MadetoBeBroken (9 page)

“Where am I?”

Rod Templeton loomed over her, his thick, gelled hair not
moving a millimeter as his grotesquely smiling face peered down at her.

“Back in jolly old London, ho ho ho!”

“Blow it out your ass, Santa,” she moaned. Her head was
pounding, her mouth dry. She was naked but for a scratchy blanket. Rod had not
used the gun. He’d grabbed her by the fleshy part of the upper arm, jabbed her
with a needle, and the next thing she knew, she was waking up to the woozy
vision of his big, shining face grinning into hers. “I say I’m happy to see you
and you stick a gun in my face and tranq me? What the hell?”

“You’ll want to be nicer to me, Agent Fiori,” he sneered.
“Neat trick, destroying your phone.”

“I didn’t. Ale—Maksimov did. He overpowered me and smashed
my phone, took my gun.”

“But not before you shot him.”

It cost her pain and effort, but she sat up on her elbows.
They were in a hotel room, clean, sterile and anonymous. “How did you know
that?”

“We’re Western Ops, sugarbuns. We have people everywhere.
Word got back that you went native. I had to take all necessary precautions,
hence the gun. Remember what happens when you don’t?”

“I think I’ve paid in full for that mistake,” she retorted.
“And you sure didn’t have people backing up my sorry ass. This was the
shoddiest operation I’ve ever been asked to run.”

“Yeah, about that, you’re off the case.”

“I did my job, Rod. We have to find him, stop him!”

“Please. Allow your main source of communication to be
destroyed, spend two days getting zero information out of the most dangerous
man in Eastern Europe, then allow him to escape—yeah, I wouldn’t call that
doing your job. The black suit or the gray one? I’m thinking a windowpane check
is a bit too much.” He held up two laden hangers.

“Dammit, Rod, listen! Maksimov isn’t the guy you want. He’s
been working with the Russians to negotiate for peace. You morons in Western
Ops are the ones with bad intel.”

Rod flitted about the room, inspecting cufflinks and pulling
neat pairs of shoes out of cloth bags like a girl prepping for her first school
dance. “You know, when I was a senior in high school, I got a job working in
one of our senator’s offices—filing, auto-signing his letters and junk like
that.”

“You don’t fucking listen, do you?”

“One of the pages told me that the office had already hired
enough students. I was extra. I wondered why the other guys didn’t seem to like
me. Turns out it was a favor to my mom. My aunt Jackie was banging the old
dude, can you believe that?”

“They didn’t like you because you’re a dick.”

“The point is, sometimes a cool state capitol job is a way
of getting a lazy kid out of the house, Coco. And sometimes creating a fake
position in ‘shadow diplomacy’ is a way of tying up a dangerous war criminal.”

She gaped. It was true what Alexi had said—that they were
both nothing but pawns in a game that was vastly more complex than either
understood. She had to find him and tell him he’d been betrayed, if it was not
too late.

“He’s on the loose, Rod. Who knows what might happen next?”

“Yup. It’s all going great.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’ll see tonight.”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m heading back to DC
tonight.”

“No, you’re not. You’re going to be my date for a party.
There’s a dress for you in the closet.”

“What the—?” She rose unsteadily and walked toward the
blinding white plasterboard of the closet door. The carpet felt slick and synthetic
after spending days barefoot on warm wooden floors and springy grass. The gown
was lightweight ivory silk, splashed with beads that thickened near the hem,
held up by the slimmest of straps. She pressed it to her chest.

“Damn. Sometimes I forget how tasty you are.” He shook his
head. “Okay, red tie or blue? Notice the faint stripe on the red one.”

When I’m done with this,
she told herself,
remind
me never to work for Western Oops again.

“Look, I lost him and I’m sorry about that, but I got you
what we needed. If we mobilize, Maksimov can’t do any harm. Do you have any
idea where he is now?”

“I’m trying to tell you that, Coco.” He shook his head with
that purse-lipped look that made her see red with rage. “He’s right where we
want him. Get dressed.”

* * * * *

She refused Rod’s hand as she exited the Town Car and
emerged onto a dark street paved with tricky cobblestones. It looked like Jack
the Ripper territory, minus the fog, except that dozens of similar limousines
were clustered in the narrow passageway, shining like black beetles.

“We have to go in the back way,” Rod explained. “They didn’t
want this to look like a public deal. How’s my hair?”

“Immobile,” she muttered.

