Carpathian (17 page)

The boy didn’t flinch as he took a cautious step toward Mica, which elicited a threatening point of the colonel’s weapon at the twelve-year-old. Major Sorotzkin shook her head at the boy.

“No, no, le arance per la American man.”
Mica explained that the oranges should go to the American who bought them.

The boy held eye contact with the major for a split second longer than was necessary. The boy then turned toward Everett. His eyes saw the blood on the man’s face and where it had dribbled down into the collar of his blue shirt where it stained a dark maroon in color. It didn’t seem to faze the boy as he took two steps toward the man. Everett felt the gun leave his back and knew his guard was going to shoot the boy.

“Hey, hey, my oranges, I thought you ripped this poor tourist off, kid,” Carl said, hoping to defuse the situation, at least where the kid’s safety was concerned. He felt the gun lower somewhat as Everett reached for the small bag of oranges. As he reached he saw the sparkle in the twelve-year-old’s eyes and then the small smile that only the captain saw.

As soon as Everett’s large hand closed on the plastic bag he felt the cold steel of something the child was hiding behind that bag. This was no ordinary child vendor. His eyes momentarily flitted over to Mica and he knew that the weapon had been purposely introduced into the store by the boy for express use by Mica. The street hawker was a plant, guard, and lookout, whatever the euphemism was these days for kids used by spies in their operations. As he saw the colonel and Mica looking at him he realized that the Mossad major had a look in her eyes that could only be related to excitement. He saw her slowly lick her red lips: this woman was watching and waiting for something that she was used to—extreme violence.

Colonel Ben-Nevin saw what had happened too late to react. The large American took the bag of oranges and the small pistol concealed behind the bulging bag and then swung the bag as hard as he could at the man to his rear catching him squarely in the face. Then without aiming Carl fired at the man holding Ryan at bay. The bullet struck the man in the side of the head and Ryan had his fallen weapon before his captor knew he was dead.

Mica realized that the American saved his friend first and that was about to cost him. As Ben-Nevin reacted slowly she brought her left wrist up and out catching the weapon just as it discharged, sending the bullet into the ceiling. The colonel swung back and caught Mica in the face as the third man in the small shop met his end when he tried to gain his feet from the staggering blow that had been delivered by the now broken plastic bag of oranges. Everett saw Ben-Nevin turn and break for the back of the store beyond the curtain. At that moment sirens started sounding as the loud reports of the guns had shattered the late afternoon solace of the tourists. Everett started forward after helping the small boy to his feet.

“Thanks, kid, now run like hell away from here,” he said as he started after Ben-Nevin. “Let’s go, Ryan.”

Mica tried her best to stop the big man from going after the colonel. She turned and followed the two Americans through the curtain. As she went past the scattered desks she saw what had become of her technicians. They were all piled in a lump of humanity in the far corner of the communications center. With a shake of her head she finally reached Everett just as he pulled the back door open.

“No!” the major shouted just as five bullets struck the old wooden door sending splinters in every direction. Carl went to his back side, knocking Ryan down, and then reached up with his leg just as two more rounds struck the framing of the door. He kicked out, slamming the door closed, and then rolled free of harm’s way.

“That bastard always has a plan,” she cursed as she reached up and pulled the boy to her, who was watching from the curtain. She kissed him on the forehead and then held him at arm’s length.

“Trece
ţ
i, stiti ce aveti de facut,” she said and then kissed the boy again on the forehead. The dark-haired child looked hesitant at first and then with a last look at the two Americans he ran for the front door and was gone. The sirens were getting closer.

“I was always terrible at languages, but one thing I do know for sure,” Everett said as he pulled the clip from the small .32 caliber weapon. “That wasn’t Italian you just spoke to the boy.” Everett reinserted the clip and just before Mica reached for a fallen weapon from one of her deceased technicians, Carl reached over and placed the barrel of the gun gently against the dark-haired woman’s temple. “Now I know
not
speaking Italian to an Italian kid isn’t a capital offense, but I’m willing to make an exception for you, gorgeous. Until I figure out just what language you and the boy were using I suggest you produce no more surprises for the rest of the afternoon.”

