World Without End (35 page)

Pasha's words came back to him: A fat, smelly animal named Misba raped me on the kitchen table while my father sat in a chair with a gun pointed at his head… Misha came back again. Not only did he fuck me again in front of my father, but when Misha was done, he placed my head on the wood stove, burning my ear off.

"Now it's your turn to go," Misha said.

The light from the water tank cast white water rings that glowed across the ceiling and walls. Below, a crying Renee was hauled out of the Aquarium.

You've got to stall him. Cole's going to have his hands full when he makes a run to get Renee Kaufmann.

"I want to make a deal," Conway said.

"You don't make deals. You do what you're told."

"I know how to operate the suit."

"So does Major Dick."

"I can hack my way past the security and get you inside the suit, show you how it works."

Misha was quiet, listening or thinking, Conway couldn't tell.

"You take me to where the suit is, I'll unlock all of it," Conway said.

"All you have to do is let Dixon and the girl go and take me as your prisoner instead. You take me in, I unlock the suit, and everyone walks away clean, win-win."

Misha fired a shot. The silenced round hit the floor.

"The next time it's your fucking kneecap," Misha said.

"Now move it."

"You know about the transponder, right?"

"The what?"

"The suit is equipped with a transponder," Conway said.

"The second the decryption code is entered, the transponder is automatically activated. We'll be able to track the location of that suit with the satellite."

"Can you shut it off?"

"Only if you bring Dixon and the girl to me."

With his other hand Misha reached inside his jacket and came out with a knife that looked like a miniature machete. Knife in hand, he put the gun away. His face was a dark red, his trembling body energized with adrenaline and anger, his muscles flexing, ready.

"I'm sick of dealing with you CIA fucks," Misha said. Spittle flew out of his mouth as he talked.

"Now you're going to give me exactly what I fucking want, right here, right fucking now or I'm going to take it out of you in chunks."

Conway had to draw him in. It was the only way to get the knife from Misha.

You hope. The guy is massive. And don't forget about the other cop on the stairs.

Cole's men should have been in here by now. What was taking them so long?

Misha lunged forward; Conway jumped back and hit the wall. The knife was less than a foot away from his face. Then Misha shifted the blade in his hand so the tip was pointed down toward the floor. Then he raised the knife and brought the blade down in a frightening arc.

That was his mistake. Conway's instinct and martial arts training took over. His rear foot slid out to the side, and as Misha's hand came down with the knife, Conway used the animal's momentum and brought the blade down so it missed him and instead sunk deep into Misha's knee.

Misha roared in pain, all of his attention focused on the blade that had pierced through the back of his leg. Quickly, Conway gripped the knife hard and twisted it and then yanked it up so it the blade sliced up through his leg, blood pouring all over his hands. Then he released his grip, raked his elbow up the length of Misha's arm and using all of his strength snapped the animal's head back.

Conway thought Misha would fall back. He didn't. His pumpkin-size head simply bounced back, his tolerance for pain amazing. Misha grabbed Conway with both of his meaty hands and lifted him into the air. Conway's arms came up from his sides, about to execute a move that would release him from the man's grip, when he felt the back of his calves hit the edge of the water tank. Jesus Christ, he's going to throw me into the tank. He was already over the edge, his back inside the cold water, it was too late, he was going to go under. Conway clutched Misha's meaty arm and yanked him along with him into the tank, they were underwater now, the world a blur of shadows and colorful shapes as they both sank toward the bottom of the aquarium.

Pasha Romanov had been shadowing Stephen since his arrival in Boston.

Two men, no doubt belonging to Misha, had been following him. Last night, at the wake, after Stephen had left, Pasha had watched one of these men walk inside the funeral home. When he came back out, she had tailed him until they reached the highway, when he must have sensed that he was being followed and shook her. She drove the van back to Stephen's hotel and had followed him this morning to the Aquarium. She didn't like the idea of Stephen going inside alone, so she went in after him.