Coco lifted a handful of the shimmering fabric to her hip
and navigated the stairs carefully. All around them, men in suits and women in
evening gowns swarmed the tiny entrance. They entered a grand rotunda, but Rod
promptly led her up a curving staircase and into a room packed with people. Red
silk cloth swathed the high, round tables, topped with flower arrangements in
muted shades of gold. A chamber orchestra sawed away manfully in one corner.

“I can’t believe you’re wasting my time with this,” she
said.

“Suck it up, buttercup. Ooh there’s caviar!”

She picked up a glass of champagne and surveyed the crowd.
It didn’t look like the usual OSO people. In fact, she didn’t recognize a
single person, except for one dark-haired man whom she glimpsed from the back.
There was something off about the people—not off exactly, but vaguely foreign.
Some faces reminded her of Alexi’s, the same high cheekbones and deep-set eyes,
but none had his magnetism, or the sense of power and purpose he exuded. Alexi
¼
of course
¼

“This is a goddamn Russian spy party!” she hissed, furious.

“It’s an embassy ’do, Coco, and try to talk like a lady for
one night,” he answered, his mouth full.

“At least tell me you have custody of Maksimov’s man on the
ground, Umarov.”

“Umarov’s dead. Let me introduce you around.”

Before she could ask any more questions, he wheeled her away
from the table, bringing her face-to-face with a man whose face was not a
pleasant sight up close.

“Boris Luganov, meet Constance Fiori.”

“We have met,” said the pockmarked man gravely. A tightly
rolled umbrella was hooked over one arm. “More than once. Did you find the man
you were looking for?”

“I did, thank you.”

Rod slid away on the trail of a waiter carrying a tray of
potato puffs.

“You killed Kaminsky,” she said, not bothering to lower her
voice.

A nerve twitched in his jaw. “The instrument is not
important. What is important is who suffers for the pain it inflicts.”

“I think we both know that. Why did you come looking for him
at the safe house?”

“To make sure he was safe, of course. I admit I did not
recognize you without your hair visible. But his I know. Dark hair in the
bathtub trap.”

She could have kicked herself. Another great job securing
the location. “You chose the wrong man to make a fool of,” she said stoutly.
“Your enemy has vastly more resources than you have accounted for.”

“My enemy?” His black eyebrows rose. “This is a very
exclusive gathering, Miss Fiori, or is it LeBlanc? Only our closest friends and
allies are invited.”

Rod slung his arm around Coco’s shoulders. “This salmon is
spectacular. Something about your cold rivers, huh, Boris?”

Luganov bowed and excused himself.

“Tell me what’s going on,” she demanded. “That guy came
sniffing around the safe house looking for Ale—Maksimov. How did he know we
were there?”

“Coco, sweetcheeks, we told them, of course. I hadn’t heard
from you, so someone had to make sure that he was still alive and giving you
information.”

“Wait—you’re working with them?”

“
We
are. You think the US has nukes pointed at that
craphole they call an independent state? We have wars in important places to
deal with, places with oil, places that can nuke us back. Your job was to find
out when his forces were going to strike. And when I got that message—whew! I
tried not to act too excited about it, did you notice? Passed that puppy on to
the Russkis here, and they’re going to take care of it. Win-win.”

Her mouth went dry. “What are you saying?”

“Maksimov’s precious homeland is about to be bombed into a
pile of rubble. You started a war, honey. You’re a regular Helen of Troy.
Champagne?”

No words came; the room seemed to go silent. Coco’s head was
filled with a muffled buzzing, her brain scrambled. Rubble
¼
and all her fault. She had to get word to
him somehow.

Rod reached across her toward a tray of glasses. It was a
good thing he wore such well-cut suits.

She slipped out a side door and glanced back—no one had
followed her. On the wall at the landing, John the Baptist’s head dripped
luridly, triumph shining in the eyes of the young Salome. Finally something had
broken in her favor. She was in the National Gallery. If only she could
remember the way.

* * * * *

A chilly fog rolled in as Alexi approached the small private
hangar behind Glasgow airport. The fat-bellied plane hunched on the tarmac as
if warming itself against the weather. He pressed the sat phone closer to his
ear.

“What do you mean, Umarov is dead?” he demanded of Yelena.

“I’m sorry, dear,” came the voice on the other end of the
line. “He was shot in what used to be the public square. We are rather running
out of warm bodies, aren’t we? Well, chin up, General, we’ve had setbacks
before. I shall be watching the news tomorrow morning. Fight the good fight,
Alexi.”

He clicked off. So the Americans had killed his man, which
meant they likely knew of his plans. The little red bird had betrayed him after
all. Once he was finished with this war, he would travel to her country and
strangle her with his bare hands.

