Part 9
Atyrau, Kazakhstan
Wednesday, January 28
Just after midnight
I’m glad he’s alive. I don’t think I could’ve dealt with the fact that Clayton Webb died saving my brother’s life. But I really wish it were just he and I in the car speeding after Mark Sokol. I don’t think either of us had the stones to suggest that Mac stay and liaison with Alex Volkonov. What does surprise me is that Webb and Alexi are sitting in the front, leaving me in back with Mac. Of course, after our conversation on the way to the warehouse, I think Webb got the better deal. Mac sits rigid beside me, straining to see through the windshield. It’s practically whiteout conditions, and Alexi’s hands grip the wheel so tightly that his knuckles stand out in stark relief.
I can’t stand the silence in the car. "How can we be sure that this is the road he took?"
Webb doesn’t answer. Alexi, after a quick turn of his head to look at Webb, does the honors. "It’s the only open road to Samara."
"This is the only road!?"
Webb sighs, or maybe it’s a groan. "The only road that isn’t heavily guarded." He moves in his seat, but doesn’t turn around. "Just lean back and get some sleep."
"I can spell at the driving."
"Oh yeah?" He snorts, but still doesn’t turn his head. "Adrenaline still pumping in the veins? Or are you really superman, and your chest doesn’t hurt like a son-of-a-bitch?"
"I’ll manage." I grit it out between my teeth. He’s right, though. I’ve been trying to ignore the pain in my chest. Frankly, I’m glad I’m sitting up. Once I lie down, I know it will be a bitch to get back up.
"I’m fine, boss," Alexi says. "You should get some sleep."
"I have a man in Samara." I’m hearing something in Webb’s voice. Seeing something in the way he’s moving. But Mac beats me to it.
Leaning forward, she drops all the venom from her voice and softly asks, "What’s wrong?"
"Nothing, Sarah. I’m fine."
"Damn it, Clay!" She reaches out, and I think she’s going to run her fingers through his hair. She does touch him, but it’s a more examining than caressing gesture.
He jerks away. "Don’t."
"What happened?" she insists. I feel like a voyeur. Come to think of it, once I got up off the floor there in the warehouse, she didn’t bother to ask how I was.
Alexi groans. "It’s my fault, pretty Colonel."
"Tell me."
"I hit him on the head. I was hiding in the garage at the dacha."
"You were trying to steal the General’s car," Webb says dryly.
"And it’s a good thing I did, boss."
"This is General Dosivitch’s car?" I finally realize how nice our ride is.
"All part of the deal."
"How badly are you hurt?" Mac gets back to the touchy-feely girl stuff that the guys would just as soon ignore.
"I’m walking, aren’t I?" he snaps. Damn, he must be in pain.
"Turn your head around."
"Go to sleep, Sarah."
"Your neck is stiff, isn’t it? Did a doctor look at it?"
"Yeah. Doctor Alexi." He jerks away, but even I can hear the gasp of pain.
"Goddamn macho men," Mac mutters even as she’s twisting around for the small backpack she added to her gear before leaving. "Have to play hurt. God forbid you should think about taking care of yourself."
I’ve been on the receiving end of MomMac mode. It’s not one of her more endearing qualities. She pulls out a small vial and a bottle of water. Leaning forward, she hands him two pills that seem to glow green in the dashboard lights. "Take these. Here’s some water, but don’t drink it all. Is there more water in the car?"
Webb sighs again, but takes the pills. "There’s water and something to eat in the trunk. Alexi took care of it."
"Smoked salmon, cheese and bread. Also good vodka. Just for warmth, you understand."
"God forbid you should’ve brought coffee!" Mac turns to me. "Here." She hands me two of the pills and the water.
"What are they?" I eye the pills carefully. I hate taking pills. Pain is our friend, and all that.
"Aspirin, Harm. Just aspirin." The disgust is heavy in her voice. She takes back the water, and pours some on a cloth. She leans forward. "Don’t jerk, Clay. I want to check it out."
How she managed to see the wound in the dark is beyond me. But she carefully examines the back of Webb’s head. I can see the muscles in his neck flex in pain, but he sits perfectly still. I swear he whimpers, though.
"Sorry," she whispers. She daubs at the wound. "There’s a little blood. You know the symptoms of a concussion?"
"I’ve been watching him," Alexi says in a mournful voice. "He wouldn’t let me touch him. I offered to check him out."
