Under Deepest Cover

Chapter 11

It was one of the few face-to-face meetings Bryan had had with Siberia. They met at a sidewalk café in D.C. the morning after he’d left Lucy. Each time his mind tried to wander to thoughts of her, to the way she looked when she slept, like a sexy fallen angel, he had to herd his attention back to the current time and place. If he and Siberia could solve this case, then he could think about Lucy all he wanted. Be with her, hold her, make love to her.

That was all the motivation he needed to stay focused.

“Vargov left a paper trail,” Siberia said. He was an overweight man in his fifties who hadn’t worked in the field in years due to an accident that had left him blind in one eye. His function was solely to coordinate intelligence. He wore a full, bushy beard, aviator sunglasses and a French beret, looking today more like an eccentric movie producer than a spy.

“He’s in France,” Siberia continued. “Tarantula is there now, coordinating with French intelligence agents. There’s a very good chance Vargov will be apprehended. If you want to go there as insurance, it might be a good idea.”

Bryan hesitated. He wanted to be where the action was. But the idea of going so far from Lucy made him uneasy. “I feel it’s more important to protect our witness,” he said.

“I could send a man-”

“No,” Bryan said immediately. “I don’t want another soul to know the location of that house. These guys-these terrorists, whoever they are-they’re connected. The fact that they found Lucy the first time is nothing short of amazing. I still don’t know where the picture was published.”

“It was on a Britney fan site,” Siberia said with a grimace. “I found it. Good disguise, by the way, but Ms. Miller’s face was clear.”

“So what’s left?”

“Orchid.”

Bryan was sick, thinking about his fellow agent-gone-bad. “I still can’t believe it.”

“I pray we’re wrong. We won’t know until we find her. I’m coordinating with the homicide investigators here. They think I’m CIA. I’ll know more about the time and cause of Stungun’s death soon.”

“Who was he?” Bryan asked suddenly. “Surely it doesn’t matter now.” He couldn’t stand the anonymity. He needed to put a real name to the man he’d known, a hometown, a family.

“I honestly don’t know,” Siberia said. “He was using one of the identities provided by the agency. I’m working through the chain of command to get more information. I’d like to be able to tell his family that he died defending his country-provided that’s true. We still don’t know. If he was dealing with terrorists, they’ve been known to turn on their own kind.”

The thought sickened Bryan. Was this what he had to look forward to the rest of his life? Dealing every day with the scum of the earth, perhaps the worst of the scum his own supposed allies? Unable to trust anyone, not even his fellow agents?

Bryan knew then that he wanted out of this game. What had seemed exciting years ago was less than appealing now-the lying, the danger, the betrayals, the paranoia.

This was all Lucy’s fault, he thought with a faint smile. She’d made him realize what was missing from his life-and what he very much wanted.

Lucy hadn’t yet been at the cabin twenty-four hours and she was going stir-crazy. She’d explored every nook and cranny of the old house. There was a porch out back with a hammock, and she’d already had one nap. There was no TV, no radio, no way to keep in touch with the outside world. The highlights of her day so far had been a bowl of cereal for breakfast and a ham sandwich for lunch.

The scenery was breathtaking, and at any other time she’d have delighted in the views and the cool mountain breezes, a welcome respite from the heat of the city in the dead of summer. But she couldn’t enjoy anything until she saw Bryan again, safe and sound. What had seemed an exciting lark when it started was now wearing on her nerves; she wanted it to be over. Now.

Mostly she wanted everyone out of danger. What if Vargov went after her family? But she also needed to know if what she and Bryan had shared was real, or merely a product of enforced proximity and too much adrenaline running through their veins.

Her feelings for Bryan felt very real to her, and he seemed to care for her beyond his responsibility of keeping her safe. But what did she know? She’d gotten it wrong before.

Whatever the results, she didn’t want to live any longer in the fictional world of Lindsay Morgan. She needed to know if little Lucy Miller from Kansas had a chance with a superspy.

The idea seemed ridiculous, but she still hoped.

There was nothing to read in the house, not even a deck of cards to play with.

How was she supposed to occupy herself? She finally decided to go for a run.

Bryan had told her to stay put, but she would be no safer inside the house than out. The people who were after her weren’t amateurs. Locked doors and windows would be no impediment if they really wanted her. At least if she was away from the house, she couldn’t be cornered.

Besides, she’d gotten used to having a daily run with Bryan.

She donned her stylish shorts and matching tank top, thinking what a waste it was to sweat in such chic clothes when there was not a soul out here to see her.

