Rasputin's Shadow

30

As Sokolov eased the van past the large oil-storage tanks and across to the edge of the vacant lot, he saw a dark Cadillac Escalade emerge from behind a stack of containers on the opposite edge of the shipyard. The big SUV advanced so it was just visible, then rolled to a stop.

Sokolov hit the brakes and stopped too. They were about a hundred yards across the clearing from the Escalade.

The Escalade flashed its headlights three times.

Sokolov returned the signal, as agreed. Then he turned to Jonny without turning off the engine.

“Listen to me. Keep the engine running. And I want you to take these. You’re going to need them.”

He reached down under his seat and pulled out two pairs of industrial ear protectors. They were the kind workmen use when manning pneumatic drills, only they seemed to have extra layers of mesh and other materials welded onto them.

Jonny looked at him questioningly. “You’re kidding, right?”

“As soon as you have Daphne safe,” Sokolov said, “put these on and get her to put them on too.” Then he pointed to one of the metal toggles that was on the small panel that had been screwed into the dashboard. “And then hit this switch.”

The Korean seemed completely lost, and uncomfortable with it. “Why? What is it?”

Sokolov hesitated, then said, “A distraction.”

“What, like a siren?”

Sokolov shook his head. “Not exactly. But it’s strong, and it’ll give us an advantage. Look, trust me on this. Just hit the switch, but make sure you have the earmuffs on. You and Daphne. Make sure.”

He studied the Korean, looking for confirmation that the kid would do as he asked. Jonny eyed the ear protectors with revulsion, then nodded with an indifferent shrug. Sokolov nodded back, then pulled out a couple of small earplugs from his pocket. He gave them a quick check before slipping one into his left ear. He put the other one back in his pocket. Jonny stared at him curiously, but Sokolov ignored him and glanced at his watch.

It was nine sharp.

Before Jonny could take the matter further, Sokolov climbed out of the van. He stood there at the edge of the clearing, glowering at the dark SUV up ahead, gleaming and still, like a shark that defied the laws of nature and sat motionless while waiting for its kill.

His guts were all twisted up, his skin bristling with apprehension.

After a few tense seconds, the Escalade’s driver-side door finally opened and a man emerged. He was wearing a baseball cap and mirrored glasses. His face bore at least a week’s worth of beard. The lapels of his leather jacket concealed most of the bottom half of his face. It was all but impossible to gain a sense of what he actually looked like, and even worse once he took a few steps so he was standing in front of the car’s blinding headlights.

Jonny swung his door open and nimbly climbed down from the van, tucking his gun into the back of his belt in the same smooth motion. He stood by the open door.

Two thick-set men emerged from the Escalade’s rear bench, one on each side. The one on the passenger side then pulled someone out after him. It was a woman. She had some kind of black hood covering her head. He had her by the arm and brought her across to the bearded man.

The bearded man pulled her hood off.

Sokolov shielded his eyes with one hand to get a clearer view.

It was Daphne. No question about it.

His pulse flew out of the park.

“Laposhka,” he muttered.

He could see that her hands were bound in front of her.

Even across that distance, Daphne’s eyes locked with Sokolov’s, and time seemed to stop. A moment of such intensity passed between husband and wife that even the bearded Russian appeared to be aware of it, though he seemed to experience it as if he were a visitor from another planet entirely-one where emotions did not officially exist and those who felt them always died before they reached adulthood.

Sokolov swallowed, tried to wet his lips. His mouth was so dry he felt completely unable to speak. He tried anyway.

“Let her walk toward me,” he bellowed in Russian.

The man in the baseball cap stood impassive.

“She walks toward me and I’ll walk toward you,” Sokolov pressed.

The man in the cap nodded and waved him over, the flick of his hand reeking of contempt.

Sokolov turned to Jonny. “Remember what I told you to do,” he said. “My laposhka. She’s all that matters.”

Jonny nodded.

Sokolov held his gaze, then turned and started moving toward the Escalade at an even pace. After he’d covered about ten yards, he stopped.

The bearded man just stood there for a moment, then he nudged Daphne forward. She started to walk toward her husband-slowly at first, then her pace quickened.

As she did, Sokolov’s heart rose-then it seized up as he saw the man pull out his gun.

The man then straightened his arm and aimed the gun squarely at Daphne’s back.

I COULD HEAR THE seconds ticking away inside my head, but it was all quiet on the eastern front.

We were all set. A perimeter had been set up around the yard. There was enough light to render night-vision gear unnecessary, probably to the immense chagrin of the SWAT-team leader. We had the Russians in our sights. But something was wrong. I could sense it.

They were still there, alone, waiting.

It was well past nine.

We were still missing one of the two parties.

Mirroring my feelings, the two Russians standing out in the open were looking increasingly agitated. They kept looking at their watches, then at each other. The yard was silent. The guys in the SUV had already killed the comedy routine.

There was no sign of anyone else coming to join in.

I glanced at Aparo and caught his eye. He gave me a WTF shrug.

I had a sinking feeling we were missing something.

Nothing of any note had happened since we’d arrived and my relentless little internal nag was telling me we may have made a mistake. I quickly tracked back over how we’d gotten here. The two dead bratki at the hotel. Daphne’s carved letters. Meeting the Sledgehammer. The wiretap. The call requesting-no, ordering-him to provide the muscle.

If whoever was pulling the strings was smart-and it was beginning to look like they were-they might have assumed that we’d ID the dead bratki in time to connect them back to their ringleader. Which meant they might assume we’d put eyes and ears on the Sledgehammer. Which meant they could feed us any misdirection they wanted. And send us to the wrong location.

A bait and switch.

We’d been played.