Red Dawn Rising (Red Returning Trilogy) (29 page)

Ava alerted Mark Delaney. “Better get a marine detail out here now to tail this boat.” She gave him a brief description of the vessel. “We don’t know who’s on board, but this isn’t a routine evening for Hans Kluen. Something’s up. Could be our man waiting for him on board. Maybe not. We can’t afford to chase him off and lose our link to his sleepers. … No. We’re staying put. Kluen’s Mercedes is still here. I suspect he’ll return.” A pause. “What’s that?” She looked sideways at Evgeny. “I know. Bizarre, isn’t it? But he’s behaving himself right now.” She ended the call.

“You know I will never let you take me in,” Evgeny said calmly, not meeting her eye.

“Is that a threat?”

“Call it what you want.” He knew she was regarding him carefully.

“You’re not the first murdering spy I’ve worked beside.”

He didn’t take offense. That’s what he was.

“I can intervene on your behalf, though,” she continued. “You saved Liesl’s life and warned us of disaster. Still, I can’t guarantee your freedom.”

“No, but I can.” His answer was swift and sure.

The long awkward silence between them finally broke when the trawler returned. “It’s too soon!” Ava fretted. “Delaney hasn’t had time to scramble help.”

They watched as the same young captain’s mate jumped from the boat, walked briskly to the Mercedes, unlocked it—presumably with Hans’s key—and drove away.

“Kluen is either on board or in the river,” Evgeny said with certainty.

He fought the urge to follow the car, knowing the greater catch was probably aboard the trawler. Could it be the Architect himself? If it was, how far should Evgeny pursue him? Shouldn’t Evgeny the fugitive disappear soon? He had accomplished his mission. Now, the CIA and FBI were on the trail of this man who would destroy Russia with his imperial insanity. Could Evgeny trust them to stop it? He was beginning to doubt that.

He looked through the frosted windshield at the boat tied to the end of the dock. When someone else hopped from the boat and cast off the lines, Evgeny moved quickly. “Let’s go,” he said and quietly opened the door. Ava followed.

They skirted the warehouse and ran down an overgrown path to the river in time to watch the trawler head into the channel. With night already fallen, it was hard to identify any markings on the boat. But inside the wheelhouse, something glowed orange. “A lamp or something on the instrument panel,” Evgeny guessed.

Ava was back on the phone, describing the orange-lit wheelhouse. “Hurry,” she urged. “Fly!”

Ava and Evgeny kept watch on the river, the trawler now out of sight. After awhile, they heard the racing motors of two small powerboats coming upriver—and the unmistakable percussion of a helicopter advancing from the same direction. But they’d come too late to suit Evgeny. The trawler could have stopped anywhere along the river by now and discharged its passengers.

“Come on,” Evgeny said. “We’ll keep up.” He outran Ava to the van and threw it into drive as she climbed in. “You will have to guide me,” he
said
. “I do not know these streets.” But eventually, they lost sight of the boats and had to rely on crackling reports to Ava from the pursuing vessels, manned solely by FBI.

“What about the chopper?” Evgeny asked.

“It’s NYPD. They’ll communicate directly to the boats, not me.”

“And Hans Kluen?”

Ava shook her head. “I don’t think he’s in good standing with his superiors right now. Something tells me he didn’t willingly give them the keys to his car.”

Evgeny brooded. “I do not like this. The cowboys in those boats and chopper might scare Kluen and his boss into hiding where we will never find them. And I believe the hour is near.”

“The boys on the water know what they’re doing. They’ve been ordered to find the boat but not confront it. As for the NYPD chopper, that’s a familiar sight over the city. Even your Architect shouldn’t be spooked by it, if he’s in the boat.”

Chapter 31

A
gent Delaney deposited Liesl and Cade at West Park Christian Church with a hefty accompaniment of attending agents. “I’m so grateful you’re back safely,” Rev. Scovall said, hurrying toward the door and locking it behind them. Just like before, Liesl remembered. “We’ve been so anxious to know how you were.”

