Читать книгу Undercover Nightingale - Wendy Rosnau - Страница 8

Six months later

The yacht that had lulled her to sleep hours ago now jerked Allegra Nightingale awake. She sat up just as the yacht’s powerful twin engines shut down.

They were stopping.

Why?

She climbed out of bed and looked out the stateroom window. It was early morning and the sun was on the horizon. In the distance she saw a jet boat speeding toward the Stella di Mare.

Filip was about to get company.

Yesterday they had cruised through the Strait of Messina and headed up the coast of Italy. Filip hadn’t told her where they were going, and she hadn’t asked. He’d been in an unpredictable mood since their exodus from Nescosto.

The attack on the villa had been well-executed, the incursion swift. Nescosto was now a pile of rubble along the Amalfi Coast, and buried beneath it was Filip’s brother Yurii.

From the moment Filip had dragged her onto the yacht, she’d known no one else had survived. He’d ordered her below deck, and there she had remained while the Stella quickly sped away into the night.

For three days she had danced around him, trying to stay out of his way—feeling as insignificant as a barnacle stealing a ride on the yacht’s hull. But now a boat was arriving, and so she pulled on the black sweatpants and gray T-shirt Filip had issued her like a prison uniform on a slave ship.

She left the stateroom, headed through the companionway, and scaled the stairs to the deck. She heard voices and stopped to listen.

“I came as soon as you called.”

“You made good time, Lazlo. Is Matyash with you?”

“I’m here, Filip.”

Allegra appeared in the morning sunlight just as the man, Matyash, leapt onto the deck from the jet boat christened the Sera Vedette. He was a thin man who wore his dark hair long like Filip. His face, however, wasn’t nearly as handsome—a long scar cut deep into his cheek and curved into the side of his mouth.

He spied her and sent his eyes on a slow, very deliberate appraisal of her body. The smile that followed puckered his scar and made his appearance grotesque.

“You read my mind, Filip. A little entertainment to pass the days at sea will lighten our moods.”

Filip turned.

When his soulless eyes locked with hers, Allegra kept her face as expressionless as his. She had no idea what he would say or do.

Her training had taught her to never show weakness. But today Filip was in control. He had been since they’d fled Nescosto as it crumbled into the sea.

He could let these men take her, and they would use her as unconscionably as they used their guns. And if he chose to pass her from one to another, no amount of protesting would stop them.

If she was entertaining enough perhaps she would survive. If not, she could be tossed overboard.

Chin high, her backbone straight, Allegra waited for the ugly one to make his move, promising herself she would endure whatever ill plan he had for her.

“Leave her be. The woman is mine.”

Filip’s words were spoken with the same authority that made him such a dangerous adversary to his enemies, and a feeling of relief washed over Allegra.

He held out his hand to her. “Come, Allegra.”

He hadn’t touched her in three days, but now he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her into the protection of his muscular body.

He was a head taller than her five-seven height—an Adonis with wild black hair, high cheekbones and a pair of dark eyes that were as unpredictable as his moods.

Lazlo pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. Allegra saw that it was a newspaper clipping. Filip dropped his arm from around her and took the paper.

“A little something to fuel the fire inside you,” Lazlo said.

Filip scanned the information, and as he did, Allegra craned her neck. It was from an Italian newspaper confirming the death of Yurii and the fall of Nescosto.

The photo was horrifying, the devastation catastrophic. More important the article revealed who had been responsible. The NSA was claiming victory for the insurgence.

Filip crumpled the paper in his hand and tossed it overboard. Allegra moved away from him and went to stand at the railing. Behind her she heard him exchange words with his comrades, and in a matter of minutes the two men returned to the jet boat.

Lazlo spoke to the captain, then followed his friend below. They were back within minutes with duffel bags slung over their shoulders, they boarded the Stella di Mare once more.

This time, the man named Lazlo headed into the wheelhouse. The powerful twin engines began to sing, then the luxury yacht quickly moved out.

Allegra remained at the railing, the warm tropical breeze lifting her dark hair around her shoulders as the yacht picked up speed. Yurii was dead, and he’d taken the details of their secret assignment to his grave. She questioned whether Filip was privy to the mission’s details. If he was, how long would it be before he shared them with her?

She had no phone. She’d left everything behind when she had fled Nescosto. But if Filip hadn’t assured her that they were on the same page by the time they reached land, then she would find a way to contact Cyrus.

