That Time in Moscow Page 4

  Inside, the music was as jarring an assault as the cold had been. Pounding, pulsating club beats rocked the old brick walls as people jammed in next to each other on every side, fighting their way to and from the bar and trampling each other as they approached the DJ stand. In the middle of the room was a rectangular pool built out of bricks with fountain jets shooting streams of water out from the edges and toward the middle. Coins glistened from the bottom of the pool, and drinks were stacked along its edges. Colored lights flashed from overhead, and fake palm trees rose from the extremities of the room, bending towards the middle.

  What the heck kind of place is this?

  Wolfgang searched the collage of faces, suddenly aware that he had lost sign of Edric. He stood on his toes and swept his gaze around the room, but the flash of the lights made it difficult to discern faces.

  “Charlie Three, tone it down,” Edric said over the earpiece. “Nine o’clock, ten yards.”

  Wolfgang stopped and turned toward his nine o’clock, where Edric stood at the bar, casually talking to the bartender. After the bartender passed Edric a beer, Edric dropped a ruble note on the counter and then turned away without looking at Wolfgang.

  Wolfgang breathed a sigh, irritated with himself for having allowed Edric to escape him, and then for allowing his stress to become obvious.

  Stay loose. Stay focused.

  Wolfgang moved to the edge of the room, relaxing his shoulders and taking a moment to smile at a girl as she stumbled past. She smiled back, her drunken eyes watery and distant, and Wolfgang couldn’t help but compare her to Megan. Certainly, the girl was pretty, and had she been in control of her own drool, she might have been beautiful. But there was a shallowness to her posture, a simplicity to her personality that was evident at first glance. It made him think of Megan and the way she laughed and how quickly her mind worked.

  Wolfgang moved past the girl as she made a sloppy attempt of grinding on his leg, then glanced over his shoulder. Edric had moved to the pool and dropped three coins in it, then he removed his jacket and hooked it over his left arm before taking a seat at the far end of the club. He laid the jacket on the table, then set the beer down before unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt and leaning into the corner.

  Those will be the activity signals. Now we see if Sparrow is for real.

  Wolfgang settled into the shadows and winced as the first flash of a headache set in. The harsh cold, now replaced by the oppressive music, was too much for his tired, jet-lagged brain to handle. The first wave of pain passed but was then replaced by another more prominent pound.

  The DJ jumped up onto his table, then planted his face near a mic and shouted a long stream of excited Russian. Everybody cheered, and the lights flashed, then the music grew even louder.

  “Charlie Three, what have you got?” Megan said.

  Wolfgang cupped a palm over his right ear, blocking out some of the noise as he tried not to shout his response. “Charlie Lead in position. All clear.”

  “Any sign of target?”

  “Negative.”

  Wolfgang glanced around the room, searching for somebody who stuck out from the rest—maybe a white male in a trench coat with “CIA Spy” written across his back. His eyes landed on the girl from a few moments earlier, and he watched as she danced with a man twice her age, laughing and grinding against him. She stumbled, caught herself on the edge of the pool, then puked into the water.

  I’ll bet that happens a dozen times a night.

  He rubbed his lip and closed his eyes for just a moment, soothing the headache by blocking out the lights. It was a momentary reprieve, but it helped. When he opened his eyes again, somebody sat at the table across from Edric.

  “Charlie One, I have the target with Charlie Lead,” Wolfgang said. He moved a few feet to the right, keeping close to one of the fake palm trees as he gazed across the crowd to where Edric sat across the table from a woman.

  Of course, Sparrow could be a woman. Why not?

  Wolfgang hadn’t considered this possibility, and for a second he wondered if the woman was another drunk girl hitting on Edric. But no, the body language was all wrong for that. They both sat casually, neither looking the other in the eye as their lips moved.

  The woman brushed her hair behind her ear and took a sip from a beer. She was tall and skinny to the point of looking malnourished, with raven hair and pale European skin. She set her hand on the table, palm down, and when she lifted it, Wolfgang caught sight of something small on the table—a flash drive, maybe. She covered the item with a cocktail napkin and passed it to Edric without a word. Edric accepted it and nodded once.

