Ghosts of War (28 page)

I
t finally penetrated my brain that I really
was
talking to Shoshana, although the circumstances were beyond bizarre. I said, “What the hell are you doing? Where's Jennifer?”

“She's right here next to me. We're on top of the train.”

“On top of the train?”

“Yes, on top of the train.”

“You're actually on
top
of the train?”

“You're repeating things again.”

A smile split my face, and I saw Knuckles relax. I said, “Where's Mikhail?”

“I don't know, but his men are dead. Look, we're rolling into a stop. We're getting off here. We'd like a ride.”

Her nonchalance was amazing. I chuckled and said, “We're thirty seconds out from that stop. Where do you want to meet?”

“Standby. I can see the station.”

I heard the wind recede as the train slowed, and Aaron said, “Station is in sight. What do you want me to do?”

“Hold what you got. It's now an exfil, not an assault.”

I saw him smile as he pulled into a turnout, shutting off the lights.

I waited, then Shoshana came back on, now easy to hear, the area so quiet she whispered. She said, “We're going across the roof of the platform. Koko's moving to check it out. I'll call you back.”

And she hung up.

I had no idea what had occurred on the train, but I knew if
Shoshana was talking to me, Jennifer had convinced her to fight, and it had probably been ugly.

Aaron turned around and said, “What happened?”

I said, “I don't know, but I'm pretty sure your little demon saved the day.”

When he'd heard the earlier conversation, he'd been ripped apart by how bad things had become, knowing it had been his decision to put Jennifer and Shoshana on the train. He smiled, saying, “Thank you. Thank you for believing in her, like I do.”

I said, “Are you nuts? I didn't believe in her at all. I'm the one who was against her boarding in the first place.”

He said, “No, I don't mean before. I mean during. Nobody else could have gotten to her. Nobody else could have reached her. Not even me.”

My phone rang again, and he said, “One of these days, I'm going to ask what the hell the Pumpkin King is, but I'll wait.”

I answered and Shoshana said, “Coming down the east wall of the station. Right next to the bus terminal. Drive up and park.”

I relayed the instructions, and we rolled into the parking lot, sweeping it with our headlights and seeing just a scattering of cars. Aaron pulled to the east side, right up next to a pillar of brick bulging out of the facade, a line of decorative trim that ran all the way to the roof. He cut the lights and a figure appeared. I leaned out and saw someone helping another get a grip on the brick facade. The figure began coming down, made it halfway, then slipped, falling the last seven feet to the ground.

Not Jennifer.

I leapt out to help, recognizing Shoshana just as another figure cleared the roof. I grabbed Shoshana's hand and pulled her to her feet at the same time that Jennifer came down like a monkey. She flung herself off the pillar at the same level as Shoshana and landed on her feet next to us.

I said, “Impressive.”

Jennifer said, “No way. You're helping up Mrs. Impressive. You haven't
seen
impressive, trust me.”

I pulled Shoshana to me and whispered in her ear, “Thank you. Nice to have you back.”

She smiled at the affirmation. “Thank you for reminding me who I am.”

She seemed to mean it, and it was good to have her return to normal. Well, normal for her, meaning she was predictably crazy instead of just plain batshit.

We climbed into the van, me giving Shoshana the shotgun seat so I could talk directly to Jennifer. We started to roll out of the parking lot and Shoshana leaned into the back, looking at me. Knuckles said, “So what the hell happened?”

Jennifer said, “I have never been so scared.” She glanced at me and said, “Those assholes are seriously bad. They have no compunction about killing. They're just like the Russian guys in Istanbul.”

She started gushing words, the story spilling out in almost incoherent sentences, and it was brutal. She fake-laughed at something about her binds, then her eyes welled as she recounted what Shoshana had been forced to do, but she continued talking, letting it all out. When she was done, there was silence in the van.

Knuckles broke it, patting Shoshana's arm. “Remind me not to cross you.”

Shoshana said, “It was Jennifer who saved us. If she hadn't been there, I would be dead.”

Jennifer didn't even hear the words. She was looking at me for absolution. Wanting me to wash away the blood and fear with a word. I couldn't do that, but I could come close.

