Siberian Treasure

16

“Bergstrom isn’t one to make idle threats, but he’s also not one to make any threats at all if he doesn’t need to,” Gabe MacNeil said to Marina as he eased the government-issue Taurus down Main Street, Ann Arbor, where she lived. He’d never been to the university town himself, but had heard enough about it, and was enough of a Big Ten fan, to want to take a spin past Michigan Stadium. The Big House. It almost made it worth having to bring her home, if only temporarily.

“Idle threat or not, he made it. He’s eliminated any voluntary help I might have provided now or in the future. I’m not going to be going out of my way for Colin Bergstrom.”

Marina’s short, messy hair tossed in the breeze of the open window. She flattened it with the palm of her hand, smashing it down, apparently heedless of any formal style. Despite her black expression, she was a great package: with her pointed chin and wide, sensual mouth, round, apple-sized breasts and long, slender legs. Her features had a trace of the exotic, with almond-shaped eyes, high, slicing cheekbones, and faintly olive skin. More than once, he’d found his thoughts wandering to that shower she’d taken in the hotel room, and he had to catch himself and refocus — which pissed him the hell off. Even when he was on a case with Rebecca Ives, he’d been more focused.

Of course, they had been sleeping together at that point.

Irritation with himself came out in his response. “You won’t help Bergstrom even if it’s regarding a threat to our national security? That’s big of you.”

“I’m here, aren’t I? The CIA’s got me for eighteen hours, and I’ll do what I can during that time, clearly under duress.” She returned her attention to the pedestrian-clogged street. Friday night on Main Street. It was hot in Ann Arbor, and it showed in the tank tops and short skirts clinging to the college kids that had stayed on for the summer.

Antipathy burned off Marina in the same way the sun beat down on the tall, awning-less buildings. It was too bad, because, as annoyed as he might be with the way Bergstrom had set this whole thing up, Gabe also recognized that the man didn’t make mistakes. His instinct was usually dead-on. Obviously, this operation was important enough to him to go out on a limb with not only a civilian, but also with Gabe, while working around the Agency’s protocols. Gabe trusted and respected his director. He didn’t always agree with him and his methods, but he trusted him.

“Why are you so sure my father’s in danger?”

He’d never said that Alexander was in danger. Instead, he turned her question back around. “What do you think? You know more about the Skaladeskas than any of us — which isn’t saying much, because we know very little. If he left them against their will years ago, why would they want him back? Are they such a close-knit group that they insist that no one venture to the outside? And if they do — are there consequences?”

Of course, the guy could be dead somewhere too, which would put a whole ‘nother spin on this situation.

The reality was, the Agency crowded too many other issues on its plate to be concerned about a tiny little tribe in the snowy mountains of Siberia. He and Bergstrom and their intelligence reports about Taymyria would never make it into the daily briefing for the President; in fact, their data was barely reviewed. If it didn’t have anything to do with al Qaeda, nuclear weapons, or drug trafficking, they were pretty much left alone.

That was good and bad. Good because Colin and Gabe would have little interference. Bad because they had fewer resources. Which was, of course, one of the reasons Bergstrom wanted a free ride with Marina Alexander. She could help, and she would be a cheap resource. Free.

One thing was sure: unlike Manning Browne, whose team had been taken unawares before the Kuala Pohr incident, Gabe was not about to be caught picking up the soap in the case of the Skaladeskas.

He didn’t care if he came across as hyper-vigilant or overly suspicious. He wasn’t going to have the deaths of innocent people on his conscience.

“So why would the Skaladeskas want your father back?” he asked again.

Marina shrugged. Despite her long legs, she had a small frame that made her appear delicate. Though from what he’d learned from his background check, she was anything but. The woman flew planes, explored caves, traveled to unsafe regions of Asia and parts of the Middle East to see first-hand the art treasures she taught about, and was training a rescue dog. She’d even made a trip down the Amazon in a little skiff for the pure adventure of it. And in her free time, volunteered for cave rescues.

No wonder she thought she was in charge.

