Flight of the Raven (27 page)

When he came back, his expression was grim. “I don’t like it.”

“Why not? It seems quiet enough.”

“That’s the problem. It’s too quiet. Where’s the night watchman?”

She shrugged. “Maybe they have an alarm system.”

“No. If they do, it’s without bells and wires.”

“Do you want to leave?”

“No.”

She opened the car door. “Then let’s get it over with.”

He’d selected a side door into what he judged was the storage area. It yielded rather easily to the tools in his flight bag. Before he opened the door, he drew his Makarov.

They paused to get their bearings in the dim light. Somehow she hadn’t been prepared for the size of the place. Or the air-conditioning. Cold storage, she thought, unable to keep from shivering. The sudden image of a sheet-covered body laid out on a slab in the morgue flashed into her mind. She didn’t want to lift the sheet and see the face. Resolutely she forced her thoughts back to the task at hand.

Boxes and packing crates were stacked on massive shelves all the way to the metal rafters. Now she understood why Aleksei had told her to arrange to have her shipment brought to the front of the building. Only the very bottom crates were accessible without a fork lift.

Julie fought the impulse to back out of the enclosure. Aleksei had been right; the silence was ominous. He stood for a few moments listening intently and probing the darkness with wary eyes. Finally he motioned with the gun for her to follow him.

It was impossible to control her wayward imagination. Each time they reached a cross aisle, she pictured a hairy arm whipping out and grabbing Aleksei by the neck.

The office was supposed to be near the front and walled off from the rest of the storage area by a metal and glass partition. As they came to the end of the long aisle down which they’d been creeping, she saw the little room bathed in dim light. Fifty feet from the door was a stack of four cardboard boxes.

Aleksei pointed and raised a questioning eyebrow. Julie nodded and moved forward. On the side of a large crate she could see a stenciled notation. It said “McLean” and “dining room.” She looked on the back of another. Its legend was “living room.”

The illumination coming from the office was enough in which to work. Aleksei laid the Makarov on the floor and, one-handed, helped her move the “living room” box to the cold concrete. From his bag he produced a knife and slit the thick tape along the top seam.

Julie knelt and reached for a newspaper-wrapped object. It was a brightly painted Spanish pottery plate. She’d packed several like it, but she didn’t remember this particular design. After glancing quickly at Aleksei, she went on to the next package. Inside the newspaper was a miniature Toledo sword. Holding it in her hand, she studied the engraved metal, a sick feeling rising in her throat.

“What’s wrong?” Aleksei whispered.

“This isn’t mine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Try something else!”

Dutifully she unwrapped a crystal vase. She had never seen it before in her life.

A flicker of movement from the corner caught his attention. Before he could reach for the gun on the floor, a warning rang out across the darkened building.

“If you move, I’ll kill the girl.” The voice was guttural, the words in Russian.

Chapter Sixteen

J
ulie watched in horror as a lean but muscular man moved forward from the shadows. With his own gun trained on Julie’s abdomen, he kicked Aleksei’s Makarov under a forkloader. Every detail about him impressed itself on her consciousness. His face had a bland smoothness, as though someone had taken a sharp knife and planed away all the rough edges. Yet the eyes, like dead slag, conveyed a malevolence that was terrifying. As he moved, he favored his left leg slightly. When he reached her side, he grabbed her arm and jerked it behind her back.

Both the physical contact and the stab of pain made her gasp. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Aleksei grimace as though the pain had been his. He took a step forward.

“Stay right there, Major,” the muscular man warned, still speaking in Russian. “Or she gets it now.”

“Your business is with me, not with her,” Aleksei replied in the same language.

Julie strained her ears to catch the rapid exchange of dialogue.

“No, both of you,” the man who held her arm in a vise snarled.

“She’s useless.”

“But apparently quite valuable to you.”

Aleksei shrugged. “She’s been very cooperative. A pleasant diversion. But I was through with her anyway.”

Hramov laughed. The sound was like a file scraping across a sheet of metal. “Save your breath, Raven. Lies won’t do her any good now. But maybe I’d be willing to give her a quick death if you fork over some information.”

Aleksei’s eyes flicked to Julie’s ashen face for just a second. “What do you want?”