"There was no time. We had to interrogate Dosivitch, and figure out what was going on."
"You want to fill me in on exactly what happened after I flew out of there?" I ask.
Instead of answering me, he asks, "How’s Sergei?"
"He’ll live, because of you." Damn him. I owe him too much. What he said years ago really does come into play now. I’ll owe him into the next millennium.
"The Navy taking care of him?"
"Yeah, I… I used your name… said he was a…"
"He is. It’s on file. There should be no problems there. What about his fiancé?"
I’m not sure if he really does care, or if he’s stalling for time. "He was able to give me her number. I told her to go to the embassy. I’m still not sure that they won’t figure out Sergei’s part in this. I called them, and I used your name again."
"For once you were thinking." He hisses as she hits a particularly tender spot.
Rather than rise to the bait, I ask Alexi, "How far ahead is Sokol? Can we reach him?"
Alexi looks over at Webb, who must give him a signal that I don’t see. "If General Dosivitch isn’t lying, then Major Sokol will go directly to Moscow and Dmitri Lazarenko, who’s tried of being number two. I’ve met Lazarenko, and would not put it past him to test the strength of the gas on Ivan Siamko."
"Isn’t he the man who put the hit on the new president of Dagestan last year?" Mac says.
"Yes, and if it were not for our friend Webb here, he would have succeeded."
"You were there?" Mac whispers.
"Why, Sarah? You think you and Rabb are the only ones who can stop a plot against a Russian president?" I can almost hear the sneer in his voice, but he’s too tired to carry it off. Mac doesn’t call him on it either. All she does is squeeze his shoulder. A stab of pain that has nothing to do with the muscles in my chest rips through me when he reaches up and takes that hand in his. I’m suddenly very hot and uncomfortable. We were in such a hurry that Mac and I didn’t bother taking off our protective gear.
"What are our chances in catching up to Mark, Clay?" Mac asks.
"Well, I’m hoping that he takes the train from Samara. If he does that, we have a real chance. The forecast is for the snow to get heavier."
It finally occurs to me that he had to be in contact with someone. But how long ago? "You’ve been in contact with the CIA?"
"No. Actually, Alexi and I have done this on our own. Alexi led the diversion at the dacha, and got separated from his men. Once I woke up, they’d cleared out and we had to decide whether to try and hide in the garage another night and escape in one of the cars – our chances of being found were high. Or, we could take the offense."
Mac rests her head on the back of Webb’s seat. "That’s my spook, always offensive." I swear, I don’t think she even remembers I’m in the car.
"Cute, Sarah."
What’s up with this? Sarah? Her name is Mac. That’s what she wants. I may get sick. Is this what she really wants? The goddamn rules are changing too fast. In fact, I’m beginning to think I’m not even playing the same game. She’s my best friend. I thought we could build a relationship on that. We have fun together. We still have things to say at dinner. Why is she treating him like that and ignoring me?
"You gonna get the story out or not!?" I know I sound petulant. Tough. Mac finally turns around, and I expect to see anger in her eyes, but the meager green light reflects concern and embarrassment. She sits back, pulling her hand free, and sighs. I feel like a heel.
I happen to look up and see him glaring at me in the windshield. The snow reflects little of the headlights, and the windshield acts as a perfect mirror. I glare right back. This is between him and me. We’ll see who wins.
"What happened, Clay?" Mac makes a little noise that sounds like a snort. "From the beginning, please."
"Okay. After the jet took off, I made my way to the garage. I was dressed in a flight suit, so I can only assume that Alexi thought I was one of the guards. He gets a little confused when it comes to battle dress." This is the old Webb, dry and sneering. However, Alexi just grunts. I would swear there’s real affection between the two men. "Thank goodness his aim was off enough that it was a glancing blow."
"He drew blood." Mac’s muttered comment hangs there for a moment, and Alexi’s shoulders slump a bit.
"Regardless, he pulled me to safety, and we hid while several of the General’s men ran in and checked for us. While I regained my senses, and my eyesight returned to normal…"
"Ah, boss," Alexi groans.
"Sorry, my friend." Webb sounds sincere. "We decided that it was just too dangerous to steal a car and get out of there. So, we pulled the old ‘gee, look who I captured’ shtick."