I brushed a tear from her face, finally saying what I'd feared I never would again. “I'm glad you're alive.”

She ran her hands over her cheeks, dealing with the emotional aftermath now that she was safe. I said, “You did good. You both did.”

She finally smiled and said, “I'm glad you can read a situation, even through a radio.”

I saw Shoshana staring intently at us. I said, “What the hell took so long for the Pumpkin King? I ask for it, I get it. We agreed on that.”

I was trying to bring a little humor and break the talk of death, but she shrunk in, and I realized I was poking a sore that I had no right to touch. I said, “Hey, I was kidding. There is no one else I would have wanted in that situation.”

She said, “Do you mean that?”

I could see she was vulnerable, on the cusp, wanting to believe my words. I said, “Yes. Yes, I do.”

She glanced at Aaron to see if he thought the same. He reached over and cupped her chin, saying, “I'm glad you're alive as well, but I have to agree with Pike.”

She craved his affirmation more than anyone's, but she still didn't look convinced. She knew what had happened in the train. Knew how she'd succumbed to Mikhail. She wanted to believe she was better than him, but she didn't. Aaron put that to rest.

He said, “Shoshana, you keep questioning yourself, but you shouldn't. Ever. You're pure, and you always have been. Mikhail can't take that from you.”

Curled in the seat, the words washed away her doubt. She hesitated for a brief moment, then leaned over the console and kissed Aaron on the cheek. He reacted like he'd been stung by a bee, swerving the van over the shoulder of the road. She recoiled, sagging back like she'd broken a rule. Jennifer scowled at the reaction, ready to rip Aaron's head off. But he was quicker than that.

He gained control of the van, saying, “Sorry. That was a surprise. I wasn't expecting it.” He patted Shoshana's hand, and her face lit up.

He said, “We can talk later. If you want.”

She nodded rapidly, saying, “Yes. I'll
show
you later. Just like Jennifer does with Pike, when they're alone.”

Jennifer's mouth opened in surprise, and the words hung in the air, the van silent. I closed my eyes.
Crazy is as crazy does.

Knuckles said, “Enough of this shit. I want out of the van.”

Shoshana looked at Jennifer for support, saying, “What did I do wrong?”

Jennifer grimaced. “You don't
tell
them,” she said. “You just
do
it.”

Shoshana nodded slowly, her eyes scrunched like she was actually computing what Jennifer had said. Factoring it in like she'd been raised by wolves and was just learning basic human social skills.

Which was probably true.

I said, “Great. You guys are the best. Mic drop. Lovefest over.”

Jennifer poked my shoulder. I ignored her, continuing, “We still have a mission here. We need to get rolling on Mikhail.”

Shoshana turned serious and said, “Yes, we do. Nephilim, I looked into him tonight, and I saw fear, but also fire.”

I wanted to ignore her usual psychobabble, but I . . . well, I believed. I said, “What do you mean?”

“I don't know. I just saw fire. He has something very bad planned, and he's close. He knows he's close. I could see it.”

I leaned back and said, “Shit. If that's true, we don't have a lead to stop him in time.”

She pulled out a cell phone and said, “Yes, we do. I called you on this.”

I said, “And?”

Jennifer said, “It's from the dead Russian, and it's tied to Mikhail.”

Knuckles said, “Well, that's more like it. Let's go hunting.”

T
he squeaking of the springs in the bunk against the window started again, and Mikhail clenched his teeth. He looked at his watch and saw it was almost five
A.M.
The stamina was impressive, but the irritation of keeping him awake was turning on the dark side of his personality. He waited, hoping the noise would end with the groaning of the springs, but that hadn't happened the previous two times. And like clockwork, the springs were overshadowed by a frenzy of thumping.

Wump, wump, wump
. In between, groans of pleasure—or maybe pain, since it sounded like the guy was driving her head into the wall with each thrust. Lord knows this shithole didn't waste any money on headboards.

He thought about just walking across the room and murdering the both of them. He could probably get away with it, since the hostel was decidedly seedy and had probably seen its fair share of violence, but the last thing he needed was undue focus on the tenants. Especially since he had an important meeting in a few hours, and he'd wasted valuable time just getting to Warsaw. He needed the small amount he had left to prepare, not dodge the law.