“Until this morning, I believed that my father and I were the last of the Skaladeskas, that the line would end with me. I had no idea any others existed at all any more, so I don’t have any idea what to think. I tend to wonder if your team hasn’t jumped to conclusions that these people have taken my father. Maybe he just took a vacation.”

Gabe turned down the tree-lined street she indicated. He could already feel that it was cooler here. The houses were brick, the street curved, and the sidewalks were well-kept there under the shade of tall oaks and maples. Saabs, Volvos and BMWs of various ages and condition sat in many drives, and more than half of the houses sported mailboxes or garage doors with the big M for Michigan on them.

As he pulled into the driveway of her home, his attention focused on the tidy brick Cape Cod, the lush green lot, the well-tended flower gardens. When did she have time to do that, if she was always running off on rescue missions? “You ever fire a gun?”

“A gun? No, I’m generally trying to save lives, not take them. Why?”

“Just curious. You might have to some day.”

“I doubt that very much.”

He followed her up the brick walkway lined by some frilly pink flowers, listening for the rapturous barks of the dog he knew she had. When he heard nothing but the distant sound of cars, and the shift of wind, his instincts went on alert. “Wait a sec.”

“What is it? You think there’s a bomb waiting on the other side for us? It must be difficult living a life of suspicion.”

“I don’t hear Boris,” he replied. She had no idea what they might be dealing with, and he hoped she was able to keep herself out of it.

“He’s not here. He’s with my neighbor.” She turned back to inserting the key into the lock and Gabe didn’t try to stop her.

Inside, her home was stuffy from being closed up. He found it casually neat; not pristine, House-Beautiful-neat, but organized and cluttered in a charming way. There were stacks of catalogs on a square coffee table and a haphazard row of shoes and boots lining the floor in the foyer. Lived in. Not so different from his own condo, with his paints and canvases tucked into the same corner as the kitchen stuff his mother kept buying for him. He still had no idea what to do with the lemon zester.

From his research, Gabe got the impression Marina moved around and in and out so quickly and so often that she didn’t spend what would be a waste of time to her arranging and moving things, and the soft clutter of her home bore that out. The interior was not well-lit unless the lamps were on, due to the thick green trees that hugged the house, but once she flipped on the switches, a soft glow filled the room, illuminating what looked like an original movie poster for The Man Who Knew Too Much.

Catalogs from Pottery Barn, Hammacher Schlemmer, Anthropologie, Sundance — but no Victoria’s Secret — and a whole slew of other places he’d never heard of were piled on the center table, next to a group of crystals: amethyst, ruby, an opaque green one that could be jade. A New-Ager ….

He reached to pick up the palm-sized amethyst crystal.

“Good choice,” Marina said, eyeing him as she placed a stack of mail on a credenza.

“What do you mean? It matches my eyes?” Strangely enough, the crystal actually felt warm to the touch.

“Mmm … no. Hold on to it long enough, and it will help take the edge off your impatience … maybe ease your anger a little, too.” She surprised him with the first sign of a sense of humor as she bent to drop three more catalogs on the table with a loud thwack.

“What’s this one for, then?” He picked up the small blood-colored one that sat next to it.

“Ruby? That’s for impotence. Among other things.”

Gabe chuckled. He didn’t know if she was saying that to needle him, or because it was true, but either way, he appreciated her wry tone. “I didn’t peg you for the kind of person who believes in crystal healing.”

“I take aspirin for a headache, or I hold my amethyst. Either one works for me. There are a lot of natural healing methods that have been passed down through the ages. If they work, I use the ones from the earth. No side-effects.”

Time to get back to business. “I’d like to check through all the rooms, if that’s all right with you.”

“Knock yourself out, MacNeil. I’m heading upstairs first. If you want to follow me, you can lug that up.” Marina pointed to a hefty suitcase — the one he’d carried for her before.

She might not be thrilled about his presence, but she was an opportunist. That was one quality she and Bergstrom both shared. He grabbed the handle and followed her up the stairs, equally opportunistic as he checked out her tight rear and toned legs.