“The Topaz material and whatever you stashed away concerning the general.”

“It’s not here, Hramov.”

The hit man gave Julie’s wrist a half turn and she screamed. “You can do better than that,” he grated. “You wouldn’t have risked breaking into this warehouse unless you knew you could get it.”

Torturous sensations shot up Julie’s arm and into her shoulder. Yet through the agony something tugged at her memory. What was it? It was hard to think straight when she was on the verge of passing out from pain.

“The Topaz material,” the assassin persisted. “If you don’t tell me where it is, I’ll break her arm for starters and then go on to all the other bones in her body.”

“You bastard. I should have finished you off in Madrid,” his opponent gritted.

“Your mistake.”

As the upward pressure of her arm increased, it was harder to hold unconsciousness at bay. The temptation to give in to oblivion was almost overwhelming. Yet that wouldn’t help her or help Aleksei.

Think, she commanded her brain. Hramov. She’d heard that name from Aleksei. This was the cold-blooded killer who had come after him the morning he’d left her in Madrid. And then suddenly an important detail snapped into place. In the scuffle Aleksei had wounded Hramov in the ankle. That was why the man was limping. Dare she use that weakness to her advantage?

Her gaze skittered down to the gun. It was still pointed at Aleksei. Anything she tried could tighten Hramov’s finger on the trigger. But if she didn’t act, he was surely going to kill them both.

“I’ll tell you where the film is,” she panted.

“Where?” Hramov demanded.

“You’re hurting me. Let go of my arm.”

The pressure slackened and Julie twisted a few inches away, glad her captor could not see her face. Her eyes sought Aleksei’s and blinked twice rapidly. It was the best she could do. There was no way he could know what she had in mind, but she hoped he’d be ready to take advantage of the opportunity she was going to give him.

“If you’re lying, you’re going to regret it, bitch,” Hramov snarled.

Aleksei watched her, his face neutral. She had told him the goods in the box weren’t even hers. What was she up to? Whatever it was, he had better be ready.

“I wouldn’t fence with you,” she meekly countered, hoping Aleksei would pick up on the phrase they had used that day in the boat. But his expression gave away nothing.

She didn’t allow herself any more time to think. Calling upon skills she hadn’t used since college fencing class, she made her move. In one smooth motion her body shifted to the side as though dodging an opponent’s thrust. At the same time, her foot shot out and caught Hramov’s injured ankle, scoring a direct hit. Though the KGB agent bellowed in pain, his finger still squeezed the trigger of the gun. But Aleksei was already dodging and ducking, even as she moved. The bullet missed his hip by inches.

He was across the space between them before she could let out the breath she’d been holding. Shoving her out of the way, he sprang at Hramov and wrestled the gun to the cement floor. The two men went down. She could see Hramov go for Aleksei’s injured arm and heard an answering groan.

Both men had been hurt recently, but on the floor with the weight off his foot, Hramov had the advantage and he had had longer to recuperate.

What could she do to help, Julie thought frantically as the two men rolled back and forth, each struggling to incapacitate the other.

Hramov went for his opponent’s throat. Somehow Aleksei broke the hold and flipped the assassin over, banging his head against the cement floor. But the cost of the effort was tremendous. She could see a dark red stain spreading across the fabric of Aleksei’s shirt. Shuddering, she pictured the stitches she’d used to close the wound now ripped apart, exposing raw flesh. Though Aleksei fought with a strength that must have come from desperation, she knew he couldn’t keep it up.

She had to find a way to help him. Aleksei’s pistol had disappeared under the crates. Hramov’s lay forgotten on the floor. Silently she inched toward it. In a moment her fingers closed around the hard grip. She’d never fired a pistol before. She didn’t dare aim at Hramov as he rolled back and forth on the floor with Aleksei. Instead, she pointed the weapon at the ceiling and pulled the trigger. The recoil sent her stumbling backward, but she kept her footing. She also got the attention of the struggling men. Almost reflexively, they both rolled away from the sound of the fire. Hramov turned to face her, saw the weapon, and ducked behind a crate. She pointed the pistol in his direction, but she simply couldn’t pull the trigger again. She heard the sound of running feet. Hramov must be escaping, but the only thing she felt was relief.

