The Atlantis Code (16 page)

“Okay.”

“So you could probably converse with anyone we meet here. But I’d rather not be mentioned to anyone just now as the bunch of foreigners trooping through the halls.”

“Point taken,” she said.

Lourds flashed the library identification Yuliya had arranged for him. He exchanged pleasantries with the older man who shepherded the collections contained within the large library. The man remembered Lourds from previous visits with Yuliya.

“Ah, Professor Lourds,” the man said. “Back with us again?”

“For a short time,” Lourds agreed as he handed his card over to be scanned.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” The man handed Lourds’s card back.

“No, thank you. I know the way.”

Lourds walked to the back of the large space filled with bookshelves. Out of sight of the librarian, he strode through the stacks, taking a meandering route to his ultimate goal. The library was wired with surveillance cameras. He didn’t want to look too purposeful.

Only a few students and teachers were in the stacks. None of them appeared more than casually interested.

Lourds went deeper into the stacks and found the section that held books on linguistics. He noted with satisfaction that books bearing his name had increased in quantity on the shelf. Of course, many of them were his translation of
Bedroom Pursuits
. The worn bindings indicated they’d seen serious circulation.

“I see that the reading tastes of college students don’t really change from nation to nation,” Leslie commented dryly.

“Not hardly. Still, whatever brings them to quest for knowledge is fine by me. Sex, or at least the promise of sex, garners more attention than anything else in the world, especially if you are a healthy nineteen-year-old.” Lourds glanced at Leslie. “And it isn’t just teens who like it. As I recall, it was that book that brought me to
your
attention. And doubtless it was that book that you used to win over your producers.”

Leslie’s cheeks flamed a bit. “Marketing loved the idea, of course.”

“Of course. And I expect that it will be touted on the advertisements for the television series.”

“Will that bother you?”

“Not at all. I get royalties from that book.” Lourds grinned. “As you can see, it’s been something of an international best-seller. It’s afforded me quite a different lifestyle than that of a simple academic.”

Lourds knelt in front of the books. He moved four of them out of the way. Reaching up, he ran his hand across the bottom of the next shelf up. He felt nothing.

Disappointment coursed through him. He hadn’t really expected to turn away empty-handed. He drew back.

“What’s wrong?” Leslie asked.

“Nothing’s there.”

Leslie knelt beside him and crouched to look under the shelf.

“Maybe she didn’t have time to leave anything.”

“Has it always been this shelf?”

“Yes.”

Glancing up, Leslie pointed at the books above the shelf they were investigating. “Some of your books are shelved here.”

Lourds looked and found that it was true. “Apparently the library has seen fit to acquire more copies of my works.” He ran his hand under the upper shelf and felt the straight edges of micro flash drive secured there. He pulled on it, but it didn’t come loose.

“What’s wrong?” Leslie asked.

“It’s stuck.” Lourds took a penflash from his pocket and looked up at the small protective plastic case. Light glistened on the dollops of dried liquid that showed around the edges.

“That looks like an adhesive,” Leslie said.

“I hadn’t expected that.” The shelf shivered under his attack. On a second attempt, the case tore away with a loud rip. Lourds pulled his hand away. He held the case between his fingers.

“Man,” Gary said, “I hope you didn’t break that micro flash drive.”

Lourds peered through the pale blue patina of the protective case but couldn’t clearly see the contents. He, too, hoped he hadn’t damaged it.

At that moment a figure moved into view at the end of the row.

“Professor Lourds?”

Looking up, Lourds saw the librarian standing there.

“Is something wrong?” the little man asked. “I thought I heard a noise.”

Lourds didn’t know what to say. There was no time to hide the micro flash drive. The librarian had to have seen it.

Gallardo felt exposed as he walked through the library at the Russian college. He wore street clothes—khakis, an oxford, and sweater—and covered it all with a long woolen coat.

But his wardrobe couldn’t do anything about the look in his eyes.

One glance, and anyone would know he was no student.

DiBenedetto and Cimino covered his flank. The younger man made small talk with passing women. He smiled often and looked as if he were a student himself off to work on a paper.

Miroshnikov, one of the men Gallardo had retained to help him inside Moscow, waited at the door to the library. He had been the one to follow Lourds and the television team into the building.

“He’s still inside?” Gallardo asked. He spoke in English because that was the only language he and Miroshnikov had in common.

“Yes.”

Gallardo nodded and dropped a hand into his coat pocket to touch the silencer-equipped pistol he carried there. “Where?”

“At the back.”

“Let’s go.”

Miroshnikov took the lead. Gallardo followed at his heels. A ripping noise sounded off to the left. The old man behind the library counter went on point immediately. He slipped from behind the counter and went in the direction of the noise.

Gallardo fell in behind the old librarian but motioned for DiBenedetto and Cimino to spread out. They disappeared into the stacks of books almost at once.

Miroshnikov stayed just ahead of Gallardo and to the left. Gallardo had a clear field of fire. His hand formed a fist around the pistol.

The librarian stopped so suddenly, Miroshnikov nearly ran up his back.

“Professor Lourds,” the librarian exclaimed quietly. There was a note of accusation in the address.

Gallardo stopped just out of sight and listened. Miroshnikov crossed the aisle and fell into position at the next stack.

When Lourds spoke, Gallardo recognized the professor’s voice but not what was said. Lourds evidently spoke fluent Russian.

Peering around the corner, Gallardo saw Lourds and the television crew standing like guilty children in front of the old librarian. The wizened man stepped into their midst. He was obviously concerned over what had happened.

