Death Echo

46

DAY FOUR

STRAIT OF GEORGIA

3:20 P.M.

Lane got us a lot of stuff,” Emma said, frowning at her computer screen.

“Anything useful?”

“Do you read Cyrillic?”

“Enough to make out road signs,” Mac said. “Maybe.”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve read more than memos. It’s coming back, but slowly. Apparently Lane didn’t think to translate it.”

“So he’s a Russian agent?” Mac asked.

“Lane?”

Mac have her a look. “Demidov.”

“He was a Russian agent. Supposed to be freelance now, though he still has active Russian Federation diplomatic credentials.”

Mac made a sound that said he was listening.

“He’s most often known to the English-speaking world as Taras Demidov,” she said, “though he has several other aliases. I have to assume he has all the necessary documentation to back up those identities,” she added. “He’s certainly in a position to get whatever papers he needs.”

“Welcome to the post-Wall world, where no one works for the name signing his paycheck.”

“And no one has the same name as the dude cashing it.” She laughed curtly. “I don’t like that world. For all the good it does me.”

“Now you know why ostriches prefer sand. Much more comfortable.”

“Until somebody kicks your feathered butt.”

“Yeah,” he said, “that’s the downside.”

Emma looked up from the computer. “The water is a lot calmer.”

“We’re in the lee of a small island. Soon it will be quiet enough to safely take a passenger aboard, which I’m not wanting to do, even if we lock down our cell phones and computers. I’m hoping he’ll settle for shouting across the water.”

She skimmed content faster, deciding nuances could wait until there was more time. “Demidov is a shooter.”

“Sniper?” Mac asked.

“Is that professional interest I hear in your voice?”

“I used to keep track of the ones that got away. Otherwise they had a nasty habit of turning up in my rearview mirror.”

“Sorry I asked,” she said. “And no, Demidov is an executioner, not a sniper. Close work. Really close. He has nine confirmed kills and three times that many suspected.”

“Nice dude.”

“Yeah,” she said absently. “Just what every mother dreams of for her little girl.”

“In a lot of places in the world, you’d be exactly right. Having the protection of a mafiya type beats starvation or selling your daughter into the skin trade.”

Emma let out a long breath. There were aspects of the modern world she really despised.

Not that things had been much different a thousand years ago.

At least most places have laws against slavery now, she told herself tiredly. That’s something.

“Anything about the female, or is she a local hire?” Mac asked.

“The woman aboard Redhead II is Lina Fredric, born Galina Federova. She’s the registered owner of the boat.”

“Sleeper?”

Emma frowned and skimmed as quickly as she could. “If she’s a sleeper for Russia, she’s been in place so long she’s put roots down and grown moss. No dings on her record. Naturalized Canadian citizen, pays all taxes on time, doesn’t speed, doesn’t get in bar fights, ekes out a good-enough living taking fishermen after salmon. Once rumored to hang with drug runners, but never caught with so much as a whiff of anything contraband.”

Mac thought of the time when he’d driven a fast boat flat-out in the dark, sure that he’d live forever.

“A young man’s game,” he said. “Fool’s game.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” She scanned quickly. “If the birth date is correct, Lina aka Galina just turned fifty.”

“Demidov?”

“He’s fifty-seven, if we can trust the stats. And the chances of him just choosing Lina Fredric from one of the what-to-do tourist pamphlets on a Canadian ferry are zero and negative.”

“So…a sleeper rather than a shooter?” Mac asked.

“Until we have a reason to think otherwise, yes.”

“Anything else we should know before Redhead II finds a quiet place to chat?”

“I’m looking.”

Mac bit back an urge to tell her to look faster.

“Demidov often works for a mafiya head turned philanthropist. At least, that’s what some sources say. Others say he’s a kingmaker rather than a rainmaker.”

“Demidov?”

“His boss,” Emma said. “Name of Sidorov, according to one source. Others say it’s Lubakov, or his son or brother-in-law or nephew. All names could be aliases. Could be ten other people. The players change too often to keep a scorecard. Whatever, Demidov climbed the ranks by playing brass-knuckle hardball, with extra innings of shoot, shovel, and shut-up.”

Mac smiled unwillingly. “Demidov and his boss probably work for the national government or the higher ranks of the crime lords.”

“Often the same people,” she said. “One-stop shopping at its finest.”

“Lock down the electronics. Redhead II slowing.” Mac gave her the code on his computer and locked his cell phone himself.

Emma hit keys quickly on her computer, did the same for his, and went below to shove both computers under the mattress in the master stateroom. Not proof against a real thief, but all she wanted was to minimize the chances of “accidental” discovery by a guest on the boat.

By the time she came back to the main cabin and locked down her cell phone, Mac had turned on the joystick and was inching closer to Redhead II. The water was almost as calm as a backyard swimming pool-with teenagers performing cannonball dives. But much nicer than the open strait.

“Lee of the island,” she said, sighing. “I think I’m in love.”

“Would you rather handle the talk or the joystick?” was all Mac said.

She decided that the water wasn’t all that calm. “Talk.”

“Put out fenders on the starboard side so that they’ll protect us from the Redhead II.” Without looking away from the other boat, he handed her one of the headsets. He was already wearing the other.

