Sergei, either. Which is really too bad because he’s quite…how do I say it, adept in bed.” And then a mischievous smile would play at her lips. “Yes, that’s a good word.”
So Naryshkin lay alone in bed each night, wondering and worrying, finally drifting off to sleep in the wee hours of the morning after waiting for him to call. Eventually she started to give up and she hated herself for thinking that way. Leo had made her a promise and whatever else he might have done or not done, she loved him and she knew him well enough to know that he was a man of his word. And then one night, this night, the phone rang.
She answered it breathlessly. “Hello?”
“Hello, my sweet.”
“Oh, Le—”
“Don’t use names!” he snapped.
Naryshkin swallowed her voice along with a big chunk of disappointment. She yearned to see him, to talk to him, to touch him at that very moment but she didn’t dare. Finally she asked, “How are you?”
“I am okay.”
“Are you…” She hesitated, not sure how to ask the question, but then she didn’t have to worry about it.
“No, I am not,” he said. His voice cracked when he added, “Something went wrong, dearest. Something went horribly wrong. Good people are now likely dead.”
Before she could conjure a reply he moved away from the phone, a fit of coughing and wheezing having overtaken him. That cough and shortness of breath had grown progressively worse. Naryshkin had feigned an allergy to get a doctor friend of her father’s to prescribe an inhaler of powerful medicine. Medical care in Russia still wasn’t adequate to meet the needs of many people. She had provided the last inhaler to him more than a month ago, so she knew he had to have exhausted his supply of medicine by now.
“You do not sound good,” she said. “Hello?”
It was Sergei Cherenko’s voice that came on the line. “Hello.”
“Is he okay?”
“He’s not doing well. I’m worried about him. I am also worried for myself.”
“Where are you? Let me come get you.”
“No,” Sergei replied. “He would never forgive me if I put you in any sort of danger. In fact, I would never forgive myself.”
“Don’t be silly.”
“It is not silliness, it’s practicality! This has become a very dangerous game for us, and I’m not sure how much longer we are going to be able to play it. We need your help but the only way we’ll accept it is if you immediately get in touch with your contacts. Let them know things didn’t happen like they should have. Tell them ‘The meet did not happen. We are going to the alternate plan.’ Do you have that?”
“Yes, I have it. But—”
“I must go now.”
“No, wait! Let me speak to him.”
“He is still having trouble. He cannot speak right now.”
“Okay,” she said, doing her best to be brave and hide the disappointment in her voice. “You take care of him. And yourself.”
But Naryshkin then realized she was talking to dead air—Sergei had hung up the phone. She slowly replaced the receiver in the latch hook of the phone pedestal and considered this news. What had happened? It should have been so easy and yet here they were, calling her, still inside Russia—maybe still even in St. Petersburg—with the mother of all storms outside. She knew what Sergei’s comments had meant. The meeting hadn’t taken place and they were now going to their alternate plan, one that involved traveling to Murmansk where they would seek passage aboard a trawler or small cargo carrier.
The woman started to pick up the phone and then thought better of it. Leo hadn’t wanted her to use any names, which meant he believed someone might be tapping her phone. In fact, members of the Sevooborot might even have her under surveillance, although she’d been mindful to keep her eyes open for any observers since her last night with Leo. Not that she hadn’t worn her emotions on her sleeve. Both of her parents had repeatedly inquired as to what was bothering her ever since their return, but she simply laughed it off and concocted excuses about how hard she’d been working, how stressful her job was and so forth. Her father offered to intervene but she expressly forbade him, warning that she was an adult now and that he’d taught her to stand upon her own two feet. That was usually enough to end the conversation.
This time, though, she knew it would become dangerous to do this alone. After sitting on the edge of her bed, chewing thoughtfully on her lower lip, Naryshkin made a decision and rose to dress. It was time to face this situation with all the courage and veracity she’d been taught, and to reach out for help to the only two people left in the world she trusted. There had never been anything her father and mother couldn’t overcome in the past. Yes. Her father had once been an influential man in the government. He had many connections. And he would help her, especially when she professed her undying love for Leo. After all, her father was a hopeless romantic who could refuse his family nothing.
Yes. She would go to them immediately, wake them from their beds if she had to.
But Naryshkin was so focused on her mission, she failed to notice the two men who observed her leave her two-story flat, get into her car and begin the long, arduous drive to her father’s house.
CHAPTER THREE
“I have to hand it to you, Carron,” Mack Bolan said. “I might never have thought of this.”
Carron chuckled and replied, “Yeah. I figure if you want to catch the mouse but don’t know where he’s hiding, then your next best option’s to sit on the cat.”
In this case, they were sitting on an entire den of cats. One of the things Carron had learned during the past few years working the Russian sector were the hangouts of every SMJ cell in St. Petersburg. This wouldn’t have necessarily been difficult information to come by given Stony Man’s significant reach into the intelligence community, but it certainly would have taken time. It was this fact that made Bolan glad he decided to enlist Carron’s help.
The snow stopped falling while they were in the café and the pair managed to get a taxi ride to the train station where Bolan had stored his weaponry. Another stop at a CIA safehouse allowed Carron time to check with his superiors and gave Bolan the opportunity to bring Stony Man up to date on the mission status. A second cab ride had brought them to a club, one that served alcohol and catered to the underage crowd.
It disgusted Bolan that such establishments were permitted to exist, although he knew the problem wasn’t isolated to St. Petersburg.
“We can’t save them all,” Carron had responded when Bolan voiced his concern.
“We can if we do it a few kids at a time,” had been Bolan’s reply.
The two men watched the entrance for about twenty minutes before Bolan checked his watch. “Almost 2330.”
“Sounds like it’s about time to crash the party.”
“My thought exactly,”
