Lying and Kissing (41 page)

We got the cab driver to drop us near the perimeter fence and watched as the cab’s tail lights disappeared into the blizzard. We were miles from anywhere—if this went wrong, we had no way back to the city. But if this went wrong, we were going to be dead anyway.

Security was a lot laxer than at a big commercial airport. We found a place where the fence was rusted and Luka tore the metal strands apart. Luka’s private jet was sitting on the runway, just visible through the snow. Most likely, the tower wouldn’t give them clearance to take off until the blizzard died down. Two black SUVs were parked nearby. I could see Ralavich’s bodyguards, too—four of them. They were probably meant to be patrolling, or spaced out around the jet keeping watch until it could depart. But they didn’t have Yuri’s loyalty or resolve. Two of them were huddled against the SUV, trying to stay out of the wind, while the other two had given up completely and were sitting inside it, smoking. There was no sign of Olaf or Adam, which meant they had to already be on board.

Luka took out his phone and dialed a number, then spoke quietly in Russian. He spoke slowly and earnestly. Asking for help, but not demanding that the pilot risk his life. At last, he nodded and solemnly gave his thanks. Then he nodded to me. It was on.

We crept through the snow. I was grimly aware of how completely unprepared I was. I was in a dress and heels, for God’s sake, the padded coat already plastered with snow. I didn’t have a gun. I barely remembered my unarmed combat training.

But there was no way on earth I was letting my man go in there alone.

When we were thirty feet from the jet, the pilot lowered the rear cargo door. We crept inside the tiny hold and Luka called the pilot again. Seconds later, the door closed, plunging us into darkness.

“Stay behind me,” whispered Luka. “And whatever happens...I love you.”

I clung to him for a second. And then the plane began to move.

From the passenger cabin, we could hear shouts of anger and alarm. Answering shouts from the bodyguards outside. Running footsteps. They couldn’t understand why the plane was taxiing for take-off without them aboard.

Luka took a deep breath and pushed open the door to the cabin.

Olaf and Adam were the only people inside and both of them were staring at the runway as it flashed past outside the open passenger door. The steps were scraping along the ground, sparks flying. “
Hey!”
Olaf was shouting towards the cockpit,
“What the fuck are you doing?!”

Just a few feet from me, Adam had his laptop out and—my heart leapt—he was checking his bank accounts on the screen. Routing numbers. Amounts. Everything he’d been paid by Ralavich for helping him over the years. It was exactly the evidence I needed; all I had to do was get that laptop back to the CIA.

He looked round and saw us. His strangled cry alerted Olaf, who turned...to find Luka pointing a gun at him.

“My father’s going to live,” Luka told him. “And we’re going to take back everything you stole from us.” I saw his finger tighten on the trigger.

Adam suddenly yelled and jumped forward. Luka turned but didn’t shoot—he knew that Adam had to go back to America alive if I was to clear my name.

Adam hurled his laptop. Luka awkwardly deflected it, but it opened him up for Olaf to charge at him, knocking him to the floor. The laptop landed on one of the plush leather chairs by the door.

Olaf straddled Luka, punching him in the face and trying to pry the gun out of his fingers. I winced—and then Adam grabbed hold of me around my waist. I thrashed and struggled but he was a lot stronger than I was, dragging me towards the open door. We were almost at take-off speed, now, the runway whipping past outside and the jet engines deafening. “Stop!” he yelled. “Or I throw her out the door!”

Luka froze and then went limp. Olaf pried the gun from his fingers and stood up, pointing it at him.

No!

Adam’s arms were like a steel band around my waist. All I had were my arms, and I didn’t have anything I could use as a weapon.

Then I saw the laptop, still sitting on the leather chair next to the door. The evidence I so badly needed.

As Olaf leveled the gun at Luka, I stretched forward and grabbed the laptop. Adam leaned instinctively back out of the way, so that I couldn’t hit him. And Olaf was staring at me. If I threw it at him, he’d see it coming.

But there was one thing I
could
do with it. One thing that might save us...or kill us all.

I twisted as hard as I could, managing to turn Adam around as well. I was now right in the open doorway, the freezing wind scouring my face, the roar of the engines pounding my ears. The runway was just a blur.

I threw the laptop into the jet engine and watched as it was sucked inside. The whole plane trembled for a split-second and then the engine exploded into a million jagged pieces.

The blast hurled Adam and I back inside and across the cabin. The whole plane slewed to one side. As I’d hoped, none of us could keep our feet. Olaf went staggering into Luka, who grabbed the gun and pushed him away.

Olaf stumbled backward and made a grab for me, perhaps intending to throw me out of the door. Before he could, four wet, red flowers erupted on his white shirt. He looked down in disbelief...and fell backwards out of the door, his body bouncing as it hit the runway.

Adam was still reeling from the explosion. Luka grabbed the front of his shirt, then punched him just once with the other hand. He dropped to the floor like a puppet whose strings have been cut.

The plane started to slow. Through the open door, I could see the SUVs finally catching up with us. The bodyguards inside were wide-eyed in panic. They’d just seen their boss’s body hurled out of a plane and, unlike Yuri, they weren’t thinking about honor and vengeance; they were thinking that they’d backed the wrong side. Luka approached the door, gun raised. As soon as they saw he was still alive, the drivers stamped on the brakes, turned and drove away as fast as they could.

