Kitabı oku: «The Good Thief», sayfa 3

Chapter 4

Gesù Cristo e mamma-goddamn-mia, Marko thought as he drove to his place.

Lindsey…

He absolutely shouldn’t mess with the boss’s daughter. He loved women and plunged wholeheartedly into passionate relationships that burned out in disappointingly short times. If that happened with Lindsey, K-bar would never again give him the primo clients, let alone hire him to head up the new private extraction team. Hell, he’d probably fire him, and blacklist him from the personal security business. Actually, K-bar was capable of much worse.

The tires of the Maserati screeched as Marko took a corner too fast. He paid little attention. His mind was on other things.

Okay, say the passion didn’t burn out, he said to himself. K-bar would do almost anything to protect Lindsey from winding up with the wrong man. He probably had her lined up to meet rich sons of diplomats, or some of his wealthy clients.

Marko was pretty sure he wasn’t the right long-term guy for Lindsey. Yeah, they had the adrenaline rush thing going. But she was so well educated, classy. The final shock had been her painting. She was an artist, too. That painting…he kept picturing the way she’d captured the moon through branches….

At least he’d impressed her with the skydiving idea. How many sons of diplomats could offer that?

He pulled into the garage he rented and walked three blocks to his tiny second-floor apartment overlooking an alley. He’d put all his money into the car. Such pleasure it gave him to send his mama a picture of himself beside it and tell her he’d earned it. She alone in his family would be proud of him. The rest of the lot were exactly the kind of people Lindsey dealt with in buybacks—the thieves, not the clients.

Marko came from immigrant trash, though his great-great-grandfather had been part of the Russian aristocracy before WWI. Lindsey’s draw was more than skin-deep. She was everything he admired, maybe even what he wanted to be. Marko had been a poor soldier just out of the FFL when K-bar hired him six years ago. For the last three years, he’d been earning real money. He could speak the untutored Russian of his family, Italian, of course, French and English. He knew he could advance in a business like K-bar’s. He just had to get rid of his rough edges.

He called his friend Claudio who said there was a jump tomorrow and Marko and his girl were welcome. Marko hung up and stared down at the shabby tan carpet and then out into the night sky above the neighboring building. By what mysterious process had he looked at Lindsey and seen his own ambition and potential?

Lindsey looked a bit pale and didn’t say much on the forty-minute drive down al autostrada except to ask how many jumps he’d made.

“The next will be my 578th,” Marko said before reviewing safety issues and explaining about the drop zone. “You’re going to love it.”

They reached the little airport at Arezzo for an adventure in paracadutismo, parachuting, at 10:45 a.m. He and Claudio personally packed the chute for the tandem jump he and Lindsey would make.

Marko said, “A certified parachute rigger put in an altitude-sensitive device that opens automatically if for any reason we’re both unable to pull the cords.”

Lindsey looked even paler.

“But we will both be acutely conscious and loving it,” Marko said.

Lindsey laughed nervously. She pulled a bright yellow nylon suit over her tight but stretchy black ski clothes. Marko stepped into his orange suit. Several divers were boarding the small plane, whooping and laughing in their wild bicolor jumpsuits of turquoise and white, red and purple.

“They’ll jump ahead of us,” Marko said. He attached the tandem harness straps to Lindsey around the tops of each thigh and over each shoulder and under her arms. The tight shoulder straps emphasized her breasts, which he’d already surveyed more than once.

After a few more instructions, their plane was in the air, climbing and making a wide loop to the south, passing by the northern shore of Lake Trasimeno, a blue mirror of the sky. He pointed to Isola Maggiore, Major Island. “Not a very imaginative name.”

“In Italian, everything sounds romantic. It doesn’t have to sound imaginative,” Lindsey said.

At an altitude of six thousand meters, Marko attached Lindsey’s clips to his own straps in four places, powerfully connecting the two of them. He stood beside her as the others were lining up beside the transport door. One of the jumpers accidentally bumped Lindsey backward, thrusting her body against Marko. He was surprised to feel her shaking. Could the female daredevil be frightened?

He spoke softly into her ear, “Would you like to just watch this first time?”