“That was one of the benefits I gave up when I got divorced,” she was saying as he stepped from the top stair directly into her attic-like bedroom. “Someone to help me drag my luggage through the airports. Not that I can’t manage it myself, of course,” she continued, gesturing for him to put the suitcase on the bed, “but if help’s to be had, it’s welcome.”

He knew about her divorce, of course. Nearly three years ago, from an engineering professor at the University of Michigan named James Zelder. They’d been married for three years; no children. He’d since remarried and had a three-year-old child with his new wife — likely a contributing factor to their marriage breaking up.

Gabe tossed the case onto her sapphire, topaz, and ruby colored bed, a design reminiscent of traditional Islamic art, and noted another movie poster — this one for To Catch a Thief. Hitchcock fan. And more crystals — small ice-colored ones, three of them of different shapes — on the table next to her bed.

He scanned the room, walked into the adjoining bath area, looking and sensing and listening. It smelled like something pleasant in here, not like cleaning supplies. And not too many bottles lined up on the counter.

Nothing felt out of place in the upstairs, so he decided to finish scoping the rest of the property.

Marina watched as he disappeared down the stairs, leaving her alone for the first time in twenty-four hours. And it would be another day or two before she was really left alone. Hell.

She was furious that Colin Bergstrom had made such a threat.

And even angrier that she’d had no choice but to succumb to it.

She had no choice. The CIA could easily stop her from leaving the country, and despite Bergstrom’s power play, Marina believed him when he agreed she could leave tomorrow evening as planned if she gave them her full assistance until then. He’d had to fly back to Langley from Pennsylvania, but he would be meeting them at the airport the next morning.

She closed her eyes. She might as well stop stewing about it because there was nothing she could do. She had to play along with the Good Old Boys. Not something unfamiliar to her; after all, she was in academia.

Marina relaxed, tipping onto her side and resting her head on a pillow.

Good grief, she was tired! And sore. She was actually looking forward to her flight to Myanmar. She’d be able to relax a bit. Catch up on some sleep.

Twenty-four hours and she’d be on her way. Twenty-four hours of playing along with the spooks. She could do that.

She just had to get through this little glitch first. Get Gabe MacNeil and his boss off her back.

Get Dad out of her mind.

But first, she was going to travel with the CIA spooks up to Michigan’s Upper Peninsula to her father’s house west of Marquette … just, as Bergstrom had put it, for one day, for her to look around and see if there might be any clue to Dad’s whereabouts. As if she would recognize anything out of the ordinary anyway. The last time she’d been to his house was … seven years ago?

But she could do that, placate the CIA, and then she could get to Myanmar on time. She’d have a little less opportunity to get organized or prepared, but at least she would have done her duty. The bare minimum. Against her will.

But wasn’t that all she’d ever gotten from Dad?

At least MacNeil seemed to be as eager for them to part ways as she was.

It was surreal to even consider that her father was involved in some kind of international intrigue. That she or Dad might somehow touch the world of James Bond or Sydney Bristow.

No effing way.

She liked her life just the way it was — danger and adventure limited to that of her own choosing, thank you very much. And as fatherless as it could be with her guilt forcing her to make Father’s Day and birthday phone calls on schedule. Thank God they were six months apart.

When she came downstairs with a repacked bag, she found MacNeil on the sofa, flipping between several news channels and occasionally touching base with the All-Star Game. “Everything in order?”

“Far as I can tell. Let me know when you’re ready.”

“I need to take care of a few other things. And then we can get something to eat on our way out of town.” Marina swept through the small room and headed for the adjacent office, where she fired up her laptop to check email for the first time in a week. They didn’t have Wi-Fi at the Betty Lou’s Beds motel she’d used as her home base for the last week. Great cinnamon rolls with thick, heavy icing and gravy-laden meatloaf, but no Internet access.

“What’s good to eat around here?” called MacNeil from the living room. She heard him shift the volume lower on the television. Apparently, hunger overrode news and sports at this juncture.

Her laptop whirred smoothly as she logged in to her email. While she was waiting for them to download, Marina wandered back into the living room to answer his question. “Just about anything you might want. You name it. I’ve eaten everything from python to mopanē worms during my travels, so I’m not fussy at all.”