  “They’re wrapping up,” Wolfgang whispered. He glanced around the room, his instincts kicking in as he remembered that Edric needed surveillance.

  “Is Sparrow still there? Has he said anything?” Megan asked.

  “Sparrow is a she. They’re talking now. I think—” Wolfgang froze, the blood turning to ice in his veins as his gaze passed over then ratcheted back to a big, dark-haired man on the other side of the room. His black eyes were as penetrating as spotlights, and his enormous nose twisted to one side.

  Twisted by being broken. Broken by being smashed with a toilet lid.

  Wolfgang recognized him. In fact, Wolfgang was responsible for his broken nose—a parting gift he’d left the Russian during the Paris mission. He’d nicknamed the man Ivan, and the two of them had engaged in a knock-down, drag-out that almost killed them both.

  Wolfgang’s mind froze as he struggled for his next move. Run? Signal Edric? Hide?

  It was too late. Ivan’s sweeping gaze passed across the room, sliding past Wolfgang and then ratcheting back, just as Wolfgang’s had. Their eyes met, and momentary confusion passed across Ivan’s face—the confusion a person feels when they see somebody familiar but in the wrong context.

  A wolfish grin spread across Ivan’s face, and he lifted a finger. “Yemu!”

  Almost immediately, everything went to hell. Three more Russians, all of them as big and butt-ugly as Ivan, surfaced from the crowd. Two of them turned toward Ivan, then followed his pointing finger, but the third pointed toward Sparrow and let out another shout. “Zhenshchina!”

  At that call, the first two turned back toward Sparrow, and Wolfgang saw the panic cross through Edric’s eyes.

  “All channels, abort!” Edric snapped, then he flicked at his ear, and Wolfgang saw the earpiece drop out. Edric ground his shoe over it, obliterating it, then rushed for the nearest door.

  “What’s going on?” Megan shouted. “Charlie Three, what do you have?”

  Wolfgang didn’t have time to respond. Ivan was bolting through the crowd like a running back, plowing people out of his way as he crashed toward Wolfgang. “Hello, Amerikos!” His voice boomed like a loudspeaker as the gap between them melted away.

  Wolfgang dove to the ground, just missing Ivan’s clutching hands as he skidded to the floor, sliding toward the pool over puddles of spilled drinks. People screamed, and high-heels stabbed at the floor on all sides while the music continued to pound. Wolfgang heard a gunshot, then rolled to his left just in time to miss a stampede of drunks surging toward the door. He grabbed the edge of the pool and hauled himself to his feet, his head swimming. A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed that Edric and Sparrow were gone, leaving nothing behind except the coat and the half-finished drinks. He glimpsed the three Russians surging through the back door, shouting as one of them waved a pistol, but he didn’t have time to follow. Ivan was just behind him, his feet pounding like a herd of elephants.

  “Welcome to Mother Russia, Amerikos. How good you are to visit!”

  Wolfgang whirled to see Ivan only feet away, his eyes alight with enraged fire. Ivan’s right hand disappeared into his coat, and Wolfgang winced, bracing himself for a handgun. But Ivan’s fist reemerged clad in a pair of brass knuckles, the tips of the weapon glistening. “Now I give you bruises vodka will not treat!”

  Ivan charged,
and Wolfgang had no chance of outrunning him. He dropped his hand to the edge of the pool and wrapped his fingers around the first thing he touched—a martini glass. With a flick of his hand, he flung the alcohol into Ivan’s face, then slid to the right. The big Russian stumbled, then slipped on a puddle as he fought to wipe the liquor out of his eyes. Wolfgang pressed his advantage, moving in and driving his foot into Ivan’s shin.

  The Russian went down with a grunt of pain, but Wolfgang didn’t wait to see where he fell. The club was almost empty now, the music stuck on short repeat as people screamed and sirens rang in the distance. Wolfgang bolted for the door, just sliding through it as Ivan clambered to his feet and dashed after him. The big man bellowed so loud Wolfgang felt it in his bones, and the sound sent a chill up his spine.

  Oh, crap.

  Wolfgang slid outside and frantically searched for a place to hide. There was nothing. The sidewalks between the buildings and the river were desolate, save for a waist-high wall that rose from the edge of the island, protecting people from the icy currents below.