She looked at him over her shoulder. “Of course not! I’m making this jump.” She shoved her goggles down over her eyes.

He did likewise. The door opened and the formation divers leaped from the plane, yelling and whooping. The plane began dropping and quickly reached five thousand meters.

“Okay, your turn,” Claudio yelled.

“Jump,” Marko said.

They made a paired spring into the sky. Arms like wings, they leaped into icy wind. In belly-to-earth position, they would drop for sixty seconds. Strands of her hair slipped out and lashed at his face a little. Her legs spread apart, and he hovered over her as if about to mount her in their free fall over the patchwork terrain below. They kept touching in places, her backside bumping at his groin. It was both erotic and exhilarating.

To the south, puffy arcs of color opened. The formation flyers. Marko yanked their cord also. With a jerk, their canopy wing chute opened. He held Lindsey around the waist to guide her upright. They floated gloriously as the earth approached, bumped down only a few feet off the assigned target.

Lindsey came alive, screaming with delight and laughing. After he’d gathered the chute, she grabbed him and planted an amazing kiss on his lips. No tongue, but full of passion.

When she pulled back they both grinned, a distinct sense of shared awareness in the moment of pleasure.

Back in Florence in the late afternoon, she didn’t invite him in. She took his hand and tugged him in. They flew at each other the second the door closed. He moved his hands over her slim waistline, her hips, her firm breasts. He was about to take her sweater off when the phone rang. She kept kissing him, but after the fourth ring, she pulled away.

“I guess I’d better get that,” she said.

He laid his head back on the sofa in frustration as she answered and then watched as she grew more and more focused. “I’ll call you right back.”

“Marko, something has come up. I have to take this call and then get to work.”

He looked at her, groggy with lust. “This is American humor, right?”

She shook her head, leaned over and kissed him, a thorough hello kiss, not a goodbye buss. “I can’t thank you enough for today.”

“That seems to be true,” he said with mock sadness. “When can I see you again?”

“Soon. I hope.”

His Maserati was inadequate comfort on the cold ride home. What could be more important to her than making love to him at that moment? Mamma goddamn mia.

Chapter 5

Lindsey closed the door and sagged against it. I was scarily close to hopping into bed with Marko Savin. I must be out of my mind!

She’d been on the verge of doing something she would have surely regretted. It was way too soon for that much intimacy. Maybe it was the intoxication of the day that had her close to losing herself with him. She’d sipped the old adrenaline cocktail and loved it. “Adrenaline fright” was definitely an acquired taste. She’d almost wet her pants with relief after they landed and had forced herself to jump again to banish any remaining doubts about her nerve. What a thrill! That’s what happened when you conquered your weaknesses. Just like K-bar said.

Thank heavens Allison Gracelyn had interrupted before Marko had slipped her sweater over her head. Stopping at that point was sensible. Sane.

With Marko’s taste, like an especially sweet orange, still lingering, the feeling of his touch still fresh in her memory, Lindsey dialed the secure number Allison had given her some time ago. The gifted computer programmer worked as a code-breaker at the National Security Agency in Ft. Meade, Maryland, and lived in Chevy Chase. There was only a six-hour difference between Florence and Maryland.

They exchanged quick hellos. “Are you still with Christine in Phoenix?” Lindsey asked. Lindsey pictured Allison and her straight, shoulder-length hair, the soft yet keenly intelligent eyes.

“Yes. I’d appreciate your attention on this, Lindsey. Have you followed the kidnapping?”

“Yes. I called the Academy and listened to the recording by Christine. What’s the latest?”

Lindsey grabbed a diet soda and headed into her office.

“FBI Agent Katie Rush traced Teal Arnett and Lena Poole to a gang of Colombian lowlifes.”

Lindsey typed in her AA.gov password and then brought up the photos of the girls, their names listed below their photos.

“The short version,” Allison said, “is that Katie went to Colombia and helped to free Lena, but Teal stayed with her kidnappers on purpose.”