Crossing rapidly to Aleksei, she knelt beside him and put down the gun as he struggled to sit up.

“Hramov may bring reinforcements. We must get out of here,” he rasped, his face contorted with pain.

“Can you make it?”

“I’ll have to. Give me the Makarov.”

“Don’t touch that gun!” another voice commanded. Her hand froze in the act of reaching for the weapon. Oh, God, what now?

Her eyes lifted, afraid of what she was going to see, yet helpless to stop herself from finding out. To her stunned disbelief, she saw special agent Borman. For a moment her mind clutched at relief that the Russian assassin hadn’t returned with reinforcements. But one look at Borman’s uncompromising face and the automatic pistol in his hand told her he wasn’t the cavalry arriving in the nick of time. His stance announced that rescue was the last thing on his mind.

“Ms. McLean, how interesting to find you here, and in such unsavory company,” he drawled, and then turned to another agent with a sharp order. “Handcuff them.”

Gary Conrad knelt to comply. A cold circlet of metal clicked around Julie’s wrist, fastening her to Aleksei.

She felt as though she’d awakened from one nightmare to find herself in the middle of another. The double jeopardy was almost too much to cope with, but she forced her mind to keep working rather than simply skittering away from the new horror. “You’ve got the wrong man. Hramov’s the enemy. Aleksei’s a defector. He’s on our side.”

“Aleksei, is it. I thought the two of you barely knew each other. But don’t worry about his buddy. I’m sure he won’t get too far. You can all have a reunion down at the Navy brig.”

“You said you were with the State Department.”

“Actually, that was
your
assumption. We’re CIA.”

“CIA?” It took a moment for Julie to assimilate the new information. “I thought the CIA didn’t conduct operations against American citizens,” she finally managed.

“This business started in Madrid, and we’re tracking KGB agents illegally in the U.S.” He looked pointedly at Aleksei.

She turned to him. “Tell them what’s going on,” she begged.

An emotionless mask had settled over his features; his blue eyes were icy. They seemed to drill into hers, but he said nothing.

“You see, your Russian lover doesn’t have anything to say in his own defense,” Borman gibed. “But maybe later he’d like to comment on the tapes we’ve made here this evening.”

Tapes? These cold-faced agents had calmly watched the scene with Hramov and recorded it on tape? Julie’s mind rebelled from such mercilessness.

With no regard for Aleksei’s injury, Borman pulled the wounded man roughly to his feet. Julie was yanked up with him. She wanted to whisper some reassurance to him, yet there was simply no comfort she could give.

In her present condition, walking with her wrist bound to his was difficult. When she stumbled she heard him draw in his breath and knew she must be causing him pain. She wanted to seek his fingers with her own, but that would just make it worse.

Outside in the moonlight she saw two brawny men shoving Hramov into a waiting van. It pulled away, and Conrad spoke into a two-way radio.

“The other one will be along directly,” he told Borman. “We might as well search them first.”

The agent in charge turned to his captives. “Get over against the wall.” He gestured with his automatic pistol. “Spread your legs and raise your arms.”

Though the command was humiliating, Julie knew it was useless to protest. However, when she tried to raise the wrist cuffed to Aleksei, he groaned and staggered sideways.

“Damn,” Borman said, his eyes flicking to Aleksei’s bloodstained shoulder. “Rozonov’s in worse shape than I thought. Cover me while I take the cuffs off.”

Aleksei waited, willing his body to remain relaxed until there was a chance of making his move. From the beginning, he’d decided there was no way he would let these men take him in. A corner of his mind admitted that it was partly Soviet indoctrination. For years it had been drummed into him that the CIA was the ultimate evil on earth. But it was more than that. There was also his instinctive reaction to the hard-faced Borman, who was probably disappointed that he didn’t have a KGB assassination on videotape. Like Calvin Dixon back in Madrid, he was obviously ignorant of the Peregrine Connection’s existence. As far as this CIA operative knew, he had a hostile enemy agent and an American traitor under his gun. Without proof, he wouldn’t believe a word either of his prisoners said. The only one around who could corroborate the fantastic story was Yuri Hramov, and he’d cut out his own tongue before he’d help a Soviet defector.