“Anxious ain’t the word for it,” said the old man just rounding a corner of the narthex. “Try spittin’ mad.”

“Ian!” Liesl cried.

Despite his contrary words, the old man’s face beamed bright at the sight of her. “Come here, darlin’,” he said, reaching for her. She welcomed his bracing hug.

“You smell like home,” she told him, sniffing the collar of his shirt. “Like bacon and eggs.”

“Good, I was afraid you were going to say magnolias.” He squeezed her once more, then loosened his hold, keeping one arm lightly draped about her shoulders. He turned his attention to Cade. “Son, you ever tried to talk to an NYPD cop?”

“Oh no,” Cade moaned.

“Well, hear me out,” Ian continued. “Since none of you folks had the consideration to call and tell us what was going on, and I couldn’t reach any of you, I did a bit of investigating on my own.”

“Oh boy,” Cade muttered, squeezing his eyes shut.

“So I called up one of those precinct numbers and asked the young man who answered if anyone had reported a van load of people in an accident, that one of them talked Russian and might have a gun and another one was a CIA agent with one of those sticky-out hairdos and a lot of miles on her. Or if a car with an FBI agent named Delaney in it and a big guy who thinks he’s Rambo had overturned somewhere.”

“You didn’t,” Cade said with only faint hope.

“And you want to know what that guy said to me?” Ian’s face was getting redder.

“Not really, Pop.”

“He asked if he could talk to one of the nice ladies who took care of me. Imagine that. So I asked him just how many nice ladies he had taking care of
him
and that it seemed to me he might need a few more.”

Before anyone could summon a response of any kind, a loud rapping came at the front door, and one of the agents headed for it. “It’s Delaney!” came from the other side, and the agent unlocked the door. Delaney entered with a phone to his ear, and everyone remained expectantly silent while he pulled his agents aside, issuing what appeared to be hasty orders.

Meanwhile, Jordan Winslow came bounding down the hallway and headed straight for Liesl. “Glad you’re okay, Liesl. Where’s Cass?” There was no mistaking his priorities.

“We left her at her mother’s apartment. Hans was already gone.”

“She’s there alone?” Jordan asked with alarm. “What if someone comes looking for Hans?”

Just then Delaney joined the group. “I’ve got four agents at that apartment right now,” he told Jordan.

“What about Ava and Evgeny?” Liesl asked him.

“I can’t discuss that. For now, though, we’re getting you and Jordan out of here and into a safe house. It’ll be a little cramped with your … entourage in tow.” Delaney was clearly irritated.

“I never been called an
en-tour-age
before. Have you, Cade?” Ian snipped sarcastically, then met Delaney eye to eye. “But I’ll tell you what, Mr. FBI, when it comes to protecting Liesl, you’d better hope your
pedigree
agents can measure up to me and my boy. It’s us mongrels who are most loyal … and the quickest to dismember anyone who threatens one of our own. Just thought I’d point that out to you.”

Liesl looked away, stifling a grin.

“Mr. O’Brien, my apologies,” Delaney said as he stepped away. “But if you will, sir, please gather your things—all of you, you too, Jordan—and wait here by the door. We’ll be leaving soon.”

Jordan touched Liesl’s arm. “I’m not going with you,” he whispered. “Don’t tell the Nazi, but I’m going to Cass.” He didn’t wait for her to respond, but slipped back down the hallway.

Liesl rushed after him, catching up with him at the side door to the church. “Jordan, you can’t leave. It’s not safe. Those people who broke into Cass’s apartment know you, too.”

Shouldering his backpack, he paused long enough to hug Liesl. “No one came gunning for me. It’s you they need to protect. And it’s Cass who needs me. At least, I hope she does.”

As he ran out the door, Liesl called after him, “Jordan, be careful!”

Chapter 32

R
iding the elevator to her mother’s apartment with the four agents, Cass could think of nothing but the conversation she’d just had with Liesl in the lobby. To her, Liesl was still an unknown. Perhaps she would remain one, even after this critical hour in both their lives.