  The river.

  His mind spun into action, and he rushed toward the wall as Ivan barreled out of the club just behind him. The big man roared in delight at the sight of his quarry, and Wolfgang sprinted for the wall—ten yards, then five—then he was at the wall, throwing one leg and then the other over the top.

  “You will not swim tonight, little fish!” Ivan yelled as he ran.

  Wolfgang pushed himself off the edge of the wall, his feet coming to rest on the last few inches of pavement on the other side, only a breath away from the precipice. He crouched below the top edge of the wall as the river churned five yards farther down. He imagined he could feel waves of cold radiating up from the water, promising hypothermia and impending death if he slipped.

  Ivan’s feet pounded, and Wolfgang braced himself, clutching the top lip of the wall with his left hand and keeping his right hand free. Then Ivan’s face appeared over the top of the wall, scowling down toward the river as he reached out with both hands to break his charge.

  Wolfgang never gave him the chance. Reaching out with his right hand, Wolfgang grabbed a fistful of Ivan’s shirt and yanked forward. The violence of the motion, combined with the momentum of Ivan’s charge, was too much for the Russian to counteract. He rocketed over the top of the wall, both arms flailing for something to grab onto. There was nothing, and Wolfgang released him only a split second before being jerked downward himself.

  Ivan crashed the final five yards through the air with a frantic howl, then hit the water with a splash large enough to wash away an island nation. Wolfgang winced as icy water pelted his exposed skin, but there was no time to wait around. He hoisted himself back over the wall and dropped onto the sidewalk, searching for Edric. His boss was gone, as was Sparrow, but in the distance, Wolfgang heard shouting and the slamming of car doors.

  His head spun in momentary panic as his fingers turned numb in the cold, his headache forgotten in the rush of the moment. Conflicted thoughts crowded his mind as he suddenly realized that during his fight with Ivan, he’d lost his earpiece, cutting him off from the rest of the team.

  Wolfgang ignored the momentary panic he felt as something clicked in his mind—something Edric had purposefully left behind. Wolfgang rushed back into the nightclub, clearing the full length of the dance floor in a few quick strides before snatching up Edric’s coat and rocketing back to the door. He could hear police cars rolling over the automotive bridge fifty yards away, sirens blaring.

  Wolfgang pulled the coat on, wrapping the warm garment close around his shivering body before digging his hand into the pocket. His fingers closed around the flash drive as he dashed back across the pedestrian bridge.

  6

  The hotel room door hadn’t yet closed before the remaining members of Charlie Team burst around the corner, already peppering Wolfgang with questions. He shut the door and held up a finger, gasping for breath and still shaking from the cold.

  Without the earpiece, Wolfgang could not communicate the resolution of the nightclub fiasco to Megan and the team, leaving him with nothing to do except find his own way back to the hotel. He ran five blocks from the Red October district before he found a cab, and since he’d forgotten the Russian part of the Hilton’s name, and since he couldn’t speak any other Russian, all he could do was repeat “Hilton!” and point in the general direction of the hotel.

  The cabby took him halfway before becoming frustrated and demanding payment, at which point Wolfgang remembered that Edric’s rubles were in his pants pocket, not his coat pocket.

  So Wolfgang ran again, the cabby halfheartedly chasing him for two blocks before giving up. Now, a full hour after hurling Ivan into the icy depths of the Moskva River, Wolfgang was back in the hotel room, freezing cold and exhausted.

  “What happened?” Kevin bellowed, his face a shade of hellfire red.

  Wolfgang wheezed and held up a finger again.

  “Back off,” Megan snapped. “Lyle, make some coffee. Kevin, find some blankets.” She patted Wolfgang on the back, helping him to clear his throat, then guided him into the sitting room.

  He sat down and rubbed his hands up and down his arms. A moment later, Kevin appeared with a blanket, tossing it at him with a semi-disgusted scowl. Wolfgang took it without shame, wrapping it around his shoulders as his heartbeat finally slowed.

  How is it possible to run so hard and be so cold?

  “Where’s—” Kevin started, but Megan glared him into silence.