Forced to abandon the trains, and unwilling to use his true identity to rent a car, it had taken him a day and a half to get here.

As soon as he'd cleared the parking lot of the train station, he'd hit several ATMs in the little town, putting his hand over the camera and maxing out his alias credit cards. He needed the money, for sure, but he couldn't be on camera. Right now, the only thing they had was a
name. No way did he want to give them a face to go with it. After getting the money he destroyed the cards, hopefully leaving behind a trail that said he was still inside Slovakia, once the police determined whose ticket was tied to the carnage in the sleeper car.

He'd holed up in a cheap, by-the-hour hotel, paying in cash, then set out for Warsaw the following morning, after four hours of sleep. Using euros and his language abilities, he'd managed to reach Warsaw riding shotgun with four separate long-haul truckers, completely covering his tracks and giving himself a clean break.

Dropped off in the city center at the giant communist monstrosity known as the palace of culture, he snagged a cab, asking for a cheap hotel near the old town that would take cash, the implied statement being that they also wouldn't ask any questions.

The cabby stopped at a brick turret, looking like it had been built ages ago, but that was actually a modern construct, as was most everything in Warsaw. World War II had not been kind to the city. The Poles had refused to submit to their Nazi occupiers, and as a result, the German war machine had demolished every single building, the fighting a brutal house-to-house slugfest.

The cabby pointed through the turret and gave instructions in broken English, giving landmarks and left and right turns. Mikhail exited and began walking, weary and rumpled. He followed the directions, tripping on the cobblestone streets, looking for a bell, or maybe a plaque. He was unsure what the cabby had actually said.

He reached a square and was pleasantly surprised to find an old bell in the center, kids rubbing its top and walking around it in circles. He glanced at the walls of the nearest building and saw the plaque, now realizing what the cab driver had been trying to tell him by repeating the word
strong
. The plaque was for a man code-named Jack Strong, a CIA asset who had helped bring an end to communist rule in Poland.

Mikhail cared not a whit about any of it. Wishing bells or Cold
War heroes. He only wanted to sleep, and the hostel was down a tunnel right next door. He found it under an arch of bricks, a small sign out front. He entered, seeing a claustrophobic lobby the size of a closet. Two other patrons were in front of him, one a twentysomething female with dreadlocks, the other a male with a backpack, a scraggly neck beard, and less than stellar dental work. They began kissing while waiting, and little did he know they would soon be the bane of his existence.

He paid for a room, went up the stairs, and was surprised to see he'd be sharing it with the greasy couple. They introduced themselves, stating they were from France and tromping around Europe, then began to probe why a single guy like him, an “old man,” was staying there. He'd made up a story about starting a career too young, forcing him to miss out on the experiences of youth, and he was now making up for it. Impressed at the lie, they offered to share a bottle of wine. He'd begged off, saying he was too tired.

He'd taken the bunk closest to the door, laying down fully clothed. They'd moved off to the end of the room, near the window. And then the activities had begun.

The thumping started to increase in speed, and Mikhail rubbed his face, then set his feet on the floor harder than necessary. The noise ceased. He stood up, hearing whispering. He flicked on the light, and got “Hey, shut that off.”

The man with the crooked teeth glared at him, incensed, hunched over the woman, her face turned away. Mikhail said, “Sorry. Gotta go.”

The man said, “Turn out the fuckin' light.”

Which was enough to push Mikhail over the edge. He walked slowly toward the couple, and his approach was enough to indicate to the man that he'd made a mistake. Mikhail squatted down, getting eye to eye with him, ignoring the woman.

Speaking in a low tone, he brandished a folding knife, flicking the blade out. “You say one more word and I'll cut your fucking tongue
out.” He used his index finger to punctuate the last four words, jabbing it into the man's forehead after each one.

The man's eyes were so large, it was comical. He nodded, but remained mute, afraid to test the threat. The girl began to tremble underneath him, hiding her face in the pillow as if that would prevent the bogeyman from finding her.

Mikhail rose, then left the room, not even bothering to look back.