Thinking of Scarlet and her ban on T-shirts made her smile. Scarlet had been so good to her, and Lucy had started to think of her as a friend. Too bad she couldn’t continue that friendship after Lucy and Bryan parted ways.

Taking the phone with her, Lucy stepped outside, locked the door, pocketed the key and set out at a brisk walk, continuing up the mountain road. She wondered how close to the top her cabin was, and if there was anyone else living up this way. She sure didn’t see any signs of habitation, nor had she seen or heard a single car since she’d arrived. She’d thought the Catskills were more populated.

The uphill grade and uneven road surface made Lucy’s run a challenge, but she pushed herself, figuring if she wore herself out, a shower and a nap might eat up the rest of the afternoon and it would be dinnertime. Finally, after about thirty minutes, she turned and headed back. The downhill trip was faster, and soon her cabin came into view.

She heard a car engine, and her heart beat faster. Bryan! Was it possible he’d resolved things so quickly? But she realized the car engine didn’t sound like Stash’s Peugeot, nor like Bryan’s Jaguar. In fact, it sounded like a diesel car.

Reacting on pure instinct, she plunged into the heavy woods that surrounded the cabin, finding a vantage point where she could watch the road from behind a huge fallen tree.

She was probably being silly. It was no doubt some family on vacation, out for a drive. But soon the dark-blue Mercedes came into view, and she recognized it instantly.

Her heart beat double time and her skin, already flushed from her run, broke out in sweat. What was he doing here? How had he found her?

She pulled the phone from her pocket and carefully pushed the series of buttons that would put her in contact with Bryan. If Bryan was able to answer. Her imagination went into overdrive. What if Vargov had captured Bryan and tortured him into revealing Lucy’s whereabouts?

The phone gave a series of beeps but nothing else. No ringing. No dial tone. No nothing. She tried again. Same beeps. Same nothing.

She whispered a curse. What was wrong with the phone? She was sure she was using it correctly. The battery was fine. But no calls would go through. Not even a call to 911.

What if Bryan was on his way back to the cabin this very minute? He would pull into the driveway, blissfully unaware that anything was wrong, and Vargov would kill him! She had to get down the mountain to the last little town they’d passed through-was it called Icy Creek?-where she could notify someone. And she had to make sure she met Bryan if he was headed this way. But to get past the cabin, she would have to go out in the open-or circle through the dense woods, way around.

As she dithered about what to do, the cabin’s front door opened, and Vargov came out. He looked left, then right, scanning the woods. Her heart pounded. He was looking for her. He climbed into his car, and Lucy crossed her fingers. If he drove up the road looking for her, it would be her chance to get past the house.

Sure enough, he headed up the mountain.

Just as she was about to make her move, she heard something, a loud something coming toward her, breaking branches and crunching leaves. Was it Vargov? Panic zinged through her. How had he found her so quickly? Did he have heat-seeking scanners? A tracking dog?

Then she realized it was not Vargov, and she didn’t know whether to be relieved or not.

Because it was a black bear.

Okay, it would probably run if it saw her. Still, she zipped up the nearest tree like a monkey, grateful for her rural upbringing. Her family had owned a small peach orchard, so she’d climbed her share of trees.

Wait a minute. Didn’t bears climb trees?

It came closer. She was twenty feet up, well out of its reach, but it seemed to be very interested in her. It reared up on its hind legs and leaned up against the tree trunk, sniffing madly.

Oh, God, what if it started climbing? She considered screaming, but that would bring Vargov straight to her. Did she prefer to be shot, or eaten?

Just then there was another noise. The bear turned, wary of a threat. This time it was Vargov. He was quieter than a big man should be, hardly even crunching leaves, but she could hear his breathing. He’d probably parked the car up the road some place where it wouldn’t be spotted so when she returned, she would assume all was well. Then, returning to the cabin on foot, Vargov had heard the bear and thought it was her.

Vargov and the bear saw each other at about the same time. The big man cursed and raised his gun, shooting at the hapless bear. He missed. The startled bear lumbered off at a gallop.

“Christ,” Vargov muttered, still breathing hard and rubbing his neck. He was sweaty and pasty. “I’m too old for this.”

He looked around, but he didn’t look up. Lucy clung to her tree branch, the rough bark scraping her skin, the mosquitoes chomping on her, and prayed.

He holstered his gun and headed back toward the cabin.

Lucy waited until he’d gone inside, then clambered down. The business with the bear had wasted precious time. She’d lost her chance to get past the cabin. She would have to circle far around through the woods. But there was no other choice. She plunged into the thick undergrowth, getting slapped by twigs and branches, trying to be quiet in case Vargov had some listening device.