Of course his fight was nothing she could understand. All
Americans traveled alone, like balloons, untethered to the earth. He had been a
fool to think he could make the Russians see that, and an even bigger fool to
try to convince her. There was no time to lose. He mounted the slick metal
steps.

Krahsniy,
he thought,
where are you now? Back in
the arms of your lover and boss, laughing with him at a scarred, angry wolf, at
his secrets and dreams of home?

The phone lit up again.

“Do not delay me, Yelena,” he muttered, glancing at the
screen. But it was not a phone call. Instead, an image bloomed on the tiny
screen—a dark landscape, craggy mountains encroaching on a lake, its trees
wild. The image faded and a word replaced it.

Home.

Rod was halfway up the stairs as she descended. She smoothed
her long red mane and tried to smile.

“Ah, there you are. What were you doing up there anyway?”

His cell phone had barely fit in the tiny evening purse he’d
provided her, but with any luck, he wouldn’t look for it before she could slip
it back into his jacket pocket. “Just catching my breath,” she answered. “It’s
a
¼
lot to take in.”

“Trust me, the free world is better off without those
bastards.”

“Sure, I get it. But did you ever think that maybe there’s
still time to stop this? I mean, there might have been a little bit of
speculation in my message.”

“Don’t overthink things, Coco. I told you you were off the
case. We would have liked to hear from you sooner, but hey—if wishes were
horses, right? Come on, the dancing’s just started, and after that, there’s
gonna be an announcement you’ll want to hear.”

He led her into the center of the room, where couples were
making a gallant go of a waltz. As there were vastly more men than women, the
dance floor was sparsely populated.

“I don’t dance.”

“Really? The things I never knew about you, Coco. If you can
count to three, you can waltz.” He wrapped a hand around her scarred side,
sending a shudder down her spine. “Like this.”

It wasn’t too difficult. She counted in her head until the
steps came naturally. The feel of Rod’s hand made her sick—the last time anyone
without a medical degree had touched her there had been tender and reassuring.
A strange way to characterize a vicious warlord, but she didn’t think of Alexi
that way anymore. He’d tried to kill her, threatened her, hurt her, yes, but
had she behaved much better? Every violent passage of their time together had
been a necessity of their jobs, both of them paying off a debt owed to
something bigger than themselves.

Is your answer to everything,
he had said. He was
right. All she had ever known was the lie of compromise, the threat of
coercion, and finally, the aggression that punished those who didn’t come along
quietly.
But it worked,
she told herself miserably.
The world is a
more free, more peaceful place because I hurt a lot of people to make it so.
He saw her for what she was the moment they met—she and Alexi were in the same
business, it brought them together and ripped them apart. Coco thought back to
the morning by the lake, looking at Alexi, warm and golden and naked in the
sunlight, wondering what she would do if they were just a normal man and woman.

But normal was only a dream. In high school, she shopped at
the mall like everyone else, but she was always a trend or two behind. She
learned the rules of American football but couldn’t get the hang of Spanish
with a tongue trained on Thai and Malaysian. Joining the OSO was a way of
becoming so normal that she
was
America, and what did it get her? A life
in the shadows, another way of disappearing, a rootless existence lived out of
a suitcase.

The music thrummed in her head, its lilt driving her feet.
Maybe
Alexi is not the one chasing an illusion. Maybe I am.
Maybe he would see
the snapshot of the painting and know that she was done running after a
chimera.

“You were always a lousy listener,” Rod was saying. “Earth
to Coco.”

“What?”

“I was saying that we have to know if you’ll get with the
program.”

“It’s a little late for that. The fact that we have an
alliance with another country in this matter is something that could have been
brought to my attention, like, days ago.”

“I couldn’t risk you spilling the beans to Maksimov. The OSO
is extra careful about its female operatives. They get chatty.”

“God, you guys are assholes.”

“Hey, it’s about to start.”

The chamber orchestra lowered their bows and the room
rustled with silk and wool as the dancers dispersed into a crescent. They
clapped politely for a portly, red-faced man, who beamed with a gap-toothed
smile.

“Ladies, gentlemen,” he started with a nod to the crowd. He
was heavily accented and not a little bit drunk. “I am a man who needs no
introduction, I am sure.”

“Who is that?” Coco whispered.

“Sh!”

“Some of you know already the news, but it is my pleasure to
make announcement at this fine party.” He belched into his hand. “It is a great
day for us, friends. Because of two superpowers cooperating, the breakaway
republic of Chechnya is no longer a threat to world peace. Their rebel leader,
the coward Alexsandr Maksimov, is dead.”