“Mopanē worms?”

“Cheap food in Zimbabwe. They look like large green and blue caterpillars and taste like wooden cardboard. I prefer them fried and served with peanut sauce.”

MacNeil’s expression spoke volumes. “I think I’d rather have something like steak or fish.”

Marina strode back into her office. Not that mopanē worms had been exactly high on her menu selection, but at least she’d tried them.

Her email box had 1300 messages; 1245 of which were spam. She rued the day she’d filled out surveys on a few websites a decade ago when spam was unheard of. Thus her email address had long been added to the spam launderers’ lists. Good grief … she was still getting advertisements for the Iraq Top-50 Deck! Not to mention suggestions regarding improving her sex life (increasing the size of her penis and strengthening her endurance) as well as suggesting that she could get Cialis for cheap.

No blind dates. No Top-50 cards. No need to improve her sex life ….

The rest of her messages were legitimate — from former students, colleagues, friends, and … Dad?

Marina’s fingers froze on the mouse, then she clicked rapidly, clumsily, in her haste to open the email. “Mina,” the message read, “Trust no one. Do not get involved. Stay away from this. Stay away from anyone who wants your help. Dad.”

She stared at the message. Then she clicked the screen closed, but not before she felt MacNeil behind her. Her reaction had been a split-second too late, apparently, for he said smoothly, “‘Mina’?”

“He’s the only one who calls me that.” She stood, pushing her chair back with enough force that it bumped into his legs. Probably even ran over his foot. Good. Served him right for peering over her shoulder.

“Or it’s from someone who wants you to believe it’s him.”

“That’s already occurred to me. Anyone could hack into his account, or even force him to write it. But then again, he could have written it himself. I don’t have any way of knowing. Except that not many people know he calls me ‘Mina’.” She stepped away, around MacNeil, out of the office, into the kitchen, walking as quickly as she could in the small space … to get away. She had to think.

“I know what you’re thinking,” came MacNeil’s smooth voice behind her. She’d already taken note in the less than a day since she’d met him that it was always like that: low, cool, unruffled, steady. Really annoying.

“I’m sure you do. You know pretty much everything about me, my life, and my family, don’t you?” More, it seemed, than she did. Marina pushed past him, stalking back toward the living room toward the front door.

She opened it. “I’ve changed my mind. I’m not leaving with you — at least not right now. I want some time to myself to figure this out without you shadowing me and popping up behind me every two minutes. My house is secure — you’ve already checked that out — so why don’t you go get something to eat. Come back in a little while. A few hours. Tomorrow. Better yet, next week when I’m gone.”

To her astonishment, he complied. He walked past her, his blue eyes glinting with annoyance, but he did leave. And it sounded like he muttered something about why didn’t she hold onto the amethyst for awhile.

He’d be back … but at least she had a private moment to catch her breath.

Now that she’d received the email purportedly from Dad, though, Marina had to think about the situation more realistically. Was she putting him in danger by working with the CIA? Was he even in danger?

Or had someone else written the message to warn her off?

Of course, they could try and track the email; in fact, Gabe was probably already on his BlackBerry calling Langley to get that process started.

The fact remained, however, that she’d received an email date-stamped only 36 hours earlier, telling her not to work with anyone. So someone knew that his disappearance had been noted and that the CIA had come to Marina.

Thus there was something about Dad’s disappearance that was cause for concern to more than the CIA.

The knock on her front door deepened her annoyance. Back already. It figured.

Marina pulled the heavy door open and found herself looking up into a shadowed male face she did not recognize.

Instincts took over and she reacted blindly, whipping the door shut with a force that jolted the painting on the wall next to it. Her door was still locked, so when she closed it, it couldn’t be opened from the outside without a key. Thank God.

She started to turn, to run, then stopped. Her nerves were dancing, but the man at the door wasn’t threatening. He’d just knocked and she’d opened to someone she didn’t expect to see, and because of Gabe MacNeil, she’d reacted from her gut. Not a very auspicious action. Another skill she would have to hone.

Feeling sheepish, Marina returned to the front door and peeped out of the curtain sidelight.