Eric Lustbader - Last Snow

Annika appeared on the verge of laughing in his face. “How could that possibly be?”

“We enter Ukraine as a family: mother, father, daughter. That will throw your FSB pals off the scent, at least for a while.”

“Really?” Annika cocked her head to one side. “And what passports are we going to use, Mr. McClure?”

“I hadn’t considered that.”

“No, I thought not.” Annika nodded. “But that’s all right. I’ve been working out a plan while you and the girl were huddled together in the back. Assuming we’re flying to Kiev . . .”

“We are.”

“At least something’s gone right tonight. I know someone there.” She held up her hands, palms outward. “Don’t worry, he’s not an ex-colleague, he’s someone I unearthed on my own, the head of the airport immigration staff, who’s always in need of money to feed his gambling habit. You have money, I take it.”

“Don’t leave home without it.”

“Dollars, not, God forbid, rubles, which don’t do anyone any good, not even us Russians?”

Jack nodded.

“All right, then.” She pulled out her cell phone. “Let me get to work. Once my greedy friend escorts us past Immigration, there’s someone else I know who can forge us documents so we can become your mythical family and move about the city. Names?”

Jack thought a moment. “Mr. and Mrs. Charles. I’m Nicholas, you’re Nora.”

“Nora.” Annika wrinkled up her nose. “I don’t think I like this name.”

“Would you prefer Brandi, or maybe Tiffany?”

“Nora it is,” Annika said, already dialing. “And the girl?”

“Emma,” Jack said without thinking, because in this instance thinking would be fatal; thinking would point out all the flaws in this insane plan, just as it would put into glaring headlines the terrible risks he’d chosen to take the moment he’d decided to try and protect Annika from Ivan and Milan.

They took their seats and strapped in as the Fasten Seatbelt sign came on. Annika was chattering away on her cell, which meant that she had at least been able to contact her immigration official. What if he hadn’t been on duty, or was on vacation—though who in Ukraine took vacations at this time of the year?—or, worst of all, wasn’t answering his phone? But another, more benign outcome seemed to be taking place, so for the moment Jack sat back and tried to look at the situation from all angles, as he worked on thinking his way out of this jam.

His first option, once they were on the ground, was to call Edward, but he didn’t know whether that was the smartest option or the stupidest. The very last thing he wanted to do was to involve the President of the United States in what could turn out to be a major international incident. Relations with President Yukin were fragile enough as it was. Carson had spent the better part of this past week trying to undo the damage his predecessor had inflicted on U.S.-Russian relations over the past eight years. So in a clearheaded moment Jack decided that the man who could help him the most—the most powerful man in the free world—was also the most vulnerable and, therefore, off-limits to him.

His next option was to contact Dick Bridges and persuade him to use his clout in the Department of Defense to get him and Alli out of Kiev using a cadre of the clandestine agents from the CIA or the NSA. That plan also had its risks, not the least of which was Carson’s own warning not to let Bridges know what Jack’s mission was. If Bridges was working for Edward’s enemies and Jack told him what was going on, Jack would personally sink Carson’s administration before it even got rolling.

The third and last option he’d thought of involved calling Chief Rodney Bennett, his old boss at ATF. The problem there was that Bennett ran a regional office. Jack had no idea whether he had the contacts higher up to trust with this highly flammable information.

Precisely when had this situation become toxic, Jack wondered. When he’d overheard the conversation between Annika and Ivan? When Annika had been accosted by Ivan? When he’d become aware that Ivan and Milan had invaded Annika’s room? Each increment of last night was like a tiny glass tile with its own color, shape, and texture, meaningless on its own, but when pieced together they had led him to this fugitive place, where only the unknown awaited.

The aircraft kissed the tarmac with only the slightest of bumps. By this time Annika was on her second call and Jack had come to the glum conclusion that for the moment he was alone in hostile territory with the First Daughter and a Russian Security Service agent he scarcely knew, and both FSB assassins and grupperovka liable to play Whac-A-Mole with them if their faces popped up in the wrong place.

THE MAN who came on board with a slim-hipped swagger provided by his position was named Igor Kissin. He was not, as Jack had expected, Annika’s contact, but the contact’s emissary, a younger facsimile, who was authorized to take Jack’s money for the service Annika had been promised.

He glanced at Alli, and for a split instant Jack was terrified he had recognized her from photos in the press directly following the inauguration but then his lidded eyes moved on, tracking past Jack, who he didn’t look directly at, not even when he accepted payment. His burning black eyes were only for Annika, who he appeared to devour with his gaze. His high cheekbones and vaguely almond eyes hinted of his Asian ancestry. His skin was dark, glossy as satin, his mouth and jaw cruel and barbarous. Jack had no difficulty imagining him as a Cossack, bearing down on fleeing peasants as he set fire to their crops and houses.

“We should go now,” Annika said, after the money had changed hands.

Alli was slipping into her coat when Igor said, “Wait.” He had a deep, abrasive voice that rumbled through the cabin like mountain thunder.

They all turned to look at him.

“There are still matters to be resolved.”

“What matters?” Jack said.

Igor was still staring at Annika, and when he spoke it was clear he was addressing her: “Administrative matters.”

“Dmitri and I have an understanding,” Annika said calmly but firmly. “The transaction has been consummated.”

“With him,” Igor said, “not with me.”

“I’m not giving you more money.” Jack would have said more but Annika’s raised hand stopped him.

“It isn’t money Igor wants,” she said. “Is it?”

Igor continued his obscene scrutiny of her. “There is the matter of consummation.”

Taking a step between them, Jack said, “I won’t allow—”

“Stop it!” Annika was looking at him. “Stop it now!” Her voice, though very soft, had about it the unmistakable steel of command.

“Annika—”

She smiled ruefully and, on her way past him, placed her hand briefly against the side of his face, so that he felt burned or marked in some mysterious way. “You’re really quite sweet.” When she took Igor’s hand she was still looking at Jack. “Stay here now, yes? Stay here with the girl. When we return, all will be well.”

Then she led Igor back down the aisle to the rear of the aircraft, where they vanished into the restroom.

Alli came up beside him. She looked disheveled, smaller than usual, as if her unhappiness had altered her, or had diminished her presence. Her eyes were red-rimmed from crying, and dark circles had already risen like bruised half-moons beneath them. She glanced up at him. “Jack, you’re not actually going to let her bang this sleaze-bucket.”

“This is Russia; I can’t interfere.”

“Jesus,” Alli said, “do you believe this psycho-bitch?”

SEVEN

THEIR FIRST view of Kiev in the flickering gold-and-blue dawn light was of wide boulevards, vast circular plazas, monumental buildings guarded by Doric columns or crowned with blue and green cupolas. Golden domes, burning in the first rays of dawn, rose above the rest of this city that straddled the banks of the wide, periwinkle blue Dnieper River. The streetlights were still on. A tepid rain had recently ceased falling, the cobbles of the streets sleek and shining as snakeskin.