“A seventeen-year-old girl didn’t escape when she had the chance?” Lindsey studied Teal’s image. She looked like a normal teenager. Blond-streaked chestnut hair pulled back in a ponytail, clear hazel eyes, vivacious. And yet, those cheekbones… There was some American Indian blood in this girl somewhere. “She looks like the kind of person people call an ‘old soul.’ Is she…?”

“Teal is definitely special. I’ll get to that in a minute. Lena says Teal thinks there is something much bigger going on. Something…well, strange and terrifying was how she put it. The good news is that we know that Teal is on a plane from Colombia to London. I’ve contacted the British SAS and called in some favors. They’ll have a team waiting when the plane lands, rescue Teal, and arrest the kidnappers. I’ve also twisted the arm of an NSA friend and we’ve got a secure satellite that will be able to pick up the plane’s arrival at Heathrow.”

“It looks like things will be okay, then. If you have the kidnappers, you can get to the bottom of this.” Lindsey sat back, swigged her soda, and wondered where she fit in.

“Yes, and no. Teal has proven psychic abilities.”

Wow. She picked up a pencil. “Okay.”

“And, Teal, like Lena, is an amazingly fast runner. Amazingly fast.”

Now tapping the pencil, Lindsey suddenly felt the conversation wasn’t going in a direction she’d anticipated.

“Jazz was the third girl. Like all Athena girls, Jazz is very bright and has her own special gifts, but nothing beyond the ordinary. We think the attempt to take her was accidental. The kidnappers wanted Teal and Lena. The girls were lured to a pickup location. And Teal and Lena share something else. In addition to having these standout abilities, there is this profoundly disturbing fact: Their mothers underwent fertility treatments—at the very same clinic, the Women’s Fertility Center in Zuni, New Mexico.”

“It’s unusual. Seems a rather large coincidence. But why so disturbing?”

“Lindsey, the clinic may have connections to Lab 33. We’re starting to think that they may be Lab 33 babies.”

“Oh, good God.” Lindsey leaned forward in the chair and tossed the pencil onto the desk. “More egg babies?”

“Exactly. An Athena grad, Kim Valenti, is working with Lynn White to decipher the files that were rescued when we took down Lab 33 a year and a half ago.” Rage and disgust boiled in Allison’s voice. “There’s still much that we don’t know about Aldrich Peters’ genetic research. The encryption is difficult to break. Very frustrating for Kim and Lynn. Also, a lot of the data was destroyed. But, yes, it appears that Peters didn’t just harvest Rainy’s eggs. He took and then secretly manipulated the eggs of other women, as well.”

“That’s sick. Disgusting.” Lindsey felt a chill on the back of her neck. “Isn’t Lynn one of Rainy’s ‘daughters’?”

“Yes. It’s a mess. If you knew Rainy’s daughters, or Teal and Lena, you’d say it’s a wonderful thing that they were born. But the method, if it’s true that they are genetically modified egg babies created by Peters, is absolutely abhorrent.” Allison’s anger shifted to sadness. “If Rainy were alive, she’d be utterly confounded.”

Lindsey recalled something that might explain Allison’s deep passions. “Weren’t you especially close to Rainy?”

“She was my best friend. She was the senior mentor to the Cassandras and every one of them will tell you that she made them the tight-knit, formidable group they became. A most extraordinary woman.” She paused, sighed. “Rainy’s murder—I still can’t talk about it.”

Last year, when the new science building was dedicated to Rainy, Lindsey had attended the ceremony. “At the dedication, I actually met Lynn. She seemed normal…but she’s—” It seemed somehow rude to call Lynn genetically modified. “Enhanced in what way?”

“All three of Rainy’s daughters, Lynn, Faith and Dawn, are a continual amazement. It’s mind-blowing. Lynn is blindingly fast. Faith is psychic. But Dawn’s abilities to heal herself are astonishing.”

“How do I fit in?”

“We’re beginning to worry that somehow, someone from the outside has learned of Teal and Lena’s talents, and that’s why they were taken. Katie is working with a psychic who is occasionally in contact with Teal. That’s how they located the plane.”

Lindsey still couldn’t see a way to help.

“Katie thinks the kidnappers are middlemen,” Allison continued, “and that they very likely don’t know the real value of the girls or who is really behind the kidnapping.”