As Everett slowly allowed the major to rise from the floor, DeSilva stepped into the back room. He stood looking from Everett to the woman. Finally his eyes settled on Ryan, who saw a youthful look of arrogance come over the kid’s face.

“Captain, I think our young friend here has something to say,” Ryan said from the front of the store where he turned to look out the window by pulling out on the shade.

DeSilva stepped meekly into the back room with his head held firm.

“I want to go back,” was all he said as he took in the bloodied Captain Everett.

“No, your cover is blown and one foreign agency knows of your existence. We can’t take a chance that the Swiss Guard doesn’t know either.”

“Captain, I’ll take that chance. It’s worth the risk and you know it. I have to keep my job in the archives. If you could only see what I’ve seen inside, you wouldn’t believe it.”

Everett looked from DeSilva to Ryan, who turned away from the window with a large smile on his face at the kid’s naïveté. The young agent thus far had not been given the tour of the vault levels at the Event Group complex.

“I’m sure they have great stuff stashed in there, Lieutenant, but you need to come home now. It’s over.”

“With all due respect, Captain, I think it’s my call. My ass is on the line and I think the risk to that ass is acceptable.”

Everett used a handkerchief to wipe some of the blood away from his scalp. He looked over at Ryan, who nodded his head in agreement with the young Vatican spy. Carl then shot the Israeli Mossad agent a look. She just raised that left eyebrow of hers and stared at Everett. He stared at the two differing colors of her eyes and then nodded his head as he turned away.

“Okay, kid,” he said as he pocketed the bloody handkerchief. “The colonel and director will more than likely fry my ass for this.” He shook his head. “But you’re right, it took too long to get one of our people in there.”

“Who in the hell do you men work for?” Mica asked as she slowly eyed her possibilities of escape. She was starting to piece together the idea that these men may not have the same restraints that officers of the CIA or FBI would have—she was thinking these Americans were totally capable of killing her and dumping her body in front of Mossad headquarters in Tel Aviv. Yes, she thought, these men worked for someone other than an intelligence agency.

“We happen to work for people that don’t like ambushes, Ms. Sorotzkin,” Everett said as he reached out and removed the Glock nine-millimeter that DeSilva was holding.

“And how do you know my name? My own people don’t know me for the most part.”

“We have files on many bad guys that are really pretty impressive. As I see it you don’t rate up there with the bad people we do business with on occasion, you’re a little different, Major.” Everett gave her a dirty look. “You work for a supposed friend, and when you showed your true colors along with your Colonel Ben-Nevin, you made our decision making really very easy.” Carl made sure a round was chambered in the Glock.

Mica saw the handgun lower for a split second as Carl started to raise the weapon and that was the only window of opportunity the young Mossad agent could see for getting the hell out of her situation. Mica’s hand soon found an old-fashioned glass paperweight that lay on one of her technician’s desks. She didn’t hesitate as she grabbed it and threw the heavy silver inlaid paperweight, hitting Everett in the chest, making him automatically recoil and fire blindly at the blur of speed that had become the dark-haired woman.

Before Ryan could move past DeSilva, Major Sorotzkin had moved far too quickly and was through the curtain before Everett could react. He intentionally shot wide of his mark as he never wanted to kill the young woman. The round went through the flapping material of the curtain. The three men all heard the bell above the door jingle and then there was silence. The sirens drew closer to the small antique store.

“Damn, I lost two hostile agents in one day and now can’t prove anything,” Everett said as he looked over at DeSilva. “And now I’m going against orders and sending a kid back to face one of the harshest security teams in the world at the Vatican.” Carl slammed the slide home on the reloaded Glock. “Yeah, this is a red banner day for the Navy, Mr. Ryan. I’m beginning to think Jack’s been right all along,” he said as he pushed DeSilva toward the back door.

“About what?” Ryan asked as he placed his head out the door and looked to make sure the crazy Mossad colonel wasn’t lying in wait for the three men.

“That he would be better off hunting his sister’s killer without us being in his way.”

“Bullshit, he needs us,” Ryan said, looking back momentarily to make sure the captain heard what he had to say. “Now, I suggest we get this young man back to school at the archives and we get the hell out of here to try and explain how an ally state tried to kill us all.”

