Iris Johansen - Silent Thunder

"It's somewhere around here, isn't it?" The CIA trainee, Cal Wilkes, who was struggling behind him, was short of breath, and his nose was cherry red from the cold.

"It's on the other side of the hill," Fahey said impatiently. "Didn't you read the packet?"

"Uh, yeah," Wilkes said. "I guess I just got turned around."

The kid was never going to develop the stuff to become a field agent, Fahey thought. At least, he was also accompanied by two Russian operatives who might be of some help.

Maybe.

The Russians were ostensibly there to provide assistance, but he knew their primary purpose was similar to his own: to find out if Dimitri Ivanov, the man Kirov claimed to be, was actually dead. If Bradworth's source was correct, the answer was less than a hundred yards away.

Fahey had worked in Russia for the past two decades, long enough to see the end of the Cold War era. As far as he knew, the Russians now "assisting" him had tried to uncover his identity and kill him several times during his many undercover assignments. He wasn't naïve enough to believe that they still wouldn't eliminate him if the political winds shifted only slightly.

"It's pretty cold, isn't it?" the kid asked. "You don't seem to feel it."

"I feel it."

The kid had been alternating between making inane comments and pumping him for stories about the good old days, Fahey thought, like so many other WASPy recruits who found themselves increasingly irrelevant in an agency that now prized brown skin and knowledge of Middle Eastern dialects. Poor bastard. He'd be lucky if he wound up with an agency research job in an archive basement somewhere.

They reached the hill's summit and walked down the other side, stepping carefully to avoid the slick patches of ice. Fahey pointed to the remains of a wooden gazebo. "Okay, it should be ten yards west of there."

One of the Russians turned on a metal detector and passed the disc-shaped sensor over the designated area. The small speaker buzzed, indicating the presence of metal at the site. Fahey kicked the area, and his heel made a hollow thumping sound on the earth.

"This is it. There used to be a house over there, and this was the vegetable cellar. Let's go."

The Russians handed Fahey and Wilkes a pair of shovels, and the four men uncovered a four-inch layer of dirt and snow that obscured the varnished wooden doors. The metal hinges and latch were almost rusted through.

"Help me with this," Fahey said.

The four men pulled on the right door, and the wood and metalwork crumbled as they tossed it aside.

Fahey pulled out his flashlight and shined it downward.

The kid's eyes narrowed as squinted down into the cellar. "Holy shit," he whispered.

Florida is a big state," Hannah said, as their rental car entered the ramp that would take them onto I-85 South. "Shouldn't we have some idea where we're headed?"

"I have the utmost faith in Eugenia."

"And that means?"

"By the time we hit the state line, we should have all the information we need."

"A jet would get us there a lot faster." They had taken a jet only as far as Atlanta and picked up the rental car at the airport.

"But not as safely. I took the risk of the flight out of Boston, but I didn't have time to get you ID that would keep your name off the transportation grid. An airport visual recognition scanner could still bring our trip to an abrupt halt."

Hannah nodded. "I guess you're right. I wouldn't put it past Bradworth to transmit our photos to every law enforcement database in the country."

"I can guarantee it, but we should be safe here on the road. It's a long drive, but if we take turns, we'll be there in less than a day. The highways are this country's last bastion of anonymity, and the driver's license and credit card I used shouldn't raise any red flags with the rental car company."

"You have all the bases covered."

He shrugged. "I've been doing this for a long time."

Hannah watched him for a long moment. "Have you ever thought of giving up?"

"Never."

"When will it be enough?"

"When Pavski is dead, and not a moment before. When will it be enough for you?"

"I don't know. Sometimes I think it would be worse for him to just rot in prison for the rest of his life. Sometimes I just want to blow his head off. At the moment, I'm leaning toward decapitating the bastard."

"That's good, because Pavski wouldn't rot in prison no matter what Bradworth promises you. Pavski is too valuable to them. He has immense, albeit dated, knowledge of the Russian Atlantic Fleet and command protocols. And he knows where all the bodies are buried in the present Russian bureaucracy. If we turn him over to Bradworth, Pavski will probably become the permanent resident of a government-run resort with his own private beach. To earn it, he would provide assistance to U.S. intelligence whenever a situation developed."

"Sounds like a pretty sweet deal."

"It is. He's sipping piña coladas, and you have a lifetime of remembering how your brother looked that night in the sub."

Sudden rage flared in her. "Stop it. You don't need to do that."

"Do what?"

"Stoke the fires by reminding me of Conner." Hannah's voice shook with anger. "It's okay that we're using each other to get what we want here, but it's not okay for you to use Conner. Understood?"

Kirov paused a long moment before nodding. "Understood. May I just say I didn't mean to use him? Sometimes manipulation comes a little too easy to me. Forgive me."

And this wasn't manipulation. Kirov meant what he was saying. She could feel the anger ebbing away. She tried to hold on to it. "Is that supposed to disarm me?"

He smiled. "I hope so."

And it had disarmed her, dammit.

LANGLEY, VIRGINIA

Bradworth picked up his telephone. "Fahey, where are you?"

"I'm at the site on my satellite phone. Your source was correct. There are skeletal human remains in the vegetable cellar. Adult male."

"Is there enough material to extract DNA?"

"There should be. We're almost finished packing it up."

"Good. What about size?"

"I measured the fibula, and the height calculations jibe with Ivanov. This man was about six-foot-one. We'll know more once we get it into a lab. By the way, do we know where we're headed with it yet?"

"One of our specialists is already on his way to Moscow. We'll be using the facilities at the Burdenko Military Hospital there. We found an uncle of Ivanov's, and he's given us a blood sample so that we can compare DNA."

"Good. We'll have the skeleton there by this afternoon." Fahey's voice lowered. "Bradworth, his skeleton was hacked to pieces by a barrage of bullets. Somebody really didn't like this guy."

VALDOSTA, GEORGIA

6:15 A.M .

Kirov's cell phone ring broke the silence as Hannah drove past a marker on I-75 informing her that the Florida state line was only forty-four miles away.

Kirov put the phone on speaker mode. "You're up early, Eugenia."

"Actually, not that early for me. I'm in Moscow."

"What?"

"I have to be done with this mess you brought on me. It's become dangerous to my business and my health."

"You can opt out."

"No, I can't. But I can handle it myself. My contacts are good, but I'm better." She went on brusquely, "There are two GRU operatives who are known to sell information and services to the highest bidder. Salvak and Danzyl. I'm betting on Danzyl. From what I've learned, he worked closely with Pavski before he was sent packing from Moscow."

"And can we get him to sell information to you?"

"I don't think so. And if I tap Salvak, Danzyl may hear about it and make things difficult for me. I'm having to walk very carefully. I may have to find another way." She changed the subject. "And I didn't forget about Dane. I've just been a little busy. Your bomb maker is working in Florida. Panama City. He should be fairly easy to find."