She yanked the headset into place and turned it on. “You there?”

“Yeah.”

“With Demidov, I’m going for total arm candy with just enough brains so a man knows the difference between me and a blow-up doll,” she said.

“Can’t wait for you to try out that act with me,” was all Mac said.

“That way, I have a fallback position,” she added. “With him, not you.”

She put four fenders overboard in record time before she looked up to check their position.

Redhead II was breathtakingly close.

“Good god. Why don’t I just throw him a headphone?” she muttered under her breath.

“We may need it later,” Mac said. “If you can keep him off the boat-”

“I’d rather drown him than let him aboard,” she said quickly.

“Get his info first, then do whatever you can get away with.”

She laughed. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, just what every mother wants for her daughter.”

“No. Just what every daughter wants for herself.”

Emma stepped outside.

Like Mac, Lina was at the wheel, working to keep the two boats close enough, but not too close. Demidov was standing on the port side, waiting. He had his hands in the pockets of his jacket, staring across to Blackbird.

At that moment, Emma believed every word in the files about Demidov that she had just scanned. Her pulse jumped, but not in a happy way.

That is one really hard piece of work, she thought. If you’re fooled by the gray hair, you’re dead.

She moved her microphone a few inches to the side. No use shouting in Mac’s ears. This way, he might be able to hear both conversations.

“Hi, I’m Emma,” she said, pitching her voice to reach across the boats. “Who are you?”

“I would rather come aboard to talk,” Demidov said.

His face was angular, lean, fined down like that of a ballet dancer still trying to hold center stage with dancers half his age.

It made him look all the more dangerous.

Discipline, experience, and talent all in one package, she thought unhappily.

Then she got down to work.

“The captain told me he would rather talk over the sides. Gunwales?” she asked, going for nautically clueless. “Is that what you call them?”

“I wish to make a business proposition,” he said, ignoring her attempt to engage him in getting-to-know-you chatter.

“That’s the captain’s department,” she said. “I’m just a first mate in training. But I know he doesn’t like strangers on board. He’s really touchy that way.”

If Demidov was surprised or angry, it didn’t show in his body language. “We don’t need to be strangers.”

Emma pretended to be listening to her earphones. “Babe, I can’t follow two people at once,” she complained. Then she glanced at Demidov. “I didn’t mean you. I’m listening to Captain Babe.”

A strangled sound came through her earphones-Mac trying not to laugh out loud.

“All right, all right, I’ll ask him,” she said with a whiny edge in her voice. A few seconds later she looked back to Demidov. “Captain Babe wants to know if coming aboard is, uh, required.” Then she held up her hand before Demidov could answer. “Captain Babe says he’ll waste some fuel out of curiosity, but he won’t risk the boat.”

Demidov thought about it for two seconds. “Shurik Temuri may be a covert actor, but he is not one of ours.”

Talk about cutting to the chase, Emma thought, but she kept her game face on. “Is that supposed to mean something?”

“To you?” Demidov’s upper lip almost curled. “No. To your Captain Babe, yes.”

She looked blank. “Uh, he wants to know who ‘ours’ is.” She shook her head and asked Demidov, “Does that make sense?”

This time the Russian didn’t bother to conceal his contempt. “I work for the Russian Federation. Shurik Temuri is Georgian.”

“Georgia?” she asked. “As in really yummy peaches? Shurik doesn’t sound like a Southern name. I’m getting confused, here.”

Mac made another strangled sound in her ear.

“What?” she whined into her microphone. “Everyone knows about Georgia peaches.”

“Quit teasing him or he’ll demand to come aboard,” Mac said.

“Can your captain hear me?” Demidov asked impatiently.

“Can you?” she asked the mic.

“Yes.”

“He says he can.” Her voice was doubtful.

“Excellent,” Demidov said. “Then you will shut up and let us talk.”

“Well, that’s just rude,” she said.

“Emma,” came through her headphones.

“Oh, fine, just see if I handle your lines again,” she said into the microphone. Then she waved at Demidov. “Talk. Captain Babe is listening.”

Demidov looked past her and pitched his voice to carry into Blackbird’s cabin. “Temuri was once a citizen of Russia. Now he is its enemy.”

“And the captain cares…because?” she muttered.

“Good question. Why do I care?”

Demidov waited.

Emma pushed. “He said, why should he care?”

“That is something he shouldn’t discuss through an intermediary,” Demidov said.

His expression told her that he had a much less polite word than intermediary in mind. Whore, probably. Or worse. Temuri certainly had been creative.

She turned to Mac, silently questioning.

“I want to get to Campbell River tonight,” he said, covering his mic.

“He says-”

“I heard him,” Demidov cut in. “Shurik Temuri is a relative of Stan Amanar and Bob Lovich.”

Very quickly Mac came out on deck, holding the joystick. Emma gave him a look and stepped back, well out of the way.

“Keep talking,” Mac said. “Tell me why I wasted fuel on you.”

“Have you told your so-called first mate that she is a party to smuggling?”

Emma let her eyes go wide. “Über kewl! What kind?”

Both men ignored her.

“No contraband is on board,” Mac said. “I made sure of it. The Canