Iris Johansen - Silent Thunder

"Because you're more valuable to me right now than anonymity." He smiled. "Choices, again."

"Well, this particular choice may have been a bust. We're not finding anything on the Silent Thunder ."

"We'll give it the rest of the night. Then we move on." He headed for the door of the café. "If one door closes, then you open another." He glanced at her. "If you choose to go along with me. It's up to you."

"You're damn right it is." She paused. "And what door do you plan on opening?"

"I have a few contacts who might help us locate Pavski. But we'll have to lose Bradworth. If you consider him a safety net, that's too bad. My friends aren't fond of the CIA."

She thought about it. "My experiences with Bradworth haven't been very reassuring. But if we're being watched by him as well as Pavski, how do you intend to do that? It's a very small town."

He smiled as he opened the door for her. "Then we'll just have to go to a bigger town, won't we? Will you have breakfast with me tomorrow morning?"

"What?"

"I've done a little research about the town since the Silent Thunder arrived here. I think you'll find a little restaurant called Mrs. Finley's Kitchen very interesting."

You lost her?" Bradworth said between his teeth into the phone. "How in the hell did you lose her?"

Agent Teague stammered. "It was the restaurant. That Mrs. Finley's kitchen. I didn't know-I didn't read the back of the menu until later."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I stationed Willis at the back entrance and I watched the front. I thought that would be enough, but it-"

"How did they get away, dammit?"

"The restaurant has a secret underground exit that lets out in a shed about half a block away. It's been there since the Revolutionary War days."

Bradworth couldn't believe what he was hearing. "A secret exit."

"Not so secret, actually. There's a whole write-up about it on the back of the menu. I talked to the manager, and she says Ms. Bryson and Kirov went in back and asked to walk through it."

"How long has it been since they flew the coop?"

"Forty minutes. We're in the car now, scouting the area."

Forty minutes. Kirov would have a plan and an escape route, and forty minutes was more than enough time for him to implement it.

"Shit!"

NEW YORK CITY

4:48 P.M.

What makes you think this friend of yours can help us?" Hannah asked Kirov as they walked down East 51 stStreet, past Lexington Avenue, and into a charming neighborhood of brownstones and small boutiques.

"Eugenia Voltar was one of the youngest and sharpest agents in the KGB's history." Kirov gaze was on the address on one of the buildings they were passing. "If anyone can help us, she can."

"KGB?"

He nodded. "However, she was never popular with the higher-ups there because she possessed the dangerous trait of speaking her mind. She was pushed out in the general downsizing, when the KGB became the FSB, and she eventually ended up here."

"She's a spy?"

"Not anymore. In the last few years, she's become quite wealthy by helping Western corporations move into Russia. She knows just which palms to grease to make anything happen." He cast a sideways glance at Hannah. "There was an arms trader I'd spent years searching for, and I finally found him with Eugenia's help."

"And what did you do when you found him?"

He didn't answer.

She hadn't really expected a reply. Kirov disclosed only what he chose to reveal about his life. In the past days she had found that sometimes he was surprisingly open, and at others he was completely uncommunicative. Just enough information to pique her curiosity and interest. Oh, yes, she couldn't deny the interest. He was a totally fascinating man, and every minute with him was a challenge. Yet she also was beginning to feel a strange sense of comfort and security when she was with him.

"Ah. Here we are." Kirov stopped. "318 East 51 stStreet. Nice place, don't you think?"

It was a converted brownstone with a fresh brick façade, red canopy, and a brass plaque that read CONNECTIONS INTERNATIONAL.

"Terrible name," Kirov said, as they climbed the short flight of stairs and rang the doorbell. "I told Eugenia she should have used more imagination. It sounds like a dating service."

A youthful female voice came from the speaker box. "Yes?"

Kirov looked up at a security camera and winked.

Laughter pealed from the speaker box. "Kirov, you devil. I knew you couldn't stay away. You're powerless to resist me, you know." The voice was an intriguing mixture of Russian and British accents.

"So you keep telling me, Eugenia. Are you going to buzz me in, or am I going to stand out here like a panhandler?"

"I'm still deciding. I'm offended that, after all these months, you finally choose to visit me with such a pretty young woman at your side. Tsk, tsk. Very bad form, Kirov."

"You know I only have eyes for you, my dear."

"Ah, that's the charming liar I know and love."

The door buzzed. Kirov opened it and held it open for Hannah as they entered the foyer.

Before they'd even closed the door behind them, a petite young woman flew down a flight of stairs and threw her arms around Kirov. "I can't believe it! I thought you were dead, or worse, married and living in the suburbs!" She drew back and checked his left hand. "You're not, are you?"

Kirov smiled and kissed her cheek. "You know me better than that." He motioned to Hannah. "Eugenia, this is-"

Before Kirov could finish the sentence, Eugenia threw her arms around Hannah as if they were long-lost friends. "So nice to meet you! You are-?"

"Hannah Bryson."

"Hannah!" Eugenia gave her another squeeze and frowned as she felt Hannah instinctively pull back. "Too much? Kirov keeps telling me I'm too demonstrative, but life's too short to curl up inside yourself like a snail. And any friend of Kirov's and all that… You are a friend?"

Hannah smiled. Eugenia's high spirits were contagious. Although Kirov indicated the woman had worked for the KGB more than a decade before, she couldn't be older than her late twenties or early thirties. She was a pretty, fair-skinned woman with shoulder-length brown hair and bright, lively dark eyes.

"Actually, we're more acquaintances than friends."

"Oh, then I take back the hug. But I like your honesty. Come along."

Kirov and Hannah followed Eugenia up the stairs to see that the entire second floor had been converted to a large, sleek office that looked as if it should have been the home base for the CEO of a Fortune 500 company.

"You like my office?" Eugenia said.

"It's beautiful," Hannah said, admiring the granite countertops, marble floor, and tall mahogany shelves.

"I hate it," Eugenia said. "It's not me at all. Too showy. But, if the head of a multibillion-dollar corporation is going to trust me to expand his company into Russia, he needs to see this to feel comfortable. I do most of my real work upstairs." Eugenia motioned for them to follow her. "We can talk up there."

They climbed another flight until they found themselves in a room about half the size of Eugenia's office. Hannah's initial impression was that they'd somehow stumbled upon a college dorm room. The walls were hot pink and decorated with posters of the Beatles, the Clash, and Bruce Springsteen. A Jimi Hendrix solo blared from the small stereo even though Hannah had heard no trace of it on the floor below.

Eugenia smiled proudly. "Much more personality, yes?"

Hannah nodded. "Yes. I like it."

Eugenia turned to Kirov. "I was most surprised to hear that the Silent Thunder lives. I thought it was sold for scrap and now part of thousands of poorly made Russian automobiles."