When Cass arrived at the door, two of the agents remained in the hall, and the other two started to enter the apartment, but she stopped them. “Please wait out here. My mom has no idea what’s happening. You’ll only terrify her. I’ll call if I need you.” The agents hesitated, but did as she asked.

“Mom!” Cass called as she passed through the living room.

There was no answer.

“Mom, where are you?” Cass scolded herself for not coming up right away, for placing her needs before her mother’s. Just then, she heard something heavy drop to the floor. The sound came from the master bedroom. Rushing into the elegant boudoir, Cass found her mother on a step stool in the walk-in closet, where she’d dropped a suitcase to the floor. “Mom, what are you doing?”

“Leaving. I won’t stay here anymore, whether he comes back or not. I’m through with this. The cheating. The other woman. The place he goes at night. You think there’s nothing going on, but there is. He’s not the same, and I know why.”

Cass braced herself. “No, you don’t, Mom. You don’t know at all. But I do.”

Jilly turned slowly and looked accusingly at her daughter. “You’ve been keeping something from me?” she asked, then stepped to the floor. The flowing caftans and lounging pajamas she liked to wear at home had been replaced this day by bulky sweats, top and bottom, that hung in unflattering folds about her slim body.

“Come sit down, Mom.” Cass led her into the bedroom and patted the down-filled comforter on the king-sized bed. “Right here.”

As Jilly hesitantly sat down, Cass saw torment in the eyes. She lifted one of her mother’s slender wrists and clutched the hand that used to smooth back the unruly blond ringlets on a little girl’s head. The same hand that used to cup the small chin and nuzzle nose to nose, drawing peals of laughter from her daughter. Cass fastened on the face that once peered from magazine covers across the country. How many other daughters had looked at that face while standing in the grocery checkout line with their mothers and wished for such beauty? But had beauty ever sustained Jillian Kluen?

Cass looked into the sorrowful eyes and told as much as she knew about Hans’s double life, about the files she’d found in his study, about Liesl, Ava, Evgeny, and why FBI agents were now posted outside the door. When she finished, her mother leaned forward and rested her head in her hands. Cass stroked her back. Then, her face smudged with spent tears and her breath faltering, Jilly asked, “How did I fail him?”

It struck Cass that her mother’s first reaction wasn’t anger over what her husband had done to her, but fear for what she might have done to him. Cass looked at her mother as if seeing her for the first time, marveling at her sense of selflessness. She embraced her mother and rocked her gently as if she were a child. “Mom, I think God might protect us and lead us out of this.”

Jilly pulled back and looked at her. “I’ve never heard you speak that way.”

Cass removed her arms from around her mother and gazed into the delicate silken weave of the comforter. “I’m not sure, Mom, but I believe he’s here. Just like you taught me when I was little. Then we both forgot.”

Jilly looked at her daughter with swollen eyes, studying her for too long. Cass started to speak, but Jilly stopped her. “Listen to me, Cass. Not everything I taught you was true.”

Cass looked curiously at the face now drained of color. “Like what?”

Her mother got up and asked Cass to follow her into the living room. When the two reached the mahogany sofa table, Jilly pointed toward the display of photographs. “What do you see here?” she asked Cass.

Impatient with the ill timing of whatever lapse in focus this was, Cass looked at her watch instead of the photographs. “Mom, this isn’t the time to reminisce.”

“Just answer me, Cass.”

Cass hoped her mother wasn’t suffering some mental lapse brought on by shock. “Okay, Mom. I see photos of you and me at the beach, Grandma and Grandpa teaching you to snow ski when you were little, you and your sisters in a swing.” She looked blankly at Jilly.

“Did you ever wonder why there were no photographs of your stepfather’s family?”

But Cass clearly recalled asking Hans about that very thing a couple of years ago. “He told me he didn’t have any pictures. That his mother had kept them all in a big box that his father, in one of his drunken rages, set fire to. Isn’t that true?”

The answer was a long time coming. “No, Cass. What’s true is this. If you had seen photographs of his family, especially his mother, you would have seen yourself.”

Something quickened deep inside Cass, as if some detached intelligence within her had recognized the truth before she did.