The jet finally stopped. The pilot unlocked the door from the cockpit and tentatively looked out. He looked at me, then at the groaning Adam on the floor, then finally at Luka. “Are things back to normal, sir?” he asked.

Luka drew in a long breath. “Yes, captain. Thank you for your help.”

Adam spat a tooth across the cockpit. “You can’t prove shit,” he panted. “It was all on that laptop.”

I slumped down into one of the leather chairs. “You know, I always thought it was Roberta who underestimated me,” I told him. “But the whole time, it was you. Don’t you remember
anything
about me?”

One Week Later

“Arms up,” said Yuri.

Roberta raised her arms without complaint. The pat-down was standard practice but I knew that wasn’t the only reason it was being done. This was the first time Luka and Vasiliy had ever—knowingly—met someone from the CIA. They wanted to remind her who was in control.

Yuri stepped away and nodded her over to our table. He was still solemn—he was
Yuri,
and that would never change—but he did seem just a little lighter, since Olaf had died, as if a door to his past had finally closed forever. I’d even caught him smiling, once.

We were in a coffee shop that, until a few moments ago, had been full of customers. They’d all cleared out as soon as we’d arrived. Word had spread of the fall of Olaf Ralavich. If they’d been scared of us before, now they were terrified.

That didn’t bother me as much as it used to. There are worse things in life than being feared. People are going to be scared of
someone.
Better that that’s a family with some notion of honor and justice.

Luka sat on one side of me, hulking over the table like a bear. His untouched coffee looked comically small in front of him. He looked as if he might smash the table in two at any moment, his hatred for the CIA barely contained. But I wasn’t scared of that anger, anymore. I’d seen the man inside, the one who’d always been there. He’d just needed the right person to bring him out.

On my other side sat Vasiliy. He’d insisted on forgoing his painkillers that morning so that he could be sharp, although he’d then proceeded to kill the pain with vodka instead. He stared at Roberta with as much venom as his son...and with a hint of something else, too, something I couldn’t quite read.

“Mr Malakov...and Mr. Malakov,” said Roberta as she reached us. Then, to me, “Arianna.”

Silence. I kicked Luka under the table.

He inclined his head. ‘You may call me Luka,” he growled.

Roberta turned to Vasiliy. “And may I call you Vasiliy?”

Vasiliy gave her a strange smile. “No. You may call me
Mr. Malakov,”
he said. His voice was velvety smooth.

Roberta blinked at him and sat down. It was strange, seeing her outside Langley. It reminded me of when we’d first met, when she’d recruited me. Once again, she was in a sharp suit—actually, an even sharper one. Of course, she could afford the upgraded wardrobe, now.

“They promoted you, I hear,” I said.

She nodded. “Things are a little...chaotic, back at Langley. That’s why they wanted me to come over here and make our position clear.”

“You mean, explain why a senior CIA man was working with arms dealers,” said Vasiliy sweetly. “I think our government is wondering the same thing.”

From what I’d heard, there had been a lot of very embarrassed diplomats rushing back and forth between the US and Russia over the last few days. There were rumors of desperate bargaining behind the scenes and the whole thing had narrowly avoided making it into the press.

“Adam pled guilty last night,” said Roberta. “He didn’t have a lot of choice, given the evidence.” She looked at me. “Well done.”

The thing about a photographic memory is, it’s always on, whether you want it to be or not. I’d seen Adam’s laptop screen and all the account numbers and amounts were burned indelibly into my mind. That was more than enough for Roberta to go to her superiors and demand they subpoena the banks, and that had started a domino effect. Adam’s whole career of deceit had come spilling out.

Roberta put her hands flat on the table. “We wanted to acknowledge the part you played, as well,” she told Luka and Vasiliy. I could tell this wasn’t easy for her. “And to let you know—off the record—that the CIA won’t be pursuing investigations into your trading at the present time.”

“Meaning you’d rather have us around than scum like Ralavich,” muttered Luka.

“Meaning keep it clean,” said Roberta, a warning tone in her voice. She stared at Luka, but kept glancing meaningfully at me. “Play nice. Be respectful. And we won’t have to get involved. Am I clear?”

I could feel the motherly concern and disapproval coming off her in waves. Even Luka was a little subdued by it. He nodded and I couldn’t help but smile.

“And you,” said Roberta, turning back to me, “are free to come back anytime.” She tossed me my Arianna Scott passport. “There’s a job waiting for you, if you want it.”

I looked at Luka. “I don’t.”

She looked at the two of us and a sort of world-weary smile touched her lips. “Well, I’m there if you need me,” she said.

“And I’m here if you need
me,”
I said. I meant it, too. I owed her one. And I figured that an American in Moscow, under the protection of one of the most powerful families in Russia, was probably quite a useful thing to be.

She nodded gratefully and was about to say something else when Vasiliy interrupted her. “And what about you, Roberta?” he asked. His voice still had that smooth tone. “I can call you Roberta, can’t I? Can I tempt you away from the CIA? I’m sure I could find something for a woman like you.”

He locked eyes with her.

She flushed.

Oh.

That
was what was going on. I stood up quickly and made
let’s go
motions at Luka. Luka being Luka, he took his sweet time to get up, nod a goodbye to Roberta and allow me to lead him away from the table. We left Roberta looking panicked, as if she couldn’t decide whether being left alone with Vasiliy was the worst thing in the world or the best.