the Range Rover, he said to Salinger, “Follow Dixon. But keep your distance.”
“Who the hell is this Russkie?” said Salinger, dropping in three cars behind the Kawasaki.
“I don’t know. But whoever he is, he’s damned important. You should have seen the way everyone in the airport was scrambling to do what he told them.”
“So why’s he with our CIA guy?”
“Because life is never easy.” Rodriguez unwrapped a new piece of gum and shoved it in his mouth.
They followed Dixon out of the airport and onto the hopeless excuse for a road that passed as a highway in Kaliningrad.
“Shit,” he said as the Mercedes turned away from the city, toward the northwest. “The sonofabitch is taking them to the shipyard.”
Beside him, Salinger grunted. “Maybe we’ll get lucky andthey’ll trip the booby trap on the U-boat and blow themselves to hell.”
“What part of ‘life is never easy’ did you miss?”
“You never know; we might get lucky.”
Rodriguez laughed. “We might.” He checked his watch, figured out the time difference in Washington, then put in a call to Boyd anyway.
“What is it?” said the General. His voice was low and icy, but he sounded instantly awake.
“Things are not going as well as we’d expected. The representative from Washington arrived in Kaliningrad this morning.”
“I thought someone was dealing with this guy in Berlin.”
“We haven’t been able to contact our man in Berlin to ascertain exactly what went wrong. It’s not a problem; we’ll deal with him here. There’s just one detail that requires clarification.”
“Yes?”
“The representative from Washington has joined up with another individual who flew in from Copenhagen. A woman. You didn’t tell us about her.”
“I didn’t know about her.”
“Her name is October Guinness,” said Rodriguez. The information had been easily obtained from the sulky, green-eyed woman with spiked hair and well-developed capitalistic instincts who worked behind the Scandinavian Airlines counter. In the New Russia, anything and everything was for sale.
“I’ll see what I can find out about her,” said Boyd. “Where are these individuals now?”
“They were picked up by a Russian escort. An official Russian escort. We’re following them.”
“I want this guy taken care of by nightfall. Even if you have to take out a few Russians to do it.”
“Understood,” said Rodriguez, closing his phone with a snap.
Salinger threw him a quick glance. “We really going to kill the Russians?”
“Those guys? Not if I can help it. But if we have to…” Rodriquez clipped his phone onto his belt and shrugged. “People don’t disappoint Boyd and live.”
Washington, D.C.
General Boyd pushed up from the edge of his bed at the Willard Intercontinental Hotel and went to pour himself a drink. He stood for a moment, his gaze on the dark and quiet streets of the city spread out below. Then he reached for his phone and punched in a number.
It rang four times before a colonel named Sam Lee picked it up, his voice slurred by sleep and confusion. “Hello?”
“Lee? Boyd here. I need you to do something for me.”
20
Jax noticed the Kawasaki behind them as they were pulling out of the airport. It might not mean anything—after all, there weren’t that many roads in Kaliningrad, and the rider wasn’t exactly being careful about keeping close to them. Then again, he could be part of Andrei’s escort. Chase riders were no longer as necessary in Russia as they had been in the wild, lawless days after the breakup of the Soviet Union, but they were still common. Jax noticed Andrei casting one or two glances behind, before looking away.
They drove through thick, desolate pine forests interspersed with flat empty fields that lay dark and sodden beneath the leaden sky. Turning sideways in the passenger seat, Andrei shook a cigarette out of his pack and said, “So where exactly did you learn your Russian, Ensign?”
Jax
“Who the hell is this Russkie?” said Salinger, dropping in three cars behind the Kawasaki.
“I don’t know. But whoever he is, he’s damned important. You should have seen the way everyone in the airport was scrambling to do what he told them.”
“So why’s he with our CIA guy?”
“Because life is never easy.” Rodriguez unwrapped a new piece of gum and shoved it in his mouth.
They followed Dixon out of the airport and onto the hopeless excuse for a road that passed as a highway in Kaliningrad.
“Shit,” he said as the Mercedes turned away from the city, toward the northwest. “The sonofabitch is taking them to the shipyard.”
Beside him, Salinger grunted. “Maybe we’ll get lucky andthey’ll trip the booby trap on the U-boat and blow themselves to hell.”
“What part of ‘life is never easy’ did you miss?”
“You never know; we might get lucky.”
Rodriguez laughed. “We might.” He checked his watch, figured out the time difference in Washington, then put in a call to Boyd anyway.
“What is it?” said the General. His voice was low and icy, but he sounded instantly awake.
“Things are not going as well as we’d expected. The representative from Washington arrived in Kaliningrad this morning.”
“I thought someone was dealing with this guy in Berlin.”
“We haven’t been able to contact our man in Berlin to ascertain exactly what went wrong. It’s not a problem; we’ll deal with him here. There’s just one detail that requires clarification.”
“Yes?”
“The representative from Washington has joined up with another individual who flew in from Copenhagen. A woman. You didn’t tell us about her.”
“I didn’t know about her.”
“Her name is October Guinness,” said Rodriguez. The information had been easily obtained from the sulky, green-eyed woman with spiked hair and well-developed capitalistic instincts who worked behind the Scandinavian Airlines counter. In the New Russia, anything and everything was for sale.
“I’ll see what I can find out about her,” said Boyd. “Where are these individuals now?”
“They were picked up by a Russian escort. An official Russian escort. We’re following them.”
“I want this guy taken care of by nightfall. Even if you have to take out a few Russians to do it.”
“Understood,” said Rodriguez, closing his phone with a snap.
Salinger threw him a quick glance. “We really going to kill the Russians?”
“Those guys? Not if I can help it. But if we have to…” Rodriquez clipped his phone onto his belt and shrugged. “People don’t disappoint Boyd and live.”
Washington, D.C.
General Boyd pushed up from the edge of his bed at the Willard Intercontinental Hotel and went to pour himself a drink. He stood for a moment, his gaze on the dark and quiet streets of the city spread out below. Then he reached for his phone and punched in a number.
It rang four times before a colonel named Sam Lee picked it up, his voice slurred by sleep and confusion. “Hello?”
“Lee? Boyd here. I need you to do something for me.”
20
Jax noticed the Kawasaki behind them as they were pulling out of the airport. It might not mean anything—after all, there weren’t that many roads in Kaliningrad, and the rider wasn’t exactly being careful about keeping close to them. Then again, he could be part of Andrei’s escort. Chase riders were no longer as necessary in Russia as they had been in the wild, lawless days after the breakup of the Soviet Union, but they were still common. Jax noticed Andrei casting one or two glances behind, before looking away.
They drove through thick, desolate pine forests interspersed with flat empty fields that lay dark and sodden beneath the leaden sky. Turning sideways in the passenger seat, Andrei shook a cigarette out of his pack and said, “So where exactly did you learn your Russian, Ensign?”
Jax
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