Deep Black

64

Karr took a slug from the tall bottle of Coke, watching the escalator from the corner of his eye. A brunette with big-time knockers blocked his view momentarily; he had to physically step back and pry his eyes free.

And as he did, Martin got on the top of the escalator, eyes scanning the crowd nervously.

Karr took a few steps forward, putting himself just beyond the view from the escalator. He hung back as Martin descended. The meter he held in his hand beneath the newspaper sent a strong stream of clicks through his earphone. Martin was still wearing the markers.

Following him would be child’s play. Karr hoped to get at least a rough idea where Martin was planning to go next before grabbing him.

Rather than heading toward the airline reservation desks to Karr’s left, Martin continued straight ahead, walking in the general direction of the street. Somewhat surprised, Karr followed along leisurely.

Moscow. So that probably meant one of the intelligence agencies.

Or not. A mafiya connection, a relative, a car rental place that wasn’t as conspicuous, another airport, a safe house, the Army, the Navy, the U.S. embassy — any of a million places.

Karr began trotting as Martin reached the door. A father and a small boy pulled their suitcases in front of him; he nearly fell as he spun out of the way. Karr tossed down the soda bottle, running flat out now.

Martin was walking up toward a car.

Black-market taxi. Another break. He ought to play the lottery today, truly.

“The city,” said Martin to the driver in Russian.

“Ckopee!” added Karr, grabbing the door and pushing Martin in with him. “Hurry!”

The driver started to look back, but his eyes caught the hundred-dollar bill Karr had dropped onto his seat. He responded the way any taxi driver would — he hit the gas.

“We are in a hurry, aren’t we, Stephen?” said Karr.

“Yes.” Martin couldn’t have looked more stunned if Lenin had come out of his tomb.

“Boy, you know, it’s awful funny,” said Karr. “I thought you were supposed to take a plane over to — was it Finland? No, that wasn’t it. I think it was Sweden. Yes, as a matter of fact, it was.”

“There were problems,” said Martin. “I was followed.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I was on my way to the embassy.”

Karr leaned back against the corner of the seat and the door. He stretched his legs as much as he could, which wasn’t all that much. “I’ll give you this — you’re not as dumb as you look. But then again, neither am I.”

“Why do you think I’m dumb? I was on my way to the embassy. What would you have done?”

“Embassy. OK.” In Russian, Karr told the driver to take them to the U.S. embassy. The driver started to protest that he didn’t know the way until Karr reached into his pocket and pulled out another hundred-dollar bill. “My friend can direct you once you’re in the neighborhood,” he said. “He says he knows it.”

“I’m not sure I do,” said Martin.

“Beautiful place. Bugged all to hell by Russians. Pretty clever, the Russians.”

Martin didn’t answer.

“How long have you been a scumbag? Did they turn you, or were you born that way?”

Martin remained silent.

“Do me a favor, Stephen. Lock your door. The embassy’s in a pretty high crime area.”

Martin made a face but reached over and locked it.

Largely because he did, Karr was ready when he pulled the gun on him a minute later.

“I was kind of hoping you were telling the truth,” Karr said. “Even though I knew it was a fantasy.”

“Screw yourself.” The gun was a small.32-caliber revolver.

“Did you have the gun here, or did you get it past the detectors somehow?” said Karr. “I’d kind of like to know, because I’m always looking for new techniques.”

He was also wondering if Martin had been met by someone at the airport, which would mean they were probably being tailed.

Martin didn’t answer.

“I’m kind of hoping you don’t shoot me,” said Karr.

“Start praying.” Martin’s hand twitched, but not so much that Karr was going to risk rushing him.

“Come on now. I did save you. Even if you didn’t want to be saved.”

“Stop here,” Martin told the driver in Russian, looking at Karr.

The Russian started to protest; they were still on the highway and a good distance from the central city, let alone the embassy. Martin said they’d paid enough money for him to stop anywhere they wanted. He kept his eyes on Karr’s the whole time.

“Aim for the heart,” Karr told him as he raised the gun. “If I’m going, I want to go quick.”

“I know about your vest.”

Karr jerked his right arm upward as Martin pushed his hand forward to fire. His hideaway Glock was in his hand and he fired point-blank, the bullet crashing against Martin’s left shoulder just as he fired. Karr had loaded the gun with rubber bullets — he wanted Martin alive — but even lead wouldn’t have stopped Martin from pressing the trigger.

But Karr had succeeded in throwing off Martin’s aim. His bullet flew forward, shattering the plastic shield between the passenger and driver compartments. Shrapnel flew into Karr’s face and his eye caught fire.

The car turned sideways, jumping a curb. Karr felt a hard thud against his chest, then fired the Glock again.