Gallardo’s attention was riveted on the small plastic case in Lourds’s hands. As upset as the librarian was, Gallardo feared that security would be called. He knew he couldn’t allow that to happen.

He freed the pistol from his pocket, pulled his ski mask down to cover his face, and stepped around the stack. Miroshnikov mirrored his movements. The silencers screwed onto the barrels of the pistols made them look huge and menacing. Gallardo hoped their appearance would be enough to keep anyone from being foolish.

“I’ll take that,” Gallardo barked in English.

Showing obvious irritation, the librarian turned around. Gallardo guessed the man intended to deliver a scathing retort, but the initiative died on the man’s withered lips when he saw the pistol.

“Down on your knees,” Gallardo ordered. “Cross your ankles.”

The librarian dropped and barely managed the feat.

Lourds maintained enough presence of mind to start backing away. He caught the young woman with one hand and pulled her behind him.

“If I have to shoot you, Professor Lourds, I will.” Gallardo held the pistol level. “I’m beginning to think you’d be far less trouble to me dead.”

DiBenedetto stepped out from cover at the other end of the aisle.

With his escape route closed off, Lourds froze.

Gallardo grinned. He knew the expression would show through the ski mask—menacingly, of course. He advanced slowly. Miroshnikov trailed him.

“I say we just kill them here,” DiBenedetto said. “We don’t need them alive.”

A meaty smack sounded behind Gallardo before he could make a reply. Ahead, DiBenedetto stepped to the side and leveled his pistol in both hands, taking deliberate aim at Gallardo.

“Look out,” DiBenedetto warned.

Gallardo tried to turn. He heard the movement behind him. His head swiveled and he saw Miroshnikov lying unconscious on the library floor. At the same moment a pistol barrel screwed into the side of Gallardo’s neck.

“If you move,” a cold female voice warned, “I’m going to shoot you.”

Standing behind the big man, Natasha Safarov kept her pistol barrel tight against his neck. If she squeezed the trigger, the round would tear his throat out.

Adrenaline surged through her as she tried to figure out where the other man was. She’d arrived at the university after Lourds and the men trailing him. They hadn’t noticed her, as she’d parked farther up then doubled back to the library only a short distance behind them.

“Tell your friends to put their weapons down,” Natasha advised. “Otherwise I’ll kill you and take my chances with them. Personally, I like my chances. How do you feel?”

Before the man could answer, Lourds charged into action. Natasha wanted to scream in frustration. The professor was going to get himself killed.

Lourds caught the young gunman’s hand and shoved it into the air. The pistol made a slight coughing noise. The bullet thudded into the ceiling high overhead. Only a thin stream of plaster dust trickled down. Before the younger man could recover, Lourds raked a thick book from the shelf and slammed the gunman in the face with it.

Blood spattered from the man’s broken nose, and he sagged backwards. Lourds took a moment to kick the pistol from the dazed man’s hand. Turning, Lourds seized the young woman’s wrist and pulled her into motion.

Incredibly, the big man Natasha had hold of started to surge forward. She reached forward and grabbed his chin, pushing the gun barrel hard into his flesh.

“Bad idea,” she said.

The man froze.

Both of them watched helplessly as Lourds and his two companions disappeared into the stacks. Natasha cursed silently.

She looked up and spotted the security camera mounted on the ceiling. She ordered the man forward to the end of the aisle. The younger man attempted to crawl to his weapon. Natasha kicked him in the temple, and he rolled over unconscious.

Then she ripped the ski mask from the big man’s features. She threw the mask away and turned him to face the camera.

“Tell your friend to come out of hiding,” Natasha ordered. “Do it
now!
”

“Cimino,” the big man called. “Step out where she can see you.”

A moment later, the other man moved into the open. He carried a silenced pistol hanging from its trigger guard by one finger.

“Throw the pistol over here,” Natasha ordered.

The man obeyed.

“Lie down,” Natasha told him. “On your stomach. Hands clasped behind your head. I’m sure you know the drill.”

The man hesitated, but the big man Natasha had hold of growled at him. The man got down on the floor.

Natasha was torn. She wanted to radio for backup and take the men into custody, but she knew Lourds might well manage to escape Russia if she lost him now. Then she spotted the wireless earwig in the big man’s ear.

“How many men do you have outside?” Natasha asked.

He didn’t answer.

Natasha decided it didn’t matter. There were certainly enough to kill or capture Lourds. “Stick your hand out.” When the big man didn’t comply, she slapped her pistol against his jaw.

He shoved his hand out.

With practiced ease, Natasha slapped a handcuff around his wrist. “On your face.”

The big man sank slowly. Natasha knew he was merely waiting for an opening to present itself so that he could reverse the roles of captor and captive. He was in for a surprise. When he was on the ground, she cuffed him to the unconscious man on the floor.

Natasha whirled and ran. She hoped she could help Lourds keep from getting killed or captured by the big man’s waiting goons. She had questions she wanted answered.

Lourds’s heart beat like a trip-hammer. He pressed a hand against his jacket to feel the hard edges of the protective case inside his pocket.
Still there. Thank God.
He just hoped it was worth risking his life for.

He held on to Leslie’s hand as he ran. He didn’t want the young woman to freeze up. He doubted the big man in the library had come alone.

Outside, Lourds streaked across the grounds. His breath burned the back of his throat. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Gary only a couple of steps back. The young man lugged the camera easily and moved at a surprisingly fast gait.