The Aquarium was small, with not much room to hide. She walked around in the cool air searching for him, the brim of the blue Red Sox baseball cap pulled down low to cover her eyes. She wasn't worried about being spotted. She wore jeans and sneakers and a bulky winter coat packed with down; a polar fleece headband covered her ears, her eyes hidden behind sunglasses.

Where was he? He wasn't on the first floor. He couldn't have left; that much she knew. A moment later she saw a small, bloodied woman being hauled out the front door by a Boston cop. She was about to make her way up the winding ramp when she heard a woman scream.

Pasha turned and saw the horrified expression of a young mother scooping up her toddler into her arms, the boy still pointing at the glass aquarium tank where Stephen was trapped at the bottom, on his back, Misha straddling him but trying to break free of Stephen's grip.

A knife was stuck in Misha's knee; blood rose up through the water like clouds of red ink, rising past his clenched teeth and drifting up and past the group of sand sharks circling overhead.

The sharks had sensed the blood in the water and were swimming fast toward Misha and Stephen.

Pasha unzipped her coat and ran toward the tank. The young mother ran past her. The cool air became charged with adrenaline as other people screamed and ran for the exits. A handful of others remained frozen in place, too afraid or mesmerized to move. They stood around the large section of glass, their feet planted as they watched in wonder and mounting terror at the unbelievable spectacle that was about to unfold right in front of them.

"Holy shit, look!" a man yelled, backing up as he pointed at the glass.

The first shark sunk its teeth deep into Misha's arm and started twisting its powerful head side to side, its razor-sharp teeth ripping off a chunk of meat. A burst of blood formed a watery red cloud around Misha's face as he turned and tried to fend off the attack with his free hand, the second shark having already moved in for the kill and sunk its teeth into Misha's shoulder. Stephen lay on his back, sand swirling around him, his body wedged against the rocks and tank, trapped, the sharks feeding just a few feet above him.

Stephen will never make it to the surface. You've got to get him out now. Do it before security gets here.

"Get out of the way," Pasha said, knocking people down to get to the glass. She knelt down, just inches from Stephen. From behind the glass she saw Misha's muted, agonizing screams of pain and saw Stephen's wide, frightened eyes in the water.

Pasha pulled out her gun, holding up her Clock up so everyone could see it. Pandemonium broke out, everyone was fleeing toward the exits in a stampede, adults screaming, children crying. The glass was too thick; she couldn't shoot through it. Pasha bolstered her Glock and came back with Primacord and a charge. She had been carrying it with her for days in case she had to take down some of Misha's men in a hurry.

Moving quick, Pasha knelt down and worked the strip of Primacord in a straight line along the bottom of the glass, making an X. Stephen's face was pressed against the glass. He turned and with wide, frightened eyes looked at her. Did he recognize her? Pasha moved her face close to the glass, hoping he could make out her blurred face.

"You, back away, now!" a man yelled behind her. She looked over her shoulder and saw a Boston policeman. The accent was Russian. One of Misha She turned her attention back to the tank.

Footsteps rushed toward her.

Hurry up and get it done. Pasha finished shaping the explosives. She placed the charge against the glass, entered 10 seconds into the timer.

The other two sharks had descended on Misha's body and were tearing him apart in bursts of bright pink clouds. A sickening crunch of bone as one shark snapped its powerful jaw on Misha's head. Conway's face was turning red from lack of oxygen. The sharks were feeding less than a foot away from him.

Angry, powerful hands descended on her, lifting her up. Pasha didn't fight it; she let the two guards pick her up, wanting them to think they could handle a woman. She surrendered herself, letting her body go lax, and when she felt their grip loosen, she raked her elbow against the nose of one of the guards, shattering it. When the man let go of his grip, Pasha planted her feet, turned and used a side-kick to blow out the second man's knee. His body crumbled forward, and Pasha finished him off with a kick to the groin and then a roundhouse to the stomach, sending him flying backward across the floor.

Pasha ran back to the charge and hit the button for the timer.

You can't stay. You've got to get out now, before the real police come.