  A couple minutes passed, then Lyle appeared from the minibar with a Styrofoam cup of coffee. Wolfgang slurped down a scalding sip and nodded his thanks. He didn’t like coffee, but right then, he would’ve drunk hot dishwater.

  “Are you injured?” Megan asked.

  Wolfgang shook his head. “I’m good.”

  “Okay. What happened?”

  Wolfgang ran his hand through his hair and sat forward, taking another sip of the coffee.

  “There were Russians at the club, looking for Sparrow, I think. They got Sparrow and Edric.”

  “Got them? What do you mean got them?” Kevin said.

  “I mean they arrested them!” Wolfgang glared at him. “What do you think I mean?”

  Megan held up a hand. “Calm down, both of you. Wolf, start from the beginning.”

  Wolfgang rubbed his tired eyes. “There was a Russian . . . he recognized me from Paris.”

  Megan frowned. “From Paris?”

  “You remember the guy I beat over the head with a toilet lid? At that hotel in Paris.”

  Recognition dawned over Megan and Kevin.

  “Yeah, well, he was at the nightclub. He recognized me, and I guess he assumed I was there because of Sparrow.”

  Lyle appeared from the next room, carrying a laptop. He flipped the laptop around. “This guy?”

  Wolfgang peered at the screen, then snapped his fingers. “Yes! That’s him. How did you know?”

  Lyle smirked. “Your watch, dude. We saw the whole thing.”

  Wolfgang glanced down at the watch, suddenly remembering the camera mounted in its case. In the heat of the moment, he’d completely forgotten about that feature. “So, you saw me . . .”

  “Toss his ass in the river?” Megan finished. “Yeah, we saw it. Hell of a thing to do to an SVR officer.”

  “SVR?”

  Lyle tapped on the laptop, then spun the screen around again.

  “Ivan Sidorov, Russian Foreign Intelligence Service.”

  “Wait, his name is actually Ivan?”

  He scanned the screen. The document on view was some kind of personnel file, maybe from the CIA, boldly featuring Ivan’s face at the top of the screen with details about his identity written beneath.

  “Holy cow,” Wolfgang muttered. “He’s a senior officer. This guy is a big deal.”

  “Yep.” Lyle flipped the computer shut, then sat down. “And I’m guessing he’s not the president of your fan club.”

&n
bsp; Wolfgang winced, remembering the chunks of ice floating down the Moskva River.

  Did I kill him?

  “We’re screwed,” Kevin said, turning from the group and running both hands through his hair. “You guys realize that, right? The SVR has Edric. They have Sparrow. We’re screwed!”

  “Kevin.” Megan snapped her fingers. “Sit. Now.”

  Kevin dropped to a chair like a cowering dog, ducking his head to avoid her gaze.

  Megan’s eyes blazed, then she turned back to Wolfgang. “Did you see where they took Edric?”

  “No, Ivan had three guys with him, and they all went after Edric and Sparrow. There’s no way they got out.”

  “So, they took them to the Ministry of Defense headquarters,” Kevin muttered. “Then a freaking gulag!”

  Megan snapped her fingers again, and Kevin actually flinched.

  The powers of a big sister.

  Wolfgang rubbed his temples, closing his eyes and trying to recall everything he could about the other three Russians with Ivan—the ones who took Edric and Sparrow. They were big, they were ugly, and they were Russian. Beyond that, he couldn’t think of any distinguishing details.

  “I’ll phone it in,” Lyle said. “We better pack up.”

  Wolfgang looked up. “What?”

  Lyle picked up the computer and shuffled toward his bag. “I said I’ll call it in to SPIRE headquarters. We’ll need to leave the city until we hear back.”

  “Leave the city? Have you lost your mind? They have Edric!”

  Megan held up a hand. “Calm down, Wolfgang. Lyle’s right. It’s protocol.”

  “Protocol? To hell with protocol!” Wolfgang stood up. “We’re not leaving this city until Edric leaves with us.”

  “Bold words from the guy who lost him.” Kevin said.

  Megan started to interject, but Wolfgang spoke first. “You’re right, Kevin. I did lose him. So, now I’m gonna get him back, and the three of you are going to help me. Because that’s your job. Understand? Lyle, unpack that computer.”

  Lyle hesitated, then everybody looked at Megan. She said nothing.