Dangerous web, p.15
Dangerous Web, page 15
He tensed but didn’t speak. What could he say? He had one rule concerning women, don’t get involved. He broke it when he met Emma.
She sniffed. “I’m sorry, Ivan. I don’t want to give the impression I won’t help you and Webb.” She wiped a tear from her eye. “Whatever it takes, I’m in. Let’s get this done.”
“You sure?” Webb caught her hand and held it. “Emmy, I might find a place for you to stay until this is over.”
“And if I’m discovered and you’re not around am I dead? Besides, you might need me.”
Silence.
Ivan grunted and favored his left side. In obvious pain, he left the room.
“What the hell?” Webb said under his breath. “So much for trust.”
“Now what?” Emma leaned closer to him. “Can you do without the list and maybe find out why your team is shutting down?”
“This whole damned mess is because of the data on the list and the consequences it will trigger. Regardless of the changes in the advance team, we need the info ASAP.” He hesitated. “I—let me think.”
***
Emma knocked on Ivan’s bedroom door. “Can I come in and talk for a second?”
“Da.”
She entered and found him shirtless and trying to remove the bandages from his shoulder wound.
“Let me wash my hands, then I’ll help you.” She returned from the bathroom, with antibiotic cream and took off his dressings. The injury looked better than she’d imagined, red but coagulated, no fresh bleeding. She applied antibiotic cream to the dressing, placed the non-stick gauze on the wound, and secured it with medical tape. “Can I bring you something for pain? I’m sorry, but I only have over the counter painkillers. Might help a little.”
“There’s water in the glass on the bed stand. Also, search in my bag and find my Hawaiian shirt, if you don’t mind.”
She brought the garish pink, chartreuse, and black shirt to him.
“I’m not wearing it. Help me with the California shirt you bought at the store yesterday.”
She tugged on the 3x large shirt over his barrel chest, careful to avoid touching his injury, and helped him stand.
She suppressed a smile when she saw him in the white T-shirt that declared “Surf’s up” in blue letters. She couldn’t imagine the huge Russian on a surfboard.
He yanked on the shirt. “This is good for the hot weather.”
“It looks fine. Uh, Ivan, you’re a nice man. I trust you.” She paused, hoping for a positive response at least in his expression. When he didn’t respond, she continued, “I’m only a real estate agent, but I believe we have to stick together and help Webb, uh, Ethan, finish this assignment.”
“Bring the Hawaiian shirt with you, Emma.”
So much for her powers of persuasion. She sighed and followed him back to the dining table where Webb still sat.
The table was cleared of the breakfast dishes. “We can leave whenever you all are ready. I—that’s the most hideous Hawaiian shirt I’ve ever seen.”
“Da. I bought it because of this.” Ivan sat in a chair at the table.
Emma took a place across from him.
“Is someone going to explain what the hell the hideous shirt has to do with our situation?” Webb’s impatience vibrated in his deep voice. “Take it off the table.”
“Nyet.”
Webb’s body froze, but his hand formed a fist.
She reached for his hand.
“This is part of the list.” Ivan held the fabric to him.
“You’re kidding, right?” She couldn’t believe what he said.
“I’m not a prankster. I thought you understood this by now.”
“I…spit it out, Ivan.” Webb relaxed his fist.
“Oh, Webb, the spitting again. I chose this to be ugly to cause little interest. I could put it on and take the information with me and if I am searched, they uncover nothing, only a man with a poor taste in fashion.”
“Well, I’ll be.” Emma gasped.
“Explain,” Webb interrupted.
“These are palm fronds, yes?”
He stared at the fabric. “Yeah, Ivan, so?”
“From a distance, this is true. Still, with a closer observation, there are numbers, oh not every frond, but if you comprehend where to search…”
Emma glanced at Webb, waiting for his reply.
“Numbers for what? Bank accounts?” He sat back in the chair again, an expression of disbelief on his handsome face.
“Sleepers.”
“The hell.” Webb’s voice rose in volume.
“Da.”
“Here in the States?”
“Da. In the federal government and elsewhere.”
“What’s a sleeper?” Emma leaned forward.
“A foreign agent living incognito in the States, but in place and ready to be called up to complete a pre-planned assignment.”
“You mean a Russian living in the United States?”
“Yes, behaving like a citizen. Maybe is a citizen but in either case, the person is in a trusted position to betray the country when given a signal.” Webb paused. “Tell us more, Ivan.”
“These fronds contain numbers when held under the ultraviolet light. With the digits and the key, we can obtain names and job titles.”
“No shit.”
Ivan nodded. “No shit.”
“You have what you need?”
“Nyet. Next we go claim the key.”
“To open what? A safety deposit box?”
“Emmy, it’s not a real key.” Webb rubbed his chin. “It could be a book or even a thumb drive, but either way, it links the numbers and the people involved.” He stared at Ivan. “Where is it?”
“I will take you there.”
“Okay, good. Let’s put this cabin in shape and leave ASAP.”
Emma finished the laundry and replaced the linen in the closet. Webb was wiping down the fridge as she entered the kitchen.
“I think everything in the rest of the house is ready. The bathroom is clean. Hopefully, the realtor renting the place will never guess we stayed here.” She glanced around the room, then sat at the table. “Looks good in here. Where’s Ivan?”
“Out back on the deck, resting. He pretends he’s fine, but I don’t think he is as well as he wants us believe.”
“Hm—did he tell you where the key is?”
“Yeah.” He closed the refrigerator and stretched.
“Webb, your hand is bleeding. Don’t pull away. You should have taken care of this yesterday. It’s becoming infected.”
“Only a…”
“A scratch, I know.” She smiled. Men. “Take a minute. Give me a chance to help. Come in the bathroom.”
“Em.”
“Webb.”
She led the way and, with a groan, he followed.
He grimaced as the warm water flowed over his torn skin.
“Sorry. I’m hurting you, but dirt is still in the wound.” She held his hand under the water again.
Stoic, but with a fierce expression spreading across his face, he didn’t move.
“Better.” She turned off the water and patted the wound with sterile gauze and held his open palm to her cheek. “Thank God you weren’t killed.”
She looked up and his expression softened, but he said, “Finish. We don’t have all day.”
After she applied the antibiotic cream and a bandage, he left the room without another word.
I’m such a fool. Did she expect him to stop everything and take her in his arms and kiss her?
Then she remembered he hadn’t even told her where the key was located.
***
Tyler unfolded his legs from the cab of the pickup truck and jumped out. Smith had given him twenty-four hours to find the list and kill the men and the girl. He slammed the driver’s side door closed. He yanked a phone from his pocket, and glanced at the screen. Yep, this is the right place. Rural, with a small population, maybe that’s why Emma Craig had chosen the town as a hiding place. Using her bank card, while undercover, demonstrated she was an amateur, rather than a trained operative. It gave him the opportunity to track her, thanks to Smith’s ability to acquire her bank records. His boss had ordered him to kill her. Still, the plan didn’t sit any better with him now than it had the first time the man demanded it. But…
In a town with a population under five hundred, there’d be a good chance Emma would be noticed and remembered, making his job easier. He’d try the grocery store and talk to the local folk.
In the store, the conversation settled on the burned car outside of town. No one appeared to have any idea who owned the wreck, but the auto appeared to be a complete loss. No bodies had been found.
He listened hoping for any information related to Ms. Craig. Nada. With a soda and a pack of gum in his hand, he talked to the old woman at the cash register.
“I remember the girl you mean.” The lady rang up his sale and gave him his change. “A pretty little thing. I couldn’t help noticing her violet eyes and lovely smile. She bought a bunch of first aid stuff and a couple of “pay as you go” cell phones.”
“You don’t say?”
“Yeah, kind of unusual in these parts. I sell mostly bread, milk and beer, food stuff. Thought I’d be stuck with those damned phones. I told her we sell them all the time.” She laughed. “Can I get you anything else?”