“Ah!”

“Yes. That’s why I’ve called you.”

“You want me to scour my European underground contacts and see what’s up?”

“They are going to London. That suggests that a British, or possibly other European party, is behind the whole thing. See what you can find out. Particularly anything with a whiff of genetics involved. I’ve set up a site here at the NSA that holds everything we have about Lab 33. I’ll be updating it regularly about the kidnapping, as well. I’ll have some photos of and files on the few individuals we know who worked with Peters and escaped the lab bust. We’ve also been able to decipher scraps of information on the genetic manipulation process. We know what was done, but not how. If you have any questions, call me. Katie and I watched from a satellite when the private jet carrying Teal took off from Bogotá. As I said already, we know the flight plan they filed said London’s Heathrow as the final destination. Do you want to watch the arrival when the SAS guys pick her up in London? The plane is due to land around six this evening London time, seven your time.”

“Absolutely.”

Allison provided a Web address and two passwords that would give Lindsey access to the data on Lab 33, the kidnapping and the feeds from the NSA satellite. Lindsey checked the clock on her computer screen. The plane would reach its destination in about twenty minutes.

“By the way,” Allison added, “Lena said the kidnappers videotaped her and Teal using their abilities during staged escape attempts. This makes me think they wanted proof of what the girls could do.”

Lindsey shook off another chill on her neck. “I understand.”

They exchanged farewells and Allison hung up. Lindsey stood and stretched. She felt exhausted. The adrenaline rush from the skydiving, and from all that lovely physical contact with Marko, must have expended itself. She needed a caffeine hit before she spent time with the Lab 33 file.

As she made her way to the kitchen, a sad weight pressed on her heart for Teal, who would probably never know who her real father was. And who, if she was ever told the manner of her conception, would surely have some psychological hurdles to conquer.

Alternately sipping the strong cappuccino and scrolling through the kidnapping file, Lindsey learned a bit more. Most interesting, the psychic who’d worked with Katie Rush, Stefan Blackman, was pretty certain Teal could only make that kind of strong contact with someone like him, or like Teal herself.

She opened the file on Lab 33 and started to read about Aldrich Peters and his egg babies. At ten to seven, she put the NSA satellite feed onto one of her side screens and monitored the London airport as she continued to skim the egg baby file. The plane was late, but finally it landed and the SAS, fully armed, swarmed inside.

Ten minutes crawled by. After fifteen minutes of total inactivity, a handful of SAS men left the plane with three men, doubtless the cockpit crew, given their uniforms. Lindsey sat up and leaned toward the screen. This didn’t at all fit with what she’d anticipated. Where was the girl? The SAS men walked out with the crew, went to the cars, got in, and drove off.

Something was wrong.

Chapter 6

Lindsey continued to stare at the scene on her computer monitor. Clearly, Teal was not on the plane the SAS had just searched. Could Allison have gotten her information wrong?

Lindsey’s secure cell phone rang. “Did you just see that?” Allison asked without preamble.

“Teal is not on the plane, right?”

“I know absolutely that she boarded their private jet in Bogotá and the flight plan called for the trip to be nonstop. When I learn more, I’ll contact you.”

“I’ll be here. I’ll be checking my contacts who may have information about this kidnapping or about genetic engineering.”

“This changes everything. We thought we had her safe.” Allison’s voice held an edge of urgency.

Allison, who Lindsey had never known to be anything but amiable and polite, hung up without formalities, clearly, terribly worried. Lindsey didn’t just need information about who was involved and why, she now needed to find where Teal might be. Assuming Teal was still alive.

Well, put that thought right out of your mind, Lindsey Novak! You will operate on the assumption that Teal is alive.

She kept two separate files for her information contacts: legit and shady. She opened up the legit file on her hard drive and scanned names: media contacts, private investigators and professionals in a wide range of disciplines that mostly related to art, archeology or anthropology. But there was one contact in genetics. Beatrix Riegler in Geneva of World Care Watchdogs International. WCWI exposed illegal traffickers in medical or scientific areas the way Amnesty International exposed tyrants who imprisoned people unjustly.