Everett nodded his head and then thrust his right hand out for DeSilva.

“Lieutenant, it will be noted for the record you refused to leave the post you were assigned.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

“Good luck, Lieutenant,” Everett said, as he released his hand. Then he watched Ryan do the same.

“Good luck, Army,” the naval aviator said, shaking DeSilva’s hand.

“Thank you, sir.”

Both Jason and Carl watched the boy leave through the back door after checking right and then left, and then one last look back at his two superior officers with a smile.

“The colonel does know how to recruit, doesn’t he?”

Everett ignored the statement, not wanting to admit that Collins could do anything right, at least for the moment. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Carl looked through the curtain toward the front door. He saw the milling crowd to gathering outside.

“What are we going to do about the woman and that crazier than a shithouse rat Mossad colonel?” Ryan asked as he held the back door open for Everett.

Carl stopped in the doorway looking straight ahead. The Navy SEAL captain moved his head ever so slightly toward the interior of the safe house.

“That colonel needs a little bit of killing done to certain areas of his body, but the girl, I don’t know, there’s something not right there.”

Ryan saw Carl smirk for the briefest of moments as if he knew an inside joke he didn’t. He heard Everett’s explanation as he started to run slowly down the alley.

“Her, I just want to talk to.”

4

SOUTHEAST ROMANIA, DACIAN HOT SPRINGS QUADRANGLE

The British-made Land Rover moved slowly up the winding road that twisted in and out of sunshine to darkness two miles above the newly built attraction below—Dracula’s Castle. The two teams of armed men wound their way through the second small village and the lead vehicle pulled to a stop. The leader of the motley group of huntsmen stepped from the vehicles and stretched as he took in the craggy rocks that lined the drive for the next mile up the side of the mountain to a spot that was rumored to be home to one of the hardiest groups of shepherds in all Romania. The Patinas Pass was a rugged but beautiful area that is usually not traveled by anyone outside of the tight-knit peoples of the high country. The tales of the Carpathian Mountains always fall far short in the description of the area. One of the more beautiful and scenic ranges in Eastern Europe, the Carpathians have been sorely and falsely depicted in literature and film. Instead of the brooding, sharp, and darkened sides of mountains that could hide anything of mythic proportions you had small valleys nestled into the sides of the mountains the further up you travel where people live a slow but comfortable life tending their large herds of milk cows, sheep, and goats and it was this life that the rest of the world didn’t realize was part of the mystical mountain range.

The man who had spoken briefly with Janos Vajic inside the resort knew his job was simple; wait until nightfall and he would be met and then he could deliver the message from Dmitri Zallas. The men he traveled with were just window dressing for the peasants that work at the castle and those below. As long as they thought the Russian was looking out for them while they were tasked with building the monstrosity below was all Zallas was concerned with. Their safety was not a priority but their work schedule was. The men thought they were to be hunting wolves even though the Russian knew there were none in this region of Romania. Zallas didn’t care about the animal life, he just needed his message delivered to the man responsible for the disappearances and that in and of itself would stop the killing around the castle—not hunting down something that couldn’t possibly be in the region—wolves indeed.

The Russian mercenary looked at an area of Romania that had been protected by governments both elected and those where the rule of one man was absolute. He looked into the village and the growing number of citizens watching from the cracked and worn cobblestone-lined street through the small enclave. The Russian sniffed through his bushy mustache as he saw at least two of the villagers had the old-fashioned shepherd’s staffs that looked as if they had jumped from a book of fairy tales.

The driver of the first Land Rover stuck a camouflaged arm out of his window and tapped the car door three times in rapid succession to get their employer’s attention. He indicated with a dip of his head that they were being approached from the small causeway over the fast running river that led into the village. The leader of the two cars and six men saw the villager with the white beard and brightly stitched vest slowly step over the small bridge. The mercenary squinted his eyes as he looked at the bright sun as it neared the western edge of the mountains. He was losing daylight and wanted to get closer to the pass where he would meet Zallas’s most silent of partners so he could deliver the envelope. He looked at the old man with the long white hair and equally long beard. The man from the small village held up his hand.