“Uh, no thanks, I’m good.” He hesitated. “She didn’t happen to tell you where she was heading?”
The store clerk startled. “Well, I… not in so many words, but she spent time reading the flyer over there on the wall and called to find out if the cabin was available.”
He thanked her and went to read the poster. “Bingo.”
After topping up the gas tank of the truck, he drove toward the cabin with the hope he might shoot her quickly and leave. His stomach churned at the thought of killing a “pretty little thing with a lovely smile” as the old lady described Emma Craig.
For the amount of money he’d receive, taking out men was no problem. A chill struck him in the middle of a heat wave. Would he be able to assassinate his first woman, someone who, as far as he understood, had done nothing except be in the wrong place?
He parked the truck and grabbed the high-powered rifle hanging on the gun rack in the back window of the vehicle. He walked the private road and up onto the tree covered ridge overlooking the impressive log cabin. Prone on the ground, he adjusted the scope and scanned the house.
The place looked quiet. Too quiet.
***
Emma peeked out of the backdoor to the deck of the cabin. “Ivan, Webb’s gone to town to gas up the car.”
Ivan rolled to a sitting position and yawned.
She walked outside to join him. “When he returns, we can go. Are you ready?”
“Da.” He stood, favoring his injured shoulder.
“Remember your Hawaiian shirt.”
As he reached for it, something struck him in his chest. He dropped to his knees and blood seeped onto his white “surf’s up” shirt.
She screamed.
A look of disbelief spread across his face. “Go back, little one.” He coughed.
“I’ll help you.”
“Emma, go!” Another bullet slammed into him. He slumped to the ground and didn’t move.
“Ivan!” She dropped to the deck behind the lounge chair, reaching for the Hawaiian shirt as she did. The Russian’s blood ran in a stream on the deck near where she lay. Ivan had to be dead. A man couldn’t lose so much blood and survive.
No. No. I don’t want to believe.
She breathed deeply to calm her racing heart. Fearing the next bullet would be for her, she clutched his shirt and crawled toward the back of the house.
Thank God, she hadn’t closed the door. She threw herself through the opening and slammed the backdoor closed, locking it.
Trembling, she fell to the tile floor. A scream clawed at her throat and blinding tears streamed down her face. With a shaky hand, she tried to wipe them away. Get yourself under control or you’ll die too.
Instead of following to her own advice, she covered her face and rocked back and forth sobbing.
Are you ready to die and let the killer have the link to the key? “Hell no.”
She ran to Ivan’s bedroom, rummaged through his pack, and found a handgun. Shells were in the chamber. He wouldn’t bother to carry an empty gun when he was in danger. Her hand trembled so hard she thought the weapon might discharge when she picked up the revolver.
Holding the barrel pointing down toward the carpet, she glanced out of one the living room windows. If she saw someone approaching, did she have the guts to fire? What if a neighbor came to find out what the shots were about? She might kill an innocent man. “Dear God, I don’t want to do this.”
What about Webb? When he drove up the driveway, he’d be a sitting target for the killer. She wouldn’t let that happen.
She squinted and glanced out of another living room window facing the hill where the shots came from. All was fine as far as she could tell.
What should she do next? Damn, she was a real estate agent, how the hell did she know? No police. She understood that much.
To protect Ivan from being sunburned, she wanted to take a blanket and cover him. What was she thinking? “I’ve lost it—he’s dead.” Shuddering, she leaned against the wall, gripping his firearm with both hands.
Before a projectile hit, would she be aware of the bullet and hear it coming to kill her?
Don’t cry. Damn you, don’t cry.
The back doorknob tuned. When the door didn’t open, someone pounded on it.
“Get back. I have a gun,” she yelled. “I will shoot you.”
Chapter 15
“Emmy, stand back.”
With one swift kick from Webb, the cabin’s back door flew open and he faced a handgun aimed at his chest.
“Whoa, point that somewhere else.”