Alexi straightens in the seat. "Worked very well. The General’s guards were more concerned with finding the men who came with me. There were only three left at the dacha, and they believed Webb when he told them that the attackers killed the helicopter pilot and his helper. They had no idea that it was you and Sergei Zhukov who took off in that jet."
Webb takes up the story again. "We were brought inside, and it was just the General and one bodyguard. I took out the bodyguard, and Dosivitch and I had a long talk. He really didn’t want to be involved with the mob, but he feared for his daughter’s life if he refused. Lazarenko had already suggested that he would hurt her if the General didn’t cooperate. He told me where the gas was being stored. He also guaranteed that Alexi and I would be able to get out of the compound without being stopped, if I made sure he and his daughter were safe from Lazarenko and Siamko."
"You’re going to kill them." Mac says it softly, but the accusation is heavy in her voice. Of all the dirty things that Webb’s done in his life, I doubt seriously that this would even rate a blip on the radar. There are no good guys in the Russian mob.
"Yes, I’m going to kill them, or at least have them killed." I’ll give him credit; he makes no apologies. However, I know it’s a nail in the coffin of their relationship. Mac is a straight shooter. She won’t be able to stomach that part of his job.
"Why didn’t you call us?" I barely hear the question. Webb shouldn’t be able to, but he does.
"I couldn’t."
"Why not," I demand. "You had the satellite phone. You called in a couple of times."
"You called me when you were in Volgograd," Mac adds.
"You did!?" She doesn’t even blush. She’s staring at his reflection in the windshield.
Alexi clears his throat. "He couldn’t, because it broke. He fell on it when I hit him." His hand leaves the wheel for a minute, and he reaches into the pocket of his pea coat. Pulling out a broken phone, he hands it back to her before returning his full attention to the road. "We will be there in five hours. You should all sleep."
But I have to press. I have to know. "Webb, do you even have a plan?"
For the first time since I thought for sure we were both going to die in the warehouse, Mac touches me. I look down at her hand, and then up into her shadowed features. I don’t know what it means. Is she reassuring me? Or is she begging me to lighten up. Well, it’s our lives here – our future.
"A couple of them, if you must know, Rabb. It’ll depend on whether he’s a complete idiot and drives through to Moscow – it’s over six hundred miles. Or, if he gets on the train tomorrow morning."
"Can we make it, Clay?"
"I hope so, Sarah."
Suddenly the anger, excitement, the pain in my chest, get to me. I find I’m nodding off, even in the uncomfortable gear. The last thing I remember hearing is a whispered, "I’m sorry, Sarah."
Samara, Russia
Wednesday, January 28
0800 Hours
Pain: sharp, deep, the kind that you think will never go away, wakes me. That and the intense need to relieve myself, has me completely awake. I try not to move suddenly. I open my eyes to the gray dawn. It’s still snowing. There’s a weight on my shoulder, and I look down to find Mac sound asleep there. It feels good. I look up. Webb’s sitting rigid in his seat. I’m not sure if he’s asleep. Finally, I realize that we’re stopped, and Alexi isn’t in the driver’s seat.
"You awake?" Webb’s voice sounds harsh, as if he’s in as much pain as I am. Mac jerks up. I’m not even sure she realizes where she slept, or for how long.
"Where are we?" There’s a hint of panic in her voice, but she sounds better than Webb sounds or I feel.
"At the train station in Samara. Alexi’s checking with our contact."
I don’t know why I didn’t think of this last night, but I finally ask, "You trust Alexi?"
"Yes."
"Why? You think the Russian mob won’t outbid you?"
"I think that as long as his sister and mother are enjoying the comforts of South Beach in Miami, he’s more than happy to work for me."
"Jesus, Webb, how do you sleep at all?" I’m surprised by his reaction. He actually laughs. Mac leans forward, almost off the seat, and kisses him on the cheek. Well, I guess that tells me.
"How do you feel?" she asks.
Webb doesn’t answer, but I say, "Like five miles of bad road, but thank you for asking."
She looks back at me, and there are tears in her eyes. "I know you’re hurting, Harm. I’m sorry if my head on your shoulder added to your discomfort." Oh man, when did she get so good at this? She’s the mistress of the long meaningful looks. Well, not this time, sweetheart.
I push open the door, and force myself to get out of the car. Jesus H. Christ! The wind is bitter cold, and my chest feels like there really is a bullet in it. I rip open the coat, and stumble to the wall looming up next to the car. All around us is brick and metal buildings. At least we’re sheltered from the wind. If I couldn’t hear the sounds of the train station so close by, I’d swear we were in an industrial park back home.
I fumble with my zipper. If my bladder didn’t ache nearly as much as my chest, I’d fear for my cock. I’m almost surprised that the stream of urine doesn’t freeze into a giant yellow icicle. But I don’t contemplate it for long. I shove my cock back inside, and zip up. God Damn!
Mac opens the door to the car and leans out. "Get back in here. You’ll freeze to death."
She’s probably right, but it feels good to breath in reasonably fresh air. The air in the car had been stale, and it was obvious that Dosivitch loved a good cigar. Instead, I decide to pull off the bulletproof vest. I just know that if the bullet’s no longer pressing against my chest, I’ll feel better. I’ve got long underwear and a sweater on underneath the jacket. In fact, I was sweating bullets when I woke up earlier. She glares at me and slams the door. Fine.
Of course, I’m an idiot. I can feel the snot freezing in my nose. I pull out the containment gloves and put them on, but I know I need to get back into the car. Just as I reach for the handle, Alexi comes hurrying back, carrying a suitcase that looks like it had been old in the Second World War. "Morning, boss!" I swear, the man drove all night, and he doesn’t look any the worse for wear.
"What did you find out?" Not that I expected him to tell me, but it gives me an excuse to get warm again.
After we’re situated, he tells Webb, "I spoke with Ulas."
"Did you pay him?" Webb snaps. He ignores Alexi’s hurt look.
"Of course. He thanks you, as does his wife."
"Nadia was with him?" Webb looks slightly embarrassed and relieved. Relieved that he sent Alexi and stayed in the car. I wonder if there was something between him and this Nadia. I glance at Mac, but she has her game face on. She’s looking only at Alexi.
"Yes. She looks much better now. The medicine you sent earlier seems to have done the trick."
"You really know how to buy loyalty, don’t you, Webb?" Jesus. What the hell is the matter with me? I’m not helping my case with Mac, no matter where she put her head last night. This isn’t me. Shit, I feel like I’m channeling Loren Singer. I’ve got to stop this. "Sorry." I know it doesn’t really matter to Webb, but it makes me feel better.
"You’re right." Webb twists his head to face me, and I can see the sweat pop out on his forehead at the effort. Poor bastard must be in agony. "You do what you have to do. Money is fine, but if their very lives depend on you, you have instant loyalty." As cold as his response is, it still makes me look the fool.
Mac just sighs. "What about Mark?"
Alexi continues. "Ulas said a car and a man looking like Major Sokol arrived this morning. His house is on the main road. He watched all night long."
"Hey!" I can’t help it. I have to ask. "If your phone was broken, how did you get through to have this Ulas guy checking for Sokol?"
Webb looks at me pityingly. "They do have phones in Russia. Unfortunately, any international calls are likely to be screened. Alexi phoned his brother-in-law from the General’s house." Before I can make another cutting remark, Mac grips my hand so hard it almost hurts, even through the glove. Webb grimaces but turns back to Alexi. "So? Did he or didn’t he?"
"Ulas followed him. He saw Sokol and one other man get in the front, first class car. Sokol was carrying a very large, metal case."
Webb nods. "Yes, that’s what the canisters would have been in originally. Bastard! He’s taking a helleva chance."
"I bought tickets for us in second class. We will have the compartment to ourselves. I’ll get the food and drink?" Alexi looks nervously back at Mac. "The washrooms are fairly clean. I can go with Commander Rabb. You will be okay by yourself?" He points to the tattered case resting on the seat next to him. "Ulas and Nadia were able to give me clothes for you so that you don’t look so conspicuous."
Mac releases my hand and puts hers on Alexi’s arm. "That was very smart of you to think of that. Thank you." Alexi blushes a bright red.
"We have to be careful. If Sokol sees us, I don’t know what he’ll do," Webb says.
"Mark won’t do anything that will put all those people in danger."
Webb, ignoring the pain he’s obviously in, twists around. "Listen up, COLONEL MacKenzie. MAJOR Sokol is officially the enemy. If you can’t deal with that, you can stay here. Rabb and I will handle it." His voice and face is that of a stone cold killer, and I realize that if she can deal with that, then I don’t have a chance.