Light applause rippled through the room. Coco blanched.

“Where are you going? Hey!”

She crashed through the back door and onto the street. It
was dark and empty now, the limousines gone to purr quietly and await the
return of their bloodthirsty cargo. She collapsed onto a step in the doorway of
a shuttered shop.

Alexi dead—and it was her fault. He would never get her
message, never know that she had found the home she longed for. Something
inside her seemed to crack and she convulsed in sobs, heaving and howling like
a wild animal.

She didn’t look up at the clacking of Rod’s dress shoes on
the pavement. “What is wrong with you?” he asked angrily. “So you didn’t get
the honor of killing him yourself. Big deal, it’s done now. Pull yourself
together.”

This time she looked up. Everything was blurry through her
tears, a tiny blessing in a pool of misery. “How?” she asked.

“Hell if I know. Luganov gave me the news after you ran
away. I thought you’d be pleased. Score one for the good old US of A.”

“Fuck you.”

“Listen, Coco.” He took her roughly by the upper arm. “I
told you it’s time to get with the program. The world is changing. The commies aren’t
a threat anymore. Well, some commies are, but the point is, we did a good
thing, and here you are crying like a little bitch.”

“Double fuck you,” she hiccupped. What she wouldn’t have
given for a gun in her purse.

“It’s time to man up, Agent Fiori. You’re either with us or
against us. Make your choice.”

“No! I don’t see the world in black and white like you do,
and I’m done taking sides.”

He pulled her upright and glared into her wet face. “You
know what you’re saying?”

“Sure, whatever. Decommission me.”

His laugh was hollow and ugly. “Decom? Oh no, sweetie.
There’s a reason we work in the shadows. You think anyone’s going to miss you?
No family, no ties, no pets. Do the neighbors even know your name? You leave
the agency knowing what you know, and you’re a bigger threat to us than anyone
from the outside. We don’t decom people. We disappear them.”

Harnessing all her strength, she wrenched out of his grip
and raced off down the street. A limo turned into the lane, almost running her
down, and she jumped back, splashing into a puddle in the gutter. She tore her
off her high-heeled sandals, hitting Rod in the shoulder with one, and took off
again. The street began to fill with party guests, some casting curious glances
at the ivory shape darting between the cars. Rod threaded through the crowd.

She glanced back. She could not get too far away from the
mass of people streaming out of the museum, or Rod would catch her at an unlit
intersection. He was about thirty paces from her. She crouched down behind a waiting
vehicle, counting his steps. Underneath the purring car, a set of dress shoes
came to a halt. She snuck sideways, rounding the car, until she was an arm’s
distance from him. With a vicious pinch, she seized the flesh on either side of
his Achilles tendon and squeezed with all her might. He let out a yelp and his
knees buckled, but he didn’t go down.

“Bitch!” he hissed, reaching under his suit lapel.

She ran, dodging a car door that swung open in her path. Of
course he’d come armed—no doubt half the crowd was carrying. If she was within
his range, he’d start a panicked shootout right there in the streets. Moving
upright was faster, but more dangerous. She had to count on him not to dare
shoot at her in this crowd. Then again, even if others were injured because of
his rashness, he would make up a good story to back up his actions, and the sad
part was, he was right—she would not be missed.
Trust no one.

Wait, that wasn’t the most important directive, she thought
grimly. It was far too late for that.

D
on’t die.

Her only chance was to keep moving in a zigzag pattern so
he’d have less chance of hitting her. She elbowed an elderly man in the ribs,
dashing for the end of the street. One glance back at her pursuer and she could
turn the corner and disappear.

The intersection was dark, but she could see Rod holding the
gun in both hands and moving with long, careful strides. The crowd filling the
street behind him continued to shuffle into their cars, oblivious to the drama
playing out only yards away. She dashed around the corner and pressed against a
doorway, hoping she could at least trip him as he approached.

She waited, not daring to breathe. The murmur of voices and
the occasional honk could be heard, but no footsteps neared. Her body ached
from the sudden sprint. Had he shot his dumb self by mistake? No, because now
she could hear a crunching noise and a sort of whimper, followed by a low
growl. She willed her heartbeat to slow and tuned in to the sounds—an animal in
pain, a fierce blow.

Then the footsteps came, slowly, unhurried. Mentally she
timed them, ready to stick out her bare foot and bring him down on the dark
pavement.

They stopped, out of her sight lines.
One step more, just
one, you bastard
¼

“Come,
krahsniy
. Let us go home.”