Richard Castle: A Bloody Storm

The male guard used his portable radio to call a matron, who approached them about a minute later.

“This man’s lost his woman friend in the loo,” the guard explained. “Says she’s just been discharged from the hospital and is wearing a sling.”

“Broken arm?” the woman asked.

“Broken collarbone, an accident,” he replied, catching himself before he said “gunshot.”

“I’ll check,” the matron said cheerfully, only to return moments later.

“Sorry, mate,” she said. “But there’s no women in the loo wearing a sling. No Yanks at all. Maybe she’s gone into the food court.”

Grabbing his cell phone, Cumerford stepped away from them and called his supervising agent at the embassy in London.

“Showers has disappeared!”

“What? How? Weren’t you with her?”

“Not in the bathroom. We stopped at a service area.”

Cumerford felt a tug on his arm. It was the matron.

“A couple said they saw your lady friend being carried out of the loo a few minutes ago. There was a nurse with her. She was unconscious.”

“A nurse?”

“A nurse and two gentlemen. One was carrying her. He was a big fellow.”

Speaking into his cell phone, Cumerford said, “Oh my God! Someone’s abducted her! We’ve lost Agent Showers!”

President’s Office

Senate Office Building inside the Kremlin

Moscow, Russia

Hanging on the wall directly behind President Barkovsky’s desk inside his Kremlin office was the Russia Republic’s coat of arms. The red seal had a double-headed, golden eagle in its center. In one sinister talon, the bird was clutching a scepter. An imperial crown was in the other talon. There was an overlay of Saint George on a horse about to slay a dragon in the center of the crest.

Barkovsky hated both his antique presidential desk and the seal, but especially the seal. It had been adopted in 1993 by his predecessors, after the collapse of the Soviet Empire. The reformers had stripped away the more familiar hammer and sickle and its motto: “Workers of the World, Unite.”

“What does Saint George slaying a dragon have to do with modern Russia?” Barkovsky frequently complained to visitors. The legend had been brought back from the crusades in Libya. Why had the country’s leaders put a crusader on a national emblem when there were so many better choices? Barkvosky felt he might as well be on that seal, but certainly before St. George. He had done more for Russia.

Barkovsky had just returned to his office after having a light lunch, when there was a rap on his door and his chief of staff, Mikhail Sokolov, entered, saying: “I have news.”

“First answer me this,” Barkovsky replied. “I wanted Ivan Petrov interrogated and killed. I wanted the Americans blamed for his murder. What do our people in London do? They sent three assassins to shoot him at a public rally! How is that blaming the FBI? And then they failed to kill him! And now Petrov and Lebedev are dead, and only the two Americans survived.”

“Petrov was not supposed to be killed at the rally,” Sokolov explained. “The plan was for our men to ambush Petrov and the Americans after the rally when they were returning in a convoy to Petrov’s English estate. Petrov’s security chief was helping us. She was supposed to make it look like the two Americans killed Petrov and two of his security guards before they were fatally wounded. Only the security chief and Lebedev were supposed to survive the attack. They would be the only witnesses and would interrogate Petrov about the gold before killing him.”

“If that was the plan, then why did our men begin shooting at the rally?”

“Because they were recognized by the Americans in the crowd before Petrov began his speech. This Good Samaritan — this unidentified CIA man — was about to confront one of them. Our man panicked and began shooting.”

“It’s a total disaster. Now the entire world is blaming me, and why not? The men who London hired for this job were all ex-KGB, and all were total idiots. This has become an international incident. And we still have no idea where my gold is located.”

“Ah, but we do. That is the good news that I have come to report.”

“You know where my gold is? Where is it? How do you know?”

“We do not know the exact spot yet, but we will. Our people in England have abducted the woman FBI agent,” Sokolov said.

“How does that help me find my gold? What use is she to me now that Petrov is dead?”

“She knows where your gold is hidden.”

“That’s impossible,” Barkovsky replied. “The BBC is reporting that she was unconscious in the car after the shootings at the rally. She has no idea what happened between Petrov and Lebedev or how they ended up dead.”

“The BBC is lying. Petrov told her where the gold is located before he died.”

“How can you possibly know this?”

“Because we have confirmation. We have a friend helping us — someone who our intelligence service hasn’t heard from for many years.”

“We have a spy in the FBI?”

“No, in Langley. One of our best recruits has resurfaced after four years. We’d thought we’d lost him because he stopped all communication with us and disappeared. But now he is back and is helping us again. He sent word early this morning that the CIA is forming a team to go after the gold. The CIA is forming this team because the female FBI agent — April Showers — told them where the gold is located. She must have been conscious in the car when Lebedev interrogated Petrov. That is why we have kidnapped her.”

Barkovsky let loose a stream of expletives. “We warned the Americans to stay away from my gold, but Mr. Jedidiah Jones thinks he can defy me and get away with it.”

“Mr. President, even if the FBI agent doesn’t tell us where the gold is located, we will still be able to find it because our friend — our mole — is on the team that Jones has selected to locate your gold. Without realizing it, Jones will be leading us to your gold.”

Barkovsky broke into a menacing grin. “We have both the female FBI agent and a CIA mole.” He hesitated and then asked, “But is this spy of ours reliable? How do you know this isn’t a provocation by Jones? One of his many CIA tricks — especially if this spy has been silent for years and only now has resurfaced?”

“It’s true, our friend vanished four years ago,” Sokolov said. “But before that, the information he gave us was one hundred percent reliable. In one of the last communications, he warned us about an operation in Tangiers. We were able to use his information to foil the CIA’s plans. Americans were killed and Jones’s operation was a complete failure.”

“We can use our mole to corroborate the information we get out of the FBI agent, and vice versa,” Barkovsky said. “This is brilliant!”

“Yes, but first we must get April Showers out of England. We can’t afford any more mistakes. Where should we send her to be interrogated?”

“Take her to wherever this CIA team goes. Do it there.”

“For what purpose, may I ask?” Sokolov said.

“I want Jedidiah Jones to know when they recover her body that she was executed because of his decision to go after my gold.”

“We embarrassed him in Tangiers,” Sokolov said. “We will do it again.”

“I do not want the FBI agent or members of the CIA team killed until we have my gold. No mistakes this time. Once I get my gold, then I want them all dead. I want to send this arrogant Jedidiah Jones a message.”

“Everyone but our friend, the mole, of course,” Sokolov said.

“No, kill him, too,” Barkovsky said. “There is only one reason a spy betrays his own country. There is no romance, no mystery. It is always for the money. And a man who can be bought is not a man who can be trusted. After we have the gold, he is expendable.”