“Damn. I could have shot you. I didn’t believe...” Emma relaxed her grip on the pistol and brought it to her side. “You said to stand back, but I was afraid—afraid it was the shooter.”
He took the gun from her shaking hands and set it on a table, then held her in his arms. “It’s okay. The sniper’s gone. When he realized I had a weapon, the guy headed for his truck and hightailed it out of here.”
“Thank God.” She continued to tremble as she clung to him.
“Em, where’s Ivan?”
“We were on the deck and he—he. Dear God, Ivan’s dead.” She gulped down a sob. “Someone shot him.”
She cried softly against his shoulder.
“Hush, Emmy.” Anger surged, but he hid his emotions because it wouldn’t help for her to understand he was upset too. He embraced her until she stopped whimpering. “We need to go.” Against his desire, he grudgingly released her. “Grab your gear and make sure you don’t forget anything.”
“We can’t leave Ivan out there—alone.” She stared to weep again.
He had to calm her before she lost it completely. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of him.”
If Ivan was dead, it changed everything. He crouched low and made his way to the Russian’s body. The man was bathed in blood. Still, he checked Ivan’s carotid artery, then shook his head. The assassin had done his job too well.
Anger raged in his veins, and his heart raced. He needed to control his emotions. Everything depended on his cool calculations, if he was to stop the enemy from working against the U.S. He had to carry on and finish the job for the country and for Ivan. His death should mean something.
Could he do that and still protect Emma?
They spent time in the cabin and surrounding deck erasing anything that might identify them. One fingerprint or strand of hair might be enough to send the police on their trail. Of course, he couldn’t be positive all evidence had been removed. Still, it was worth a try to keep the local law at bay for a time. When they identified Ivan, the FBI would be brought in on the case and the locals would be taken out of the loop. Meanwhile, he planned to grab the key and be on his way. He prayed the boss would be at their designated meeting place.
After the sun set, he and Emma made their way to the car and drove, without headlights, to the main road. He’d done what he could to protect Ivan’s body until the officials arrived. He tried rid himself of the notion he should’ve done more for the man. The Russian comprehended the risks in the job and made the decision to continue in his chosen career. The realization didn’t lessen Webb angry reaction over Ivan’s death.
Few cars were on the road at what must be a late hour for the farmers in the small community. As the Volvo rolled down the two-lane highway, he decided to turn right and head toward civilization. With some relief, he realized the nearest big town would provide some anonymity.
Emma didn’t speak. Instead, she clung to the ugly shirt that once belonged to Ivan, cradling it as if it somehow kept the man alive.
Finally, she said, “I can’t believe Ivan’s gone. He was such a big presence. The car seems empty without him.” She paused. “I’ve never felt this way before, but I’d shoot the killer if he were in my sights—dear God, what about Ivan’s daughter?”
Webb didn’t have a suitable answer, so, he didn’t respond.
The miles rolled by and neither spoke again.
Guilt for bringing Emma into this dangerous mission, shook him. Three years ago, he should have ignored her appeal and walked by her. Enough.
“I don’t often say this to anyone, but I’m sorry, Emmy. I truly am. You’re involved in this mess because of me.”
“What do we do next?” she asked, ignoring his apology. “We have the shirt with the numbers, but now where do we go?”
He switched on the headlights and increased the car’s speed. “When we reach a decent-sized town, I’ll stop at a hardware store and buy an Ultra Violet black light so we can read the numbers.” He concentrated on taking a sharp turn in the road. “Somewhere on the shirt is a zip code. When we have it, we’ll know where to find the key.”
“Afterwards?”
“Ivan told me where to locate the key, once I find the building. Not only that, I have a prearranged meeting with my boss to turn over the information. When that’s done, I’ll receive new orders or be apprised of the situation on the disbanding of the Rapid Advance team. You can go to a secure site. I’ll be in touch to explain when the mission is completed and you can go back to your home.” He stumbled on the word “your,” about to say “our” home. Had Emmy noticed?
