consume it safely."
"And!?" I’m getting scared here. "Mark, what are you planning?"
"To die a hero, of course."
"NO!" I didn’t mean it to be so loud.
The door slams into my back, and I’m thrown forward into Mark’s lap. Harm bursts in, gun stuck out straight in front of him. Mark’s holding me. Everyone in the room freezes. Clay, who’d rested his gun in his lap sometime during his conversation with Mark, stands and points it at Mark’s head. Alexi comes into the room, and closes the door behind him.
"Let her go, Sokol!" Harm grits out.
I put my hands on Mark’s shoulders and gaze into his eyes. I know he won’t hurt me. I push off him, and he lets me go.
Clay lowers his gun and sits back down.
Harm looks confused but he doesn’t relax.
"Put your gun down… Harm," Clay sighs. "It’s become complicated. Big shock there."
I lean against the window and the cold feels good against my back.
"What the hell?" Harm lowers his gun.
"Yeah, flyboy." I sigh, too. "What the hell, indeed."
Clay jerks forward and glares at Alexi. "You left Vostof alone?"
Harm looks around at Alexi, who finally clears his throat and returns Clay’s look. He opens his mouth, and I’m suddenly reminded of a fish, dying on a dock. It’s Harm’s turn to sigh. He turns back to face Clay. "He’s dead."
"What!?"
"He went into convulsions. I guess you hit him pretty hard, Mac."
The room swims before my eyes and I seem to teeter. Harm starts for me, but Clay’s there, his arm around my waist. "You saved our lives, Sarah. Besides, we don’t know why he died."
"I didn’t mean to…"
"He was one of Siamko’s best hit men, Sarah!" Mark stands on the other side of me. I’m surrounded by four men whom I’ve felt some varying degrees of affection for over the past six years. Even Alexi, who drove me halfway across Russia, holds a place in my heart. But now, I turn to the man I know I’m more than a little in love with. "May I see you outside?"
"Mac!"
"Harm, please." I push past him, and go out into the hall. I have to check. I have to see for myself. My hand’s already on the doorknob of our commandeered first class cabin when Clay finally catches up to me. Together, we open the door and step inside the empty compartment. "Where?" Then I notice that the compartment is cold. Very cold.
I stare at the window latch as Clay explains. "There’s no easy way of saying it, Sarah."
"Oh, God. They shoved the body out the window. I killed a man and they…"
He takes me by the shoulders and spins me around. "Stop it." Then he holds me tight. "Hang on, Marine. We still have to figure out the rest of this."
I want to cry, but I don’t. Instead, I hold him tight right back, taking the strength he has to offer me. I’ve never had this with any other man. It feels good, even though a little part of me died tonight. I hold onto what Mark said. Because it does make a difference, if Vostof had been a commando doing his job protecting Mark and the nerve gas, I’d have felt like I murdered him. Now, if Mark isn’t lying, I feel I’ve struck a blow for some poor girl I’ve never even met.
When I pull back, I’m in control. "Okay, Clay. Just what have you and Mark set up with your secret high signs and wink-winks?"
He rests his forehead against mine. "No secrets signs. I guess we’re just too much alike. He’s going to give us the canisters, and I’ll help him kill the two men who hurt the woman he loves."
"How?"
"However he wants, but if it were me, I’d fill the case with explosives."
"And he won’t walk out of there alive."
"Probably not, but he won’t just walk into it expecting to die. He’ll try to get out, as long as he knows Alana’s safe. But even if he does escape, he dies in the explosion. Understand? He’ll have to. He’ll be on his own. The Russians will be looking for him. Dosivitch will be looking for him. I can’t help him."
"Why?"
He looks at me so seriously for a moment. "Because if we hadn’t shown up, if Vostof had killed us, if he were faced with no other choice, he’d give Siamko the case and the gas to save Alana."
"Would you have, if it were me?"
I don’t know how long we stand there, but finally he shakes his head. "No, because we probably would’ve both died in the hotel room before they could have raped you. If not, I would’ve gone nuts and done nothing else until I’d freed you and exacted my revenge. It wouldn’t have gone that far with me."
I shudder at the truth, and my fate is sealed. "I love you, Clay."
"Hold that thought. Now let’s get this over with and find us that sail boat."