When she judged she was a good distance from the cabin, she headed downhill roughly parallel to the road, wondering how far she would have to hike before she reached Icy Creek.

Then she heard another car engine.

This time, to her horror, she recognized the distinctive rumble of Stash’s Peugeot. She was still too far from the road to get there in time to head Bryan off. She broke into a run, heedless of the branches whipping at her face, hair and clothes. For a moment she thought she might beat him…but she was too slow.

She broke cover just as the Peugeot turned into the cabin’s driveway. The engine switched off and the driver’s door opened.

“Bryan!” she called out. He froze, turned. “It’s a trap!” She motioned frantically for him to get back in the car.

Her warning came too late. Shots rang out from the house. Bryan dived behind the car.

Lucy knew she should make for the safety of the woods. But all she could think about was being with Bryan again, facing the danger together. She made a headlong dash across the road toward the cabin. More shots came from the house, churning up the asphalt road inches from her feet. She expected one to rip through her flesh any moment. But by some miracle she made it to the car in one piece.

Bryan dragged her down beside him, then behind him, placing his body between her and the shooter. “Lucy, are you crazy? You almost got killed.”

“Yell…at me…later.” She sucked in great gulps of air, feeling like she might pass out. “What do we do now?”

“Who’s in the house?”

“Mr. Vargov.”

“That’s impossible. Vargov is in France.”

“Don’t you think I know my own boss?” she said impatiently. “It’s definitely him. I took off into the woods, and a bear chased me, and then Vargov showed up and he shot at the bear-”

“Lucy, slow down. You’re not making a lot of sense.”

“Maybe we can outrun him,” she said suddenly. “He’s thirty pounds overweight and blind in one eye, so he has lousy depth perception.”

“Maybe so, but he almost got-Did you say Vargov is blind in one eye? And overweight?”

“Yes. Didn’t you know that?” She’d assumed he knew everything.

“Siberia is blind in one eye. And overweight. It’s why he’s not in the field anymore. Christ, Lucy, they’re the same person.”

Lucy let the implications sink in. No wonder Bryan had been having such a hard time with this case. His boss had been providing him with misinformation.

Bryan swore again and pulled his cell phone from his pants pocket. Almost instantly he realized it wouldn’t work.

“Mine doesn’t work, either,” Lucy said. “I wanted to call you and warn you, but I couldn’t.”

“Vargov must have put a scrambler device in the cabin. It’s why he lured us here-so we couldn’t call for help.”

“Then what do we do?”

Bryan silently reviewed their options. “We hold out until dark. We might stand a chance of making a break for it if Vargov can’t see us.”

But Vargov had no intention of allowing them to wait him out. Another flurry of shots rang out from the house. Bryan returned fire, breaking all of the upstairs windows. He practically sat on Lucy to keep her down and out of the line of fire.

When the shooting stopped, it was eerily quiet. Even the birds had stopped chirping, and the breeze had died to nothing.

“Maybe you got him,” Lucy whispered.

“Doubtful.” Bryan’s voice had a strange, strangled sound to it. The hand he’d placed on her shoulder to keep her low to the ground lost its grip, and his gun rattled to the pavement.

“Bryan?”

He slumped against her, bleeding from a wound to the shoulder, dangerously close to his chest.

“Bryan!” In her panic, she forgot about the man shooting at them. Her only thought was that she would have to get Bryan some medical attention or he would die-and that meant getting him into the car and driving down the mountain.

He was conscious, though barely. “What-what are you doing?” he asked when she tried to hook her hands under his arms and lift him.

“You have to get into the car.”

“Lucy, get down!” That was when she realized she’d been standing almost upright, and no one had shot at her.

Maybe Bryan had hit Vargov after all. Maybe he was reloading, or out of bullets altogether. She didn’t have time to speculate. Bryan was bleeding at an alarming rate. The front of his shirt was soaked in red.

“You have to help me, Bry,” she said. “You’re too heavy. I can’t lift you into the car myself.”

Somehow, he managed to summon the strength to rise, casting a wary glance toward the house. But there was no more shooting. Lucy retrieved his gun, just in case, and together they hobbled to the Peugeot’s passenger door. Lucy opened it, and Bryan fell inside.

The keys were in the ignition, thank God. She ran around, jumped behind the wheel, cranked up the car, backed out of the drive and screeched off. It was only when the cabin was half a mile behind them that Lucy dared to breathe a sign of relief. “We did it,” she said, feeling only a mild sense of elation. One hurdle crossed, lots more to go. “Bryan?”

He was slumped in his seat, unconscious.