I’ve probably spoiled you just a bit the past couple weeks, giving you triple chapters. It’s all based on chapter length, though. The longer the chapter, the less likely it is to be paired or tripled.
This week we have two fair length chapters; one, J and Cottontail doing what they do best; one, Mike letting business intrude on his little getaway.
When I was writing the second chapter I really channeled his disgust at spending any time in DC, mostly drawn from what John wrote in Choosers of the Slain and Unto the Breach. On the other hand, part of what I was doing was trying to pull Mike back from the uber-cynical place he was at the end of A Deeper Blue.
The mechanism I used for that is, of course, Katrina. She would be beyond thrilled to see everything, and I think Mike would be pulled into her enthusiasm. He’s also trying to give her a crash course in America, so he’s going to be trying to be positive if realistic in recognizing both the good and the flaws.
Next week you get one of the long chapters!
CHAPTER 22
Elista
April 7
The two Ladas were abandoned in Elista, keys in the ignition. It was a good-sized city and two more nondescript cars wouldn’t be noticed for days. That assumed they weren‘t stolen in the meantime which would further muddy the trail. Allah guarded his faithful.
Abdul Hakim took the package of tritium and shoved it into a backpack, where it was buried among textbooks and notebooks filled with real notes from the local university. He would make his way out of town alone first while the others would gradually follow in their own time.
The Russian agents following, who had managed not to lose them again, faced a difficult choice. There were only four agents on location at the moment, and the suspects had gone in six different directions upon abandoning the cars, four groups and two solo. They decided to split up, each agent following a group. The assumption was they would be teamed up to provide better protection of the tritium. The two solo suspects were allowed to disappear.
Murphy struck the Russians again.
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J was suitably disguised as a Russian Muslim. He had typically worn clothes and shoes with broken heels. He and Cottontail had listened to all the Russians SpecOps’ transmissions, finally moving close enough to hear the conversation directly through a shotgun mike. The decision to follow groups left the two solos to them.
They picked their targets and separated. When he caught up to his, J discovered a recent recruit and not a particularly committed one. His first stop was a bar, where he dropped three glasses of vodka in quick succession. J bought the fourth, striking up a conversation.
“You look like a man who really needs a drink,” he started, laying down his money.
“Bring him another, and the same for me,” he said to the bartender. When the drinks arrived, J passed his hand quickly over one as he handed it over.
“I am. Thanks for the drink, uh -”
“Isra’il. My friends call me Isha,” supplied J smoothly.
“Mika’il. Thanks.” He knocked back this drink as quickly as the other three.
It didn’t seem that he was going to offer any more, so J pressed a bit.
“I’ve had a day like you wouldn’t believe. Wake up this morning, late for work, the twice-damned supervisor docks me a half-day’s pay! Half a day! And I was only ten minutes late! Then the lousy computer eats the rest of the report I was typing up, and I said I’ve had it! What is that fat prick going to do, dock the rest of the day? Let him, and Allah curse his bones!”
“Allah defend you, Isha, it does sound like you’ve had a bad day.” Mika’il turned to look at him. “But mine’s worse.”
“Balls.”
“Prophet’s Beard, it’s the truth.” He looked around, lowered his voice. “I saw three people die today.”
“Balls, I say! Unless you’re a doctor, or police,” and J looked him up and down. “And I doubt you are.”
“No, I’m a student. I swear, I watched three people die – be killed, actually.”
Then he told J about the set-up, the surprise assault, the fire, all assisted by J’s little compound in his drink, of course.
“Where is this package now? It has to be pretty valuable.”
“Priceless for Allah’s tasks. I don’t know exactly where, but Abdul Hakim took it with him.”
“Alone? Isn‘t that taking a big risk?”
“For you, or me, maybe. But not for him. He planned it all.” Mika’il shivered. “Ice water in his blood. No, it’s safe with him.”
J relaxed. Cottontail was trailing him.
“One more drink, Mika’il, and I think it’s time you go home.”
He got another drink, added another little supplement, and watched it be downed.
“Come. Let’s get you home.”
J helped steer him out of the bar and down the road. A very few blocks on, he was barely on his feet, leaning heavily on J, complaining of blurred vision and a sudden headache.
“It’s only the drink,” laughed J. “Here, we’ll stop for a moment,” and he guided him into the half-sunken basement entry to a building. Mika’il collapsed into an almost-seated position, slumping forward, muttering. Quickly he quieted, then his breathing slowed, then stopped.
J left casually. One less loose end.
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Katya didn’t know where her target was going, exactly. She guessed he was going to be headed out of the city, but she didn’t know how, or where, or even when, so she couldn’t wait ahead of him on his route and try to pick him up, or allow herself to be picked up. She didn’t think she would be able to follow him unobserved the whole route; she was good, and getting better, but he was actually displaying some tactical sense and clearing his tail periodically. That left brazen. She could do brazen.
Walking on the other side of the road, she watched him enter a small park. This might be her best shot. She hurried across the road and closed the gap swiftly.
“You!” she called angrily, waving. “Ai! You!”
He turned and looked, pointing at himself.
“Yes, you miserable dick! What the fuck do you think you’re doing, ignoring me?” she continued. “I’ve been following you for ten minutes, ever since I saw you! Why haven’t you called me? Or come over? Or – oh, shit!”
She stopped. She was only a few meters away. “You’re not Nicolai!”
“No,” he answered coldly. “I’m not.” And he prepared to walk away.
She hurried over, putting a hand on his arm, holding him gently.
“I’m so sorry! You look just like, from a distance, I didn’t mean -” She allowed her voice to trail off, dropping her eyes as he stared at her. “I beg your pardon. I meant no offence.”
“He must be a fool to leave you behind,” he said, appeased by her apparent modesty. “What’s your name?”
“Kamilah.”
“I am Abdul Hamid, and you are very beautiful. I would like to know you better, Kamilah.”
“I – I – I don’t know what to say. I’m so embarrassed,” she replied. “I’m not usually like this. He seemed so nice, so kind, and then he…!”
“I would walk you home,” he said, “and you can tell me of this Nicolai.”
“Oh! That’s not, I mean, you don’t have to!”
“You need someone to walk you home to keep you from chasing down every man on the street.” He took her arm in his firmly. “Now, lead.”
She hadn’t counted on this jerk wanting to walk her home, for fuck’s sake! Where was she going to take him? They’d rented a flat, and it was minimally furnished, but there’s no way anyone would believe she’d lived there for long. And what if J showed up? He could play Nicolai, she supposed, but she’d have to get hold of him somehow before then. Fuck! The black box was in the flat! They’d arrived ahead of their Keldara backups, so she couldn’t even call for support! Well, then, it was time to fake it.