Pasha ran past the groaning, bleeding men and headed for the door. A tall guy with a shaved head seemed to be coming for her. She tucked in her body, threw her shoulder into him and sent the guy flying against the wall. Pasha ran out the door and sprinted through the cold, November sunshine, the piercing wail of police sirens close. A Boston police cruiser, its lights flashing and its siren wailing, came to a screeching halt along with a van near the Aquarium entrance. Pasha ran in the opposite direction.

Stephen will survive this. He'll be fine. Jail will keep him safe.

She kept telling herself this as she fled through the traffic-packed streets of Boston, her mind forming a plan to strike deep into Raymond Bouchard's poisoned heart.

Conway needed air. He looked up and in a blurred mess of red saw what remained of Misha's carcass being torn apart by the sharks only a few feet above. He had to make a break for the surface, but there was no way to get to the top of the tank without being attacked. Deep in the water and needing oxygen, his frightened mind pieced together words from one of those Discovery Channel shows on shark attacks: They're afraid of humans. Don't start thrashing about in the water, they'll think you're a wounded harp seal and descend on you. If a shark attacks, hit it in the nose.

He pushed himself off the floor and had started to swim up when he saw a bright flash followed by a rumble of thunder rock against the pebbled bottom of the Aquarium tank. Conway turned his head, looked down and saw what looked like… it looked like a hole had been blown through the glass.

Conway was being pulled. Then, it was like being caught in an undertow, and the next sensation he had was of being spit through the hole in the glass in a rush of water.

He hit the Aquarium's hard floor, tumbled and rolled, and then his body stopped moving. He lay on his stomach, gasping for air. He pushed himself up onto his knees and looked up.

The explosion had cut a large hole inside the glass; sharks and fish and Misha's body parts poured out onto the floor in a rush of water, the tank draining fast. Fish flopped about on the floor. People were screaming.

Gunshots.

Conway turned and saw a young, bald muscle-head holding a gun; the man had just shot two Boston cops who had their guns drawn. Two cops lay against the floor, covered in water and blood. The one near Conway had a shattered kneecap and a broken nose. It was the Russian Conway had seen earlier, the one who had been with Misha at the top of the stairs.

The bald guy ran to Conway.

"They're not real cops. They're from Misha's gang," he said.

All Conway could do was gasp for air. He took the man's hand when he heard another gunshot. The bald guy crumpled to his knees and fell against Conway, and they were both knocked to the ground. The bald man lay on top of Conway. Blue-uniformed Boston patrolmen, their guns drawn, were running this way.

"Bouchard's dirty," the bald guy said. Blood was rushing from the gunshot in his stomach.

"He's setting you up. Stay away from him and his partner, Cole. You can't trust them."

And then pairs of rough hands descended on Conway like lobster claws.

Angel Eyes's men, they're about to grab you.

Fight it.

Conway tried and couldn't. His strength was gone.

"Stephen, we're on your team," one of the cops said against Con-way's ear. A towel was thrown over his face.

"Keep that towel draped over your head," someone said.

"Hold it in place. We don't want the security cameras to see you."

"Get him outside," another man said.

"I'll see if I can grab the security tapes and meet up with you at the rendezvous point."

"Hurry up, the Boston police are on their way."

Conway was pulled up to his feet. The towel held over his face and his body hunched forward, he was escorted out of the Aquarium, the men holding him shouting, "Boston police, out of the way, get out of the way!" Through the gap in the towel he saw the back door of a black van open. Conway was tossed inside. Two men stepped inside with him and slammed the back door shut. The van lurched forward in a screech of tires, Conway lying on his stomach against the cold floor, sucking in air, his eyes closed and thinking of Pasha. It was her face he had seen against the glass, he was sure of it. Pasha had placed the explosives and had saved his life. Again.

The towel still draped around his head, Conway pushed himself up onto his hands and knees and tried to gulp in air between coughs. His face was hot and his lungs burned, his temples pounding so hard that it felt as if the veins were going to burst inside his head. The memory of what had happened inside the shark tank just moments ago still trembled inside his skin. He could still feel that choking sensation of the cold water rushing down his throat, Misha above him, his screams garbled as he was torn apart.