Lindsey combed through the file. Beatrix had sources for information about the sale of expired drugs sold on the black market. She monitored sales of untested drugs—like antiaging and cancer treatments. She dogged global traffickers of body organs for transplants and blocked sales to corporations or insurance companies of the medical files of private citizens. The latest scam Lindsey had discussed with Beatrix was the black market in stem cell lines stolen from legitimate laboratories. Unsuspecting buyers had no real way to know if the lines were contaminated.

The phrase human genomes grabbed Lindsey’s attention. WCWI monitored the ongoing DNA project in Maldovia, a massive database of human genomes second only to the original one set up in Iceland. Every citizen gave a sample of their DNA and answered an extensive questionnaire about their medical and psychological history. This information was matched to the surprisingly complete birth and death records kept in the country for nearly two hundred years. WCWI made sure that the data collected on the population wasn’t sold to anyone except licensed users/researchers—medical, genetic, or historical—and under strict conditions. If someone were seeking illegal information on genetics, WCWI might hear of it.

Lindsey checked the clock—it was not too late to call. No one beyond her contacts must know what she was searching for, and even then, this kind of information wasn’t something to be discussed via easily compromised phones or e-mails. For this she’d have to make contact in person.

Using her landline, she dialed the number. Beatrix had a sweet voice, and she answered at once with a cheery, “Beatrix hier.” The strains of Brahms played in the background mixed with sounds of laughter.

Lindsey’s German was much worse than Beatrix’s English. In English Lindsey explained that she needed to meet with Beatrix tomorrow.

“This is rather sudden, Lindsey.”

“It’s urgent.”

Lindsey heard a long sigh. Beatrix owed Lindsey, but knew she was going to be asked for information. After a moment’s silent pause, Beatrix said, “I’m swamped at work. What have you in mind?”

“I can take an early flight and meet you in the WCWI lobby at twelve-thirty.”

“A bit later, please, I have a lunch meeting. One o’clock.”

“I’ll be there.”

Satisfied, Lindsey hung up. This was the source most likely to pay off. She faxed a message to the charter company for the Learjets her father’s business leased, telling them she’d need a 7:30 a.m. flight for the four-and-a-half-hour trip. Then she made a tuna sandwich and returned to the computer, eating as she pored over the legit files.

After forty minutes, she closed the files, discouraged. From a baggie in the freezer, she retrieved the key to a locked jewelry box in a bathroom drawer. In the box, under some fake jewelry and the bottom lining, lay the flash drive with the file of all her contacts that were not so legitimate. Of course, most of them did have some legitimate cover, but it was their contact with the darker world that put them on this list.

She inserted the flash drive into the computer and starting at the top, analyzed each entry. Although her eyelids grew heavy and her eyes burned, she didn’t skip anyone.

The annoying ring of her landline phone shocked her awake. She lurched upright, her hand knocking her empty cup onto the Oriental carpet.

What time is it? The last time she remembered looking at the clock it had been eleven-thirty. It was now one-thirty in the morning.

She snatched up the phone receiver. Allison was again at the other end. “I know it’s very early for you,” Allison said. “I apologize.”

“No problem, Allison.”

“We have new information. Do you know Samantha St. John?”

“Athena alum?”

“Yes. She works for the CIA. Sam’s been on this mess from the beginning. She accessed CIA satellite intel tracking the plane carrying Teal. The plane lost altitude and three people parachuted from it well before landing in Britain.”

Lindsey sucked in a sharp breath. She saw herself only a day ago terrified as she stood at the open door of the plane with Marko holding her. Her heart went out to Teal. The poor girl, young and frightened and forced to leap from a plane.

“Obviously,” Allison continued, “one of the three had to be Teal. They were likely picked up in the ocean south of Ireland. Authorities are searching, Lindsey, but you need to put this information into your calculations. I didn’t want to wait until morning.”

“I agree. I want to be in the loop at all times.”

They hung up, but Lindsey was too awake now to go back to sleep. She returned to her list of possible sources. Ten names. Ten chances to find Teal, each less promising than the one before it. Her references were geared for art, not human trafficking. Beatrix just had to come through.

