Iris Johansen - Chasing the Night

And the men who handled the information gathering of those satellites had developed a fine state of arrogance, Joe thought in annoyance. He glanced down at the dossier on Helder that Venable had provided him. George Helder was in his thirties with slick black hair, triangular face, and dark eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. He had a master’s in Computer Science and had been with the NSA for ten years. He was in Mensa, an ardent cyclist, and was a geek of the highest order.

Joe had no problem with any of those things. He did have issue with the arrogance. “I’m sure you’ve had opportunities the rest of us peasants weren’t privy to. That’s why we’ve come to you to help us out.”

“I’m happy you appreciate how valuable we can be. We’ve got you on the schedule for two. We’ve tapped Ms. Ling’s phone, and we’ll be ready. Is there anything else? I’m very busy.”

Yes, he wished the prick wasn’t so damn egotistical. He’d dealt with too many bureaucrats not to recognize the signs in this NSA controller. “No, as long as we understand each other, and you’re aware how important it is that you cooperate with us.”

“Cooperate?” Helder said in disbelief. “We’re doing you a favor, Mr. Quinn. Do you know how much of a favor that is? Corporations pay us millions for just a few minutes of our time. You’d be wise not to demand more than we choose to give you.”

Don’t pop his balloon, Joe told himself. Save the big guns if it became necessary later. “If there are any problems, call and let me know. I’ll straighten them out.”

And straighten him out.

It would be a pleasure.

1:50 P.M.

Danilovsky Market

The market was just as crowded and noisy as Catherine had hoped it would be. Located outside the Garden Ring and off the Tulskaya Metro Station, the Danilovsky was one of the most popular open-air markets in the city, and she’d used it before for a meeting place with her contacts. The crowded booths and vendors hawking their wares, the scent of fresh vegetables and exotic cheeses were all very familiar to her.

“This is stupid,” Kelsov said roughly as he parked the car at the curb next to the market. “Anyone could sidle up to you in this crowd and slip a stiletto between your ribs. You need someone to watch your back. I’m going with you.”

“You are not,” Catherine said as she got out of the car. “You’re out of this, Kelsov. The only reason I had you bring me here instead of driving myself was that I wanted to be sure that you still had a car at the house. I didn’t want to leave Eve and Kelly without wheels.”

“I’m out of this?” His voice was harsh. “No way, Catherine. We’ve worked together for years trying to find a way to kill that bastard. You’re not going to shut me out.”

“Killing Rakovac was always second on my agenda.”

“Well, he’s first on mine.”

“I know,” she said quietly. “And that’s why you’re not going with me. I’ve been fighting everyone to get my chance to save my son, and I won’t have you ruining that chance.”

He got out of the car. “You won’t have any chance at all if you get your throat cut.”

“He’s not going to kill me. Not here. Whatever else he plans, it won’t be murder. He’s not through toying with me yet. He’ll call me and tell me how to take the next step in his game plan.” She checked her watch. “And I don’t have time to argue with you. I’ve got to move around that market and make myself seen. It’s 1:55. I get the call from Rakovac at two. I don’t want anyone reporting to him that I didn’t show up.” She started toward the booths. “Take off, Kelsov. I don’t want you seen. Get that car back to Eve and Kelly.”

He didn’t move.

She glanced back over her shoulder. “I mean it,” she said softly. “If you blow this for me, you’ll wish you’d never been born. You’re always telling me how miserable that work camp in Siberia was, how they beat you and froze you and made you feel like half a man. I guarantee you’ll think of it as a balmy day camp after I get through with you.”

He believed her. He was aware of all her lethal capabilities though they had never been aimed at him. “Bitch.”

She nodded. “I take it our relationship is at an end. I’m sorry, Kelsov. I hoped we might both get what we wanted. It just didn’t work out. One more thing. You take good care of Eve and Kelly, or I’ll track you down and amputate your nuts.” She turned and disappeared into the crowd.

His hands clenched into fists. He wanted to strike out at her. Strangle her. She was getting close to Rakovac. He knew it.

Bitch. Bitch. Bitch.

Go after her?

No, she had meant what she said. He wouldn’t put it past her to turn on him and give him a karate chop just to prove to any onlooker that he was not supporting her in any way.

Rage was searing through him. He was losing his chance at Rakovac.

And all because of that damn kid. He had known her son could screw things up for him, but he’d had to accept Luke if he wanted Catherine’s expertise and dedication.

Okay, don’t go after her.

Stay across the street in the vestibule of that butcher shop and watch and wait for her to surface.

He strode across the street, dodging the pushcarts.

The butcher shop’s interior was as crowded as the rest of the market. He pressed against the far side of the vestibule to allow people to come and go.

He tried to smother his anger as he settled down to wait.

2:05 P.M.

“She hasn’t gotten the call yet,” Venable said. “Helder just contacted me and wants to know what’s happening.” He added sarcastically, “He tells me time’s money, you know.”

“He’s only five minutes late so far,” Joe said. “Helder wouldn’t realize that people aren’t robots you can program.” But he was as tense as Venable. “I placed Cal Parkins in the market, and he said she arrived ten minutes ago. She’s moving from booth to booth, and there’s been no sign of aggressive action against her. He hasn’t spotted anyone who appears suspicious.”

“If he could spot them, Rakovac wouldn’t use them,” Venable said. He was staring at the clock. “Why the hell doesn’t he call her?”

The butcher shop smelled of sawdust, herbs, fresh salmon, and the sour sweat of the people who were coming and going, Kelsov thought.

Not pleasant.

He wanted out of there.

Where the hell are you, Catherine?

He’d give her another five minutes, then go into the market after her. He’d talk fast, tell her that he’d go along with anything she wanted, persuade her that he’d had a change of heart.

It might work.

It was better than standing here being overwhelmed by this stink. Catherine should be-

“Excuse me.” Another bulky man was trying to squeeze by him. He must have been three hundred pounds and was dressed in a red sweater, black pants, and a gray cap. “You should not be here. It’s a fine day. Why are you huddled in the corner? Are you ill?”

Pretty close to it. And this monster of a man wasn’t helping. Get rid of him. He inhaled and pressed even tighter back against the wall. “I’m sorry I’m in your way. Go on past me. I’m fine.”

“Not ill?” The man asked again with concern.

“I told you, I’m not-”

Sharp pain…his wrist…

2:10 P.M.

No call.

Catherine stared blindly down at the odd purple carrot in the bin before her.

Dammit, why didn’t he call? She had been afraid that she had pushed Rakovac too hard. With her luck, he might decide to call her in a half hour…or not at all.

“You buy?” The chunky woman at the carrot booth urged. “A special Azerbaijani carrot. Very rare-150 rubles per kilo.”