part of, almost always to pay off old debts and favors.”
“And now he’s after the killer of this woman,” the President reminded them, “not the reserves of the Atragon.”
“His only route to the former is to follow the trail of the latter, and he can accomplish it infinitely better than any team we could dispatch in his place.” Sundowner hesitated long enough for his words to sink in. “Either he’ll find the crystals or he’ll follow a path straight to the force that doesn’t want us to get them—the force controlling the ray. We win either way.”
“Nobody wins with McCracken,” said Mercheson. “Except McCracken.”
“I don’t see what we have to lose by the attempt in this case,” concluded the President, “or that we have much choice. McCracken is going out there anyway, and he’s the only one Earnst pointed in the right direction. He’s not working for us, so there’s no culpability on our part for his actions. He was straight with us, and Ryan was straight with him. So as far as we know, Blaine McCracken doesn’t exist anymore.”
“For now,” said Stamp.
Sergei Chernopolov, General Secretary of the Soviet Union, held the receiver tighter against his ear.
“There has been a change in plans, Tomachenko,” he informed the person on the other end. “An American agent has entered the picture. Bangkok must be put on hold until he can be dealt with properly.”
“Who is this agent?”
“Blaine—”
“McCracken,” completed Tomachenko.
“You know of him then.”
“I’ve heard of him.”
“Is he as good as they say, good enough to make inroads and gains?”
“It is possible.”
“Likely?”
“Hard to say under the circumstances.”
Chernopolov nodded to himself. “Then you know what you must do. McCracken is priority one. Take any steps you feel are necessary. Forget accountability. You report only to me.” He paused. “If you are successful, the slate will be wiped clean. You know what that means.”
“Yes,” was all Tomachenko replied.
Another assignment, another mission, and another success because it had to be. So much was riding on it. More than ever.
Strange how being a woman helped her so. Men underestimated her skills, perhaps hesitated in response to something as infantile as chivalry, or allowed a pleasing body or teasing smile to distract them. A nearly exposed set of breasts could make a finer weapon than any when wielded properly. And the woman used hers as she used whatever else was called for in the completion of her missions.
Her name was Natalya Illyevich Tomachenko. And she was the number one assassin for the KGB.
Chapter 9
THE TOWN OF PAMOSA Springs lies at the foot of the San Juan Mountains as they wind their way through southwestern Colorado. The town’s population, barely 700, is tucked into one of the gulleys between foothills that are dwarfed by the San Juans themselves. It’s pretty easy to feel small with mountains stretching nearly three miles high on either side of you, but the people of Pamosa Springs don’t look at it that way. Nor do they concern themselves with the fact that beyond a third side of town lies nothing but dry lands and open country all the way to Silverton. The only access road juts off Route 149; its only destination is Pamosa Springs. Being cut off from civilization on three sides makes for a solitude the residents call security.
The commercial center of Pamosa Springs, meanwhile, is barely a center at all. Just one main road with several buildings on each side, built for a time when the town was growing, and struggling for survival now that it wasn’t. A restaurant and a bar owned by Hal Taggart sat on either side of a seventy-seat movie house. There was a general store which took care of most essentials, and a mini-mart attached to the two-pump gas station that took care of the rest. The bank doubled as a post office, and the municipal building included the jail, mayor’s office, and no more. A small
“And now he’s after the killer of this woman,” the President reminded them, “not the reserves of the Atragon.”
“His only route to the former is to follow the trail of the latter, and he can accomplish it infinitely better than any team we could dispatch in his place.” Sundowner hesitated long enough for his words to sink in. “Either he’ll find the crystals or he’ll follow a path straight to the force that doesn’t want us to get them—the force controlling the ray. We win either way.”
“Nobody wins with McCracken,” said Mercheson. “Except McCracken.”
“I don’t see what we have to lose by the attempt in this case,” concluded the President, “or that we have much choice. McCracken is going out there anyway, and he’s the only one Earnst pointed in the right direction. He’s not working for us, so there’s no culpability on our part for his actions. He was straight with us, and Ryan was straight with him. So as far as we know, Blaine McCracken doesn’t exist anymore.”
“For now,” said Stamp.
Sergei Chernopolov, General Secretary of the Soviet Union, held the receiver tighter against his ear.
“There has been a change in plans, Tomachenko,” he informed the person on the other end. “An American agent has entered the picture. Bangkok must be put on hold until he can be dealt with properly.”
“Who is this agent?”
“Blaine—”
“McCracken,” completed Tomachenko.
“You know of him then.”
“I’ve heard of him.”
“Is he as good as they say, good enough to make inroads and gains?”
“It is possible.”
“Likely?”
“Hard to say under the circumstances.”
Chernopolov nodded to himself. “Then you know what you must do. McCracken is priority one. Take any steps you feel are necessary. Forget accountability. You report only to me.” He paused. “If you are successful, the slate will be wiped clean. You know what that means.”
“Yes,” was all Tomachenko replied.
Another assignment, another mission, and another success because it had to be. So much was riding on it. More than ever.
Strange how being a woman helped her so. Men underestimated her skills, perhaps hesitated in response to something as infantile as chivalry, or allowed a pleasing body or teasing smile to distract them. A nearly exposed set of breasts could make a finer weapon than any when wielded properly. And the woman used hers as she used whatever else was called for in the completion of her missions.
Her name was Natalya Illyevich Tomachenko. And she was the number one assassin for the KGB.
Chapter 9
THE TOWN OF PAMOSA Springs lies at the foot of the San Juan Mountains as they wind their way through southwestern Colorado. The town’s population, barely 700, is tucked into one of the gulleys between foothills that are dwarfed by the San Juans themselves. It’s pretty easy to feel small with mountains stretching nearly three miles high on either side of you, but the people of Pamosa Springs don’t look at it that way. Nor do they concern themselves with the fact that beyond a third side of town lies nothing but dry lands and open country all the way to Silverton. The only access road juts off Route 149; its only destination is Pamosa Springs. Being cut off from civilization on three sides makes for a solitude the residents call security.
The commercial center of Pamosa Springs, meanwhile, is barely a center at all. Just one main road with several buildings on each side, built for a time when the town was growing, and struggling for survival now that it wasn’t. A restaurant and a bar owned by Hal Taggart sat on either side of a seventy-seat movie house. There was a general store which took care of most essentials, and a mini-mart attached to the two-pump gas station that took care of the rest. The bank doubled as a post office, and the municipal building included the jail, mayor’s office, and no more. A small
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