She went to the bedroom closet. To each of her contacts, she presented different but appropriate personas. For Beatrix it would be tailored and professional. And it was cold in Geneva. She started sorting through her outfits.

With her strategy in place, she set the alarm for 5:45. She needed to be at Novak Sicurezza Internazionale by seven in the morning to explain to K-bar, who was always at work before anyone else, that she needed a couple of days off.

Novak Sicurezza Internazionale, or NSI, occupied the two top floors of a lovingly renovated four-story building four winding blocks from the Uffizi Gallery. Views from K-bar’s fourth-floor office were of the Ponte Vecchio, the river Arno, and the city’s red-tile roofline. Other NSI offices looked onto the Campanile di Giotto in the Piazza Duomo.

Her father allowed her to kiss his cheek. He smelled of expensive cologne—like nutmeg—and was dressed, as always, in an impeccable Italian suit, this one a charcoal gray that complemented the white streaks in his dark-red hair. His eyes, like hers, were also gray. She only resembled her mother, Lindsey often thought, in personality: artistic, empathetic and enthusiastic, not the natural daredevil that K-bar was. Loretta Novak had been a textbook illustrator. She’d died in an auto accident seven years ago, when Lindsey was twenty-one. The shocking loss had made Lindsey’s relationship with her father even more complicated. And the emptiness still sometimes felt unbearable.

“So you are back safely and soundly from Naples,” he grumbled.

“And with the recovered Artemisia on its way by special courier to its rightful owners.”

K-bar dropped into the brown Italian leather swivel chair behind his desk and leaned back, making the leather creak. K-bar Novak was engraved on his gold nameplate. His employees might be surprised to know his name was Anton, but they all knew the story of how a young Special Forces commander with a few too many beers in his belly had chased a man out of a house of prostitution wielding his KA-BAR knife. Big-screen hero, her father. When she was young, she’d called him both “Daddy” and “K-bar,” but the latter had stuck at some point.

“So. To what do I owe the honor of your appearance this early on a Monday morning?” he asked.

“I need to take a couple of days off.”

“More art business? You know, I was counting on you to bring in the Berlin telecom account. They’ll need advice and staffing for all their operations in Guatemala and Honduras. I don’t have anyone as persuasive as you, Lindsey.”

“Damiano can handle it.”

Her father said nothing. She loved working for NSI and knew K-bar expected that one day she would take over the entire security business. But for now, he also accepted that she had another passion and never interfered when she asked for time off. She would let him think it was another art recovery deal. He had no idea she took on operations for Athena or served now and then as a courier for the U.S. government.

“Okay. But keep me informed. By the way, how did Savin work out?”

“Marko’s very…take-charge. But it all ended well. I actually went skydiving with him yesterday.”

K-bar’s eyebrows shot up. “Marko, huh? He’s a good man on assignment, Linds. I’ve never employed better. But skydiving with him? I never can figure why women can’t see when a man is just on the make.”

Lindsey took a deep breath to keep from blushing. “It’s not a problem. Really.”

“Easy to say. Marko is a typical Italian male. New woman every month. Then when it doesn’t work out for one reason or another, he’s off again. Women are attracted to Marko Savin like barflies to beer.”

She laughed but felt even luckier that she hadn’t gone to bed with Marko. On some level, she’d sensed what K-bar was saying. “I agree that a woman would have to be nuts to get involved with him. Don’t worry. I just considered it a chance to do something exciting that I’d never done before.”

“You liked the skydiving?” He gave her a challenging look. It was always a question, always a test for him.

“Fabulous,” she said, her voice firm.

“Sure you’d like it. Nothing after the Athena Academy would be too much. I’ve always been glad your mother and I sent you. It made you tough. You’ve always managed affairs of the heart just fine.”

“Right. I’m a ‘no tears’ kind of woman.” She was skilled at walking away from anything sticky. Distancing herself. She was good at that.

He frowned and leaned forward, arms on the desk. “You sure this is just an art thing you’re doing, Linds?”

She laughed. “If I told you what it was about, I’d hafta kill ya.”

She stood, wanting to kiss him on the cheek again, but knowing the gesture would only make him uncomfortable, she left.