Deep Black

55

Karr decided on his own authority to have the plane land at Kirov, not Moscow. He told the Art Room it was because of a peculiar challenge by an air controller, but the real reason was that he had doubts about Martin.

He’d checked Martin’s identity with the portable retina scanner and there was no question it was him. Karr had gone over Martin’s story with him several times; while it was obvious that he was hedging about what he had told the Russians, that was to be expected — no one wanted to admit he’d been broken, even if it was obvious. The details about Martin’s escape from the plane checked with what the technical experts had predicted, and there were no inconsistencies or inexplicable gaps.

Yet Karr was still bugged.

Normal procedure called for a transfer out of Moscow via an antiseptic protocol that minimized other contacts. But that would jeopardize one of the safe houses and possibly the people who had set it up. Karr had to get the team into Moscow right away, which implied further complications for holding Martin. He might end up with considerable knowledge of the network in the city, which presumably he hadn’t had as an equipment operator.

Karr couldn’t leave him in Kirov, however. He had no people there, not even CIA agents who might be roped into the job. There was no safe house. Foreigners were often monitored when they checked into hotels. And it would take quite a while to arrange a pickup.

What was it that made him feel uneasy? The fact that Martin didn’t seem all that happy in the first few minutes of the rescue?

But that could be explained by the fact that he had been sleeping and didn’t know what was going on. Martin would already have passed countless background checks, lie detector tests, all sorts of investigations.

Still.

The pilots of the Fokker 80 were Brits who were only too happy to land at Kirov, since it would save them considerably on the use fees and fuel.

The pilots did a lot of work for the CIA. They probably had been set up in business by MI6, though that wasn’t entirely clear, since the British intelligence agency actually used different freelancers, all native. The only thing Karr was reasonably sure of was that the pilots wouldn’t sell them out to the Russians, the Chinese, or anyone from the Middle East.

That, and their plane was reasonably fast and spacious.

Karr had told them the team was a group of American businessmen who’d gotten sick while looking at oil sites in Siberia. The odds on them buying that story were about the same that a snowman would last a full day on a Miami beach.

“OK, up and at ’em,” he told the team camped out in the well-appointed passenger cabin.

“Moscow already?” asked Fashona, unfolding himself from the seat.

“Kirov. Let’s go.”

“Kirov?” said Lia.

“Hit the road. Up, Martin. Let’s go, Dean, shake it. Come on.”

They got a rental car and began driving toward a collection of tall buildings on the highway, one of which bore a Holiday Inn logo. Karr found a nondescript semi-Western-style no-questions-asked motel — its Russian name translated literally as “small name”—at the edge of an industrial complex. The motel had what amounted to a coffee shop at one side; he told the others to go in and get something to eat while he talked to the Art Room.

“Why aren’t you in Moscow?” demanded Rockman, the runner, when he came on the line.

“I have questions.”

“I need you in Moscow right away. Where is Martin?”

“He’s around. He’s what I have questions about.”

Rockman didn’t answer for a moment. “We need you in Moscow. Deliver Martin to the embassy and we’ll find someone to take him back.”

“I want to keep him sterile.”

“Sterile? You’re sure it’s him, right?”

“Yeah,” said Karr. “I’m sure.”

“Look, we have something of a much higher priority than Martin,” said Rockman.

“Can I have Dean take him back?”

“You’re going to need Dean.”

“My ESP isn’t working all that well tonight,” said Karr.

“We’ll tell you the game plan when we’re ready. Your line’s not secure enough.”

The satellite system connecting Karr with the Art Room used four different and independent encryption systems; the NSA itself would have trouble reading it.

But it was theoretically possible.

The only more secure system — aside from going home and speaking in person — was located in a Moscow safe house.

“Do what you can with Martin,” added the runner. “Put him on ice if you have to. That’s your call. But we need you in Moscow. And we’ll need your whole team.”

“All right,” said Karr.