She was deep in thought when an explosion rocked the yacht, pitching her into the railing. When she regained her balance and turned around, orange flames and billowing smoke were rising up out of the sea. Filip was holding a detonating device in his hand, and the Sera Vedette was gone, as well as its captain.

The death of Yurii Petrov made newspaper headlines across the country. The Washington Post must have been lacking news on Wednesday, as they dedicated the entire front page to the incident, and bored the public with a lengthy profile on an international criminal no one was aware existed—no one outside the criminal elite and government intelligence.

The article listed Yurii’s many atrocities beginning with money laundering, and ending with his affiliation with the Red Mafia. A color photo of Nescosto, Yurii’s headquarters, ate up half the page. If not for the caption, the once sprawling four-story villa built into a sheer rock face along the Amalfi Coast would have been unrecognizable.

The NSA claimed credit for the takedown. They were vague on the details, but that was standard when the special operations group, code-named Onyxx, was involved—they were the invisible spooks no one talked about.

The news story ended with a brief statement from France’s Department of Foreign Information and Counterespionage. The SDECE reported that two of their agents had died in the siege.

It was the first Onyxx Agent Ashland Kelly had heard that another intelligence agency was undercover inside Yurii Petrov’s citadel at the time he’d planted the explosives, sending Nescosto into the sea. There had been a window of opportunity to escape before detonation—a small window. Had he known about the French agents, their lives could have been spared.

Too bad the left hand hadn’t informed the right hand what the hell they were doing. But it was rare to find two agencies willing to share information, let alone work together. The only two who came to mind at the moment were Onyxx and EURO-Quest.

Ash tossed the paper on the couch in his Washington apartment and headed for the shower. When he climbed out, he saw that his boss had left a message on his cell phone. Dripping wet, he tucked the towel around his hips, reached for his phone on the sink, and hit voice mail.

“Did you see the morning paper? Burgess Stillman from the SDECE is on his way to Washington. Before he gets here, we need to talk. My office. As soon as you get this.”

Ash headed into his bedroom, dropping the towel in the doorway. He dressed quickly, then left the bedroom wearing jeans, a black V-neck sweater, and his lucky cowboy boots.

On the way to the kitchen, he glanced out the window. It was snowing this morning—big, wet winter flakes that made the November day as gray as his socks. He liked hot weather—desert hot—and he’d never gotten used to the inconvenience of winter, or the dampness that accompanied it.

He made his morning pot of tea, poured a cup to take with him, and grimaced over the fact that there was no time to quell the hunger in his belly.

Thinking about how good a fried egg sandwich would taste, Ash went out the door with his tea, pulling on his brown leather jacket, his shaggy, sandy blonde hair still wet, his jaw unshaven.

The snow wouldn’t stay, that was the good news. But it would make the morning commute to headquarters slow. The traffic was already backed up as he pulled his green Jeep out of the underground parking lot, the cars resembling an ant march to a picnic.

He joined the march. As much as he detested crowds and smog, he drove through morning rush hour like a cultured city boy instead of a man used to the hot wind in his face on a dirt road in Mexico.

Ash entered the front doors at Onyxx headquarters forty minutes later. He stepped inside the elevator just as the doors were about to close, and came face-to-face with Burgess Stillman.

He’d never met the SDECE commander, but he’d seen pictures, and heard the rumors about the forty-year-old Frenchman. Six-six, two-sixty, with a silver crewcut, Stillman looked like the kind of guy who ate roadkill for breakfast and asked for seconds.

“Ashland Kelly.” Stillman looked him up, then down. “You’re thinner than your profile stats, mon ami. Merrick must be working your ass off these days.”

“Excuse me.”

“I don’t accept excuses, Kelly. You’ll learn that before this is over. I have two dead agents, no bodies to console the families, a superior climbing up my ass, and no way to amputate the hemorrhoid. Not yet.”

Ash opened his mouth to defend the mission that had cost the SDECE two agents, then closed it. It had been a straightforward assignment. Get in, get out, and leave nothing standing once Petrov’s data had been hijacked, and they’d rescued the female Quest agent, Casmir Balasi.

“You got blood on your hands, mon ami. But that’s your specialty, isn’t it? What is it they call you?” Stillman paused. “Oui, I remember. They call you the Ashtray. An appropriate name for a man who likes to play with matches, no?”

Stillman retrieved two pictures from his coat pocket and stuck them in Ash’s face. “That’s Felton Chanler with his wife, three kids and their dog. This one, Jazmin Grant, was the best damn agent I’ve had in years. Twenty-eight is too damn young to die.”

That was for damn sure, Ash thought staring at the beautiful blonde. “I’m sorry about your agents.”

Stillman slid the pictures back in his pocket. “I don’t want your condolences, Kelly. I want your hide. But since I won’t get away with skinning you alive, I’ll settle for my second choice.”

“And that would be?”

“You’ll know soon enough.”

Stillman hit the button on the elevator and it took off. Within minutes they were walking down the corridor side-by-side, headed for Merrick’s office.

The SDECE commander knocked, then swung the door open as if he owned the agency and every man in it. He stepped inside the room just as Merrick hung up the phone.

Adolf Merrick arched his gray eyebrows over his chilly blue eyes. “You’re early. I didn’t expect you until this afternoon.”

“I met your firecracker, Merrick. He wouldn’t be hard to pick out in a line-up. He fits your MO.”

“My MO?”

“Oui. Your recruits are a bunch of marauders. Criminals, every last one of them.”

“My agents don’t have a particular MO, except one, Stillman. They know how to survive. That’s what it takes to be successful in this business. Maybe if your agents were made out of similar stuff, they’d still be alive.”

“That’s a helluva thing for you to say to me.”

“Sit down, Ash. Stillman, if you’d like to take a seat down the hall in the waiting room, I’ll have a cup of coffee brought to you.”

Stillman pulled out the chair in front of Merrick’s desk and sat. “I’ve never taken a number in my life, Merrick, and I don’t plan to start now. Your errand boy can wait outside, or stay since he’s the reason I’m here.”

Ash waited to be dismissed.

Merrick said, “Kelly, take a seat.”

Ash made himself comfortable on the couch along the wall. He’d keep his mouth shut. Speak if he was engaged. If not, he’d just take up a little space and oxygen, and enjoy the showdown between Stillman and Merrick. It was going to be entertaining. The temperature in the room was as chilly as the weather outside.

“I’ve talked with my supervisors about this situation,” Merrick began, “and we’re sympathetic. No agency likes investing time and money and coming up short. And when agents don’t come home, it makes it worse. But that’s the business we’re in. Sometimes we win big, and sometimes the losses are hard to swallow.”

“Save your pat speech. An apology won’t fix this, and it’s not why I’m here. I want compensation. My number one agent is dead.”

“Onyxx is under no obligation to compensate the SDECE. We sympathize,” Merrick said again, “but we never make restitutions or apologies. I don’t know of any agency that does. We all know the score when we send our men and women into the field.”

“You command a gang of fugitives. A well-kept secret that I’m sure the NSA would like to keep hidden in the closet. What do you think the media would do with that kind of information? What do you think the public would say if they knew their tax dollars sanctioned a bunch of criminals?”

Ash said nothing, but he was thinking that for Stillman to know so much about Onyxx, he’d gone digging. All the data on Onyxx and its agents were kept confidential—sealed under lock and key within the Green Room upstairs. No one could access the file without an authorization number. Hell, they couldn’t even get through the door without proper ID.

“You mentioned compensation. What is the SDECE proposing?” Merrick asked.

Stillman grinned. “I knew you’d come around, mon ami. Adolf Merrick, hotshot assassin for the NSA who doesn’t know when to retire and go home, so they hand him a desk job. You’re no better than your men. You were once a criminal yourself. Sorry, a survivor.”

“We all have a past.”

“Baggage in this business can be deadly. You had a beautiful wife once. A pity she died so young and so senselessly. But as you say, that’s the business we’re in.”

Ash winced. Stillman had just crossed the line into forbidden territory. No one at Onyxx talked about Johanna Merrick and her tragic death at the hands of the Chameleon. Merrick’s arch enemy was still out there enjoying the fruits of his debauchery, and so far no agency had been able to stop him. He had more hideouts than a centipede had legs.

Merrick leaned back in his chair. “You’re a reckless sonofabitch, Stillman. The worst kind of loose cannon. Say what you came to say, then get the hell out of my office.”

“You left a loose end in Italy when you pulled out. Yurii Petrov’s brother escaped Nescosto before you leveled it.”

“We’re aware that Filip got away.”

“Are you going after him?”

“We know where he’s at, and he’s being watched.”

“A nice way of saying you’ve learned something that makes him more valuable alive than dead.”

Merrick didn’t dispute Stillman’s claim.

“Unlike you, I don’t have the luxury of sitting back and watching. My superiors are demanding answers for the deaths of Chanler and Grant.”

“I’m afraid I can’t help you with that. Not unless you’d like to tell me what your agents were doing at Nescosto.”

“That’s classified.”

“Even to your superiors?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth. The bottom line is your timing at Nescosto couldn’t have been worse. Your victory has destroyed any chance for me to get mine. So you can understand why dropping a bomb in the middle of your agency would make me feel marginally better.”

Merrick sat back in his chair. “I don’t think this has anything to do with the SDECE wanting restitution. I think this is about you, and what you need to save your ass. I’d say your superiors didn’t sanction the mission you sent your agents on, and now that they’re dead, you’re scrambling to salvage a piece of the pie to save your job.”

“A colorful scenario, mon ami, but untrue. What I came here for was to ask you to—”

“Ask? Let’s be clear, Stillman. You came here to muscle me, not ask. I can’t bring your agents back. As much as I’d like to, I don’t have that kind of power.”

“But you do have the power to gift the SDECE with a replacement agent. After all, it was your firecracker who killed mine.”

Ash had been in the middle of a yawn when Stillman dropped his bomb. He glanced at Merrick and saw that his boss was just as surprised as he was.

Merrick had sacrificed everything for Onyxx—over twenty-five years of his life. His personal happiness. His comrades.

His wife.

His current status was an extension of those sacrifices, and it went far beyond sitting behind a desk in a cushy office.

The bottom line was, he’d earned the right to be whatever he chose to be, which was a supremely confident, fearless commander. He was unflappable and possessive, and some days a real ornery sonofabitch. But Ash had never met a more honest man.

“You want me to hand over one of my men?”

“You’re lucky I’m not asking for two. Chanler was a loyal agent, and he will be missed. But Jaz Grant was irreplaceable. Since it was the Ashtray’s trigger finger that took her from me, I want him to replace her. An eye for an eye.”

“No disrespect to Grant, but Ash is a seasoned veteran. Twice the agent.”

“I have files of data that would dispute that, but then I had the privilege of working with Grant for the past six years. She was the most fearless, skillful agent the SDECE has ever recruited. To me the Ashtray is nothing but a criminal who likes to play with fire. Grant was peerless.”

“What Ash is, for the record, is the number one explosives expert in the country. Onyxx trained him, and he belongs to me.”

“Don’t you mean he belongs to Onyxx?”

“I am Onyxx, Stillman. If you’ve read up on me, then you know that. Contrary to the gossip that continues to question who and what I am, and the one mistake I made sixteen years ago, I still call the shots at this agency. And unlike you, I don’t have to check with my superiors every time I blow my nose or scratch my ass.”

“Lose one man, or lose your integrity, and the future of Onyxx? You know how it works. How the media loves a good scandal. I guarantee the leak will result in a lengthy investigation. When they’re finished the world will know what your men eat for breakfast, how often they piss, and every dirty secret you’ve covered up to bring them into this agency.”

“You’re blackmailing me?”

“I’m sure you’ve done worse to get what you want. One man to replace the two he killed. That’s my deal. It’s a small price to keep Onyxx the NSA’s best kept secret, don’t you think?”

“And you plan to send one agent after Filip Petrov.”

“What I plan to do with him is no concern of yours once he’s mine, mon ami.”

“My answer is no. I won’t hand him over so you can send him on some suicide mission.”

“You don’t sound like you have much faith in your man. As you said, he’s no ordinary agent. He’s a survivor.”

“You have my answer.”

“Then this is the end of Onyxx, Merrick. I promise you I won’t rest until I’ve exposed you, and every man in this agency.”

Ash expected his boss to counter Stillman’s threat with one of his own, or maybe offer a more reasonable solution. But Merrick only watched as the Frenchman stood and headed for the door.

Ash sat forward and cleared his throat.

Merrick looked at him, shook his head—a warning to keep his mouth shut. But how could he do that? They were about to be crucified by the media. Onyxx would be flushed down the toilet, along with every man with a checkered past. And that would be Merrick’s entire team of rat fighters—his team.

“I’ll do it,” he said.

“The hell you will.” Merrick’s fist crashed down on his desk. “I won’t agree to it.”

“I can opt out of my contract,” Ash reminded. “I’ve put in my seven years. I’m a free agent if I want to be. I can leave any time.”

“We’ll discuss it later.”

“It won’t change anything.” Ash stood and faced Stillman. “I’ll be your dog under one condition.”

“You’re in no position to make demands, Kelly.”

“If you want me, then put in writing that the SDECE doesn’t hold Onyxx responsible for the deaths of their two agents, and they have no plans to undermine Onyxx in the future in any way. Once Merrick receives the document and approves it, I’ll be on the next plane to France.”

Stillman grinned. “Your trigger boy is smarter than he looks. Or should I say, my trigger boy. The paperwork will be on your desk in two days. Au revoir, Merrick.” He turned to Ash. “Welcome to the SDECE, Mr. Kelly. À bientôt.”

Two days later, with a crust of snow still blanketing the ground, and a gray sky threatening more of the white stuff by noon, Ash arrived at Onyxx and went straight to Merrick’s office. When he stepped through the door he saw his boss studying a document on his desk.

Burgess Stillman hadn’t wasted any time. It looked like he should start packing for Paris.

He wasn’t happy about that, but if it guaranteed that Onyxx wouldn’t be exploited, he’d make the sacrifice. He owed Merrick more than just his life.

“Have a seat, Ash. I’m sure you know why I called you in.”

“How does it read? Will it keep Onyxx out of the hot seat?”

“It will.” Merrick leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. “We could refuse the letter and let whatever happens happen.”

Ash sat. “Call Stillman’s bluff? I don’t think so. My take on him is that he doesn’t make idle threats. Besides, Onyxx can live without me. One man doesn’t make an agency.”

“You hated what Onyxx stood for when I brought you in. Now you act as though you actually like us here.”

“I didn’t have a choice back then. But today I know it was the best thing that could have ever happened to me and my family.”

“I needed you back then, and the agency still needs you today. Contrary to what you think, you won’t be easy to replace.”

Ash grinned. “You’ll find another criminal in a tight spot. Someone who wants a second chance.”

“I told Stillman it takes an outlaw’s mentality to survive in this business, but it takes a helluva lot more than that. It takes a man who values loyalty and is willing to bet his last breath on himself and his comrades. It’s true my men have traveled both sides of the line, but that’s just a small part of who they are.”

Merrick steepled his fingers on his chest. “I know why you did this. You blame yourself for the deaths of those two French agents, just like you still blame yourself for Sully’s death in Greece. But you can’t fix this any more than you can bring those agents back, or Sully.”

“I won’t pretend that it doesn’t bother me that Stillman’s agents are dead. Or that one was a woman, and that it was my bomb that killed her. Had we known they were there, they could have gotten out in time.”

“I don’t want you going into this feeling guilty. Guilt eats at a man, and it can make him take chances he wouldn’t normally take. So don’t make this personal.”

Merrick chastising him for living with guilt—that was choice, coming from a man, who after seventeen years, continued to carry around an acre of blame over his wife’s death.

They were more alike than anyone knew, perhaps more than any of the other rat fighters. They were both recovering alcoholics, both had lost family and close friends, and both felt responsible for their deaths.

Guilt, the blood-sucking parasite that no amount of therapy or alcohol could suffocate.

“As callous as this is going to sound, we deal in casualties every day here. On the other hand, I don’t want you becoming one more statistic for the SDECE. Use everything you’ve learned to stay alive. It could take some time, but I’ll find a way to get you out from under Stillman’s thumb. Only a handful of people know who you really are. Your survival in that stink hole prison in Chihuahua gives you an edge. Anything Stillman throws at you I know you can survive.”

“Then don’t worry about me.”

“I’m not worried, I’m pissed off.”

“You have a right to be. Stillman is an unlikable sonofabitch.”

“On a lighter note, did you get to see your family while you were on sabbatical?”

“Yes. I spent a few weeks in Mexico, then bought a boat and sailed to Spain. It was good to see my mother. She seems happy. Robena, too. My little sister is getting married in a few months.”

“And your cousin?”

“Naldo… He’s not doing as good as I’d hoped. He misses the old life. Probably always will.”

“Do you miss it?”

Ash shrugged. “Not so much. We were rebels back then, me and Naldo. Horny bastards with no limits, and too much money to value what was really important. I see things differently now.”

“I’ll contact Stillman and let him know you’ll be in Paris tomorrow. Watch your back and don’t trust anyone. Stillman’s a desperate man, and desperate men play desperate games.”

“A desert scorpion doesn’t curl up and die when he’s cornered.” Ash grinned. “He just gets meaner.”

Merrick’s serious expression softened and a hint of a smile tickled his gray mustache. “Use the past, and whatever else you’ve learned here at Onyxx to keep breathing. And if you need anything, call. Stillman might believe you’re his new trigger boy, but you’re just on loan.”

Ash stood and extended his hand. “You’re a straight shooter, Merrick. I’ve always respected that. Whatever happens, know that I’m grateful for what you did for me and my family.”