But I push. "You’re going to help him, look the other way, and then how will you exact your revenge on Dosivitch?"
"I won’t kill him. Not just on Sokol’s word. But I’ll keep an eye on him, and one day…" He lets it hang between us. There are a myriad of ways to exact his revenge. I know it as well as he.
The conductor meets us as we’re returning to Mark’s compartment. Clay holds up a large bill and asks that he have the porter bring us food and drinks to the car. The conductor stares at us both for a very long time before taking the bill. He turns way without saying a word.
When we re-enter Mark’s compartment, the case is closed and sitting next to Harm, who’s sitting on the seat across from Mark. He looks like hell. But then, we all do.
"Are you okay?" I ask him.
Harm never takes his eyes off Mark, or lowers his gun. "Yeah. I’m fine," he rasps out. "Just what the hell are you planning?" There’s coldness in his voice that I’ve never heard before. He’s distancing himself from us – from me. "I’m not letting this case out of my sight again." He does turn then, and the look he gives Clay is full of determination and something else I can’t read. But then, I can’t really see into his eyes. He’s avoiding mine.
"Well then, that settles that." Clay leans against the door. Alexi is against the window. I have a choice: sit next to Mark, who’s sitting on one side of the seat, or Harm, who’s smack dab in the middle. I guess there’s no choice. I sit at the other end of the seat from Mark. A spasm of pain flits across Harm’s face, but still he doesn’t look at me.
"That settles what, Webb?"
"You and Sarah will…"
"No." I snap it out and stand up. I think I know how this will play out. "Sit!" I point to the seat where Harm’s sitting.
Clay starts to say something, but instead he does what I tell him. Harm looks mildly surprised, but scoots over, his gun never leaving Mark. The metal case forms a barrier between Clay and Harm.
"There’s a steel mill in Nizhniy-Navgorod." I look at Alexi. "Do you know where it is?"
"I can find it."
"Good. They have a blast furnace there."
"Of course. It will do the job you want done?"
"Dump it in the blast furnace or into the molten sludge. Either way, it will melt the canister and neutralize the gas. But we’re going to need the case."
"Why?" Harm still won’t look at me. "Why can’t we all go?"
"Because Clay, Mark and I have to save Dosivitch’s daughter and take out the bad guys."
"Murder, Mac? Or after Vostof don’t…"
"Shut up, Harm." Clay turns to him. "Just shut up. We’ll settle the other thing afterward, but so help me, if you mention Vostof one more time, I’ll have Alexi get you to the embassy in Russia, and I’ll handle it all myself."
"You think you’re man enough, Webb?"
"Stop it!" I can feel the tears in my voice. Mark and Alexi are looking anywhere but at the three of us. Harm finally looks at me. I can see the pain of betrayal in eyes. He’s finally accepted it. He still doesn’t like it. In fact, he hates it, hates me, hates Clay. But he’ll do what needs to be done.
He turns his attention back to Mark. "So what’s this big plan of yours?"
Clay takes his own last dig. "Need to know, Commander. And you don’t need to know. You’ll do what you were sent to do, Alexi will get you back to Moscow, and you can get back to your brother. I’ll make sure that… the Colonel gets home safely."
"Yeah, right."
I take a deep breath. I don’t know why I ever thought we could get through this with our friendship intact. My heart is breaking, but I say what needs to be said. "Regardless, Harm. Clay needs back up. Alexi’s injured, but he’ll get you in and out of the mill, and back to Russia. Clay’s never let me down." I know he reads something else into it. But I’m not dredging up the past. "We need to get this done. I want to go home."
"Fine."
Even my gift of time deserts me as a black sorrow descends upon me. I’m not sure how long we sit there frozen, unwilling to break the frigid silence.
A throat clears. The rest of us jerk our heads at the sound. Mark begins softly. "We will need the case. Siamko will be expecting it. We’ll pack it with explosives. "
I expect Harm to say something snide, but all he does is look at Alexi. "Get the suitcase. We’ll pack them inside the clothing. When we get to Nizhniy-Navgorod, you can find a more appropriate container to hide them in? I can’t see us walking through a steel mill with a suitcase."
"Sure, boss."
When Alexi returns, Harm carefully wraps the baby clothes and blankets around the canisters. My heart clinches at the sight, but I pull myself together. I’ve been a tough Marine too long to let my hormones consume me like this. It hits me hard when I realize that I’ve been acting differently. I have a friend who knew days after she conceived that she was pregnant. "I can feel the difference. I wish I could explain it, Sarah, but I can’t." I know it might just be wistful thinking on my part. I know it might just be sheer exhaustion. Regardless, I can’t let the possibility affect the way I act. Clay needs me. I’ll protect him first.
I follow Harm out to the platform. I can’t let him go without saying something. But the look on his face, so angry and so pained, almost keeps the words inside. "Take care of yourself, flyboy."
The look that passes between us crosses eight years of friendship, of hope, and finally of dreams that died. "Yeah, you too… jarhead." He turns away, and follows Alexi out of the station.
When I return to the compartment, Clay doesn’t make the mistake of downplaying my emotions, or playing into them. "He’ll get through this, Sarah, as will we."
"Yes, of course." I’m all Marine now, rigid as the day I faced my Admiral’s mast. "Where do we get the explosives?"
"I know a man," Clay and Mark answer almost in unison.
:: :: ::
Moscow
Thursday, January 29
1900 Hours
It’s night again. A full day has come and gone. Our preparations are meager, and I have a bad feeling about this. Clay left Mark and me in a small, rundown boarding house, in a horrid part of Moscow. We’re only blocks from where Mark will go to try and kill two of the most vicious men in Russia. What we’ll leave in our wake is anyone’s guess. However, from what Mark has said about Siamko and his henchmen, it can’t be any worse.
Mark stands watch at the window. We haven’t spoken much since leaving the train. I feel the need to question him some more, but I’m lost in my own dark thoughts and fears. My second sight was never one of premonition. And I’m seeing nothing but my memories. Memories of the good days with Harm, the bad days with Clay, and wondering how it all came to this. There’s no doubt in my mind that I’m in love with Clay; but I miss the warm feelings of friendship that I shared with Harm. Perhaps not romantic love anymore, but I’ll be shattered if something happens to either of them.
"Rabb will live through this, Sarah. He’s lived through Russia before."
But I was with him then. I watched his back. Will Alexi… of course he will. Clay pays him well; he protects his family in the United States. Besides, Alexi’s a good man. I don’t want to think about this any more. "Do you have a plan for afterwards?"
"Yes. You’ll forgive me for not sharing it with you. Webb still has his scruples. He’ll be honor bound…"
"He doesn’t betray his friends."
"I was never his friend, Sarah. He will honor his part of the bargain." Our part of the bargain is to witness his destruction of his enemies then go to Alana and get her to safety. He’s silent for a very long time and when he begins to speak again, I have to strain to hear him. "You know, you never had dinner with me. Someday, perhaps years from now, you’ll meet my Alana and we’ll talk and eat as friends."
I’m not sure if he’s saying this to make me feel better, or if he truly thinks he has a chance. I hope he does. "Will Alana come with us?"
"If you give her this." He holds out a small crucifix. It’s delicate, ancient and probably priceless. "She gave this to me the day before… before…" The words choke him. "I’m going to kill them Sarah. I don’t care what happens to me, but I will kill them."
I take the cross and study it. The filigree is a bit dented. I rub my finger over the back.
"Searching for a flaw? Where they might have hidden a homing device?" I jerk my head up at the bitterness in his voice. "We were out together. No one could’ve known what shops we entered. She didn’t even want to go inside. I picked it out. She thought I didn’t see her buy it." His sigh is gut wrenching. "Besides, I checked it myself."
"I’m sorry, Mark."
But instead of responding, he picks up the revolver that he’d placed on the nightstand. I hear the footfall next. I tense and pick up my own piece. The rap-tap-rap-rap signals that it’s Clay. Neither of us relaxes until he opens the door, and closes it behind him. He holds up a package. "There’s enough C-4 in here to take out half a block."
"Excellent." Mark puts down his gun. "And the detonators?"
Clay points to his jacket pocket. I shudder at the thought of him falling on them. He hasn’t had the best luck this trip. "I went by the building. We have a problem."
"What?"
"Alana’s inside. At least I assume it’s Alana. Tall, blond, her face…" he doesn’t continue, but from the torture that Mark describe to us, her face wouldn’t heal for a while, would never be the same without plastic surgery. "I saw her standing at a window on the second floor."
Mark groans and sinks to the bed, his head in his hands. "The plan’s off."
"No, it’s not." Clay insists.
"You think that I can walk in there and just blow them up, knowing that she’s upstairs?"
"Of course not. That’s why we’re going to get her out of there."
"How?"
He looks at me and sighs. "It’s a long shot, but it play’s into Lazarenko’s vanity." He pulls an envelope out of his pocket. He hands me the packet. "You’re not known to any of the mob are you?"
"Me!?" I gulp. "No. At least I don’t think so. Why?"
"You’ll pose as a reporter doing a story on Russia’s nightlife. You heard about Alana Petrova from a friend and want to get her story."
"Dressed like this!?"
He laughs softly. "That’s my Marine. Of course not. I got you a room at the Marco Polo. There are a couple of journalists staying there. The ZNN bureau chief’s an old friend. He’s making sure that there are appropriate clothes there for you."
Wait just a damn minute here, Clayton Webb. "You’ve only been gone two hours. How the hell did you set this up so quickly? You just call ZNN and they just fell all over themselves for you? You did this after you went to the mob’s building?"
He looks away. ""Good thing ZNN owes me a favor. The bureau chief called Lazarenko; it’s all set up for her to meet you there. Even if she has several bodyguards with her, it won’t matter; she’ll be away from the stronghold. How you handle it from there is up to you. Get her a message; tell her to be at the…" he looks to Mark to finish. I get the definite impression that I’ve been double-teamed here.
"Tell her you want to get some pictures in a nightclub. Give her the cross. For the sake of the bodyguards, she’ll tell you where to meet her – later. – Hopefully, she’ll lie to you. I’ll know the one."
"Where you first met?"
"God no. She’ll know."
"Okay. Now, Mark, perhaps you could give Clay and me a minute." I don’t make it a question, or even a request. Mark gives me a long look, then walks out of the room. I turn to Clay and fold my arms across my chest. But I can tell he’s ready for me. He meets my gaze with a steady one of his own. "I’m only going to ask this once, and it’s a make a make or break question, Clay."
He takes a deep breath, and I know he’s prepared to lie to me. "Okay, fire away."
"Are you lying to me?" The question isn’t the one he was expecting. And he almost pulls it off, but his shoulders slump and he puffs out a breath.
"About what?"
"About seeing her there? Damn it, Clay."
"Yes." He doesn’t say anything else for a moment. Not until he realizes I’ll just stand there until he gets it all out.
He begins to pace, which is a bit of an accomplishment, considering that the room’s so tiny. Finally, he stops in front of me. "One. It’s a good plan. We don’t know that she wouldn’t show up there for any reason. We don’t know that Lazarenko won’t want her there to rub it in Sokol’s face. This way, she’s out of the way."
"Lazarenko isn’t stupid, Clay. You don’t think he might not figure it out?"
"I hope not. But it’s a good plan." He repeats it with the same fierceness that Harm used to declare he loved me for the third time in less than an hour.
"Okay. It’s a good plan. Two?"
Oh yeah. Two is giving him pause, and I think he’s going to get cocky and say something like ‘There is no two.’ Or ‘See number one.’ Instead, he reaches out and takes me by the shoulders. "Two? There’s no reason for you to be there. I’m only going to cover his back. Once we see that all the players are in place, I’ll wait outside. He’ll go in, and he’ll either come out or he won’t. I won’t even know if he makes it out."
"And if they find the C-4 and he can’t blow them up?"
He closes his eyes and whispers, "If it goes past the deadline, or if I hear a shot, then I’ll blow it up myself."
"Two remotes?"
"Yes."
"You can do that?"
He opens his eyes. "Yes." Damn hormones. I burst into tears. I think he’s afraid to hold me, so I reach out for him. "Don’t cry, Sarah. God, please. You have to know what this is doing to me."
"I know." And I do. I lean back and his lips find mine. It’s as desperate and needy a kiss as I’ve ever given or received. We just cling to each other, and I feel his tears mingling with mine. I pull back. "Just come back to me, Clay."
"I’ll meet you at the Marco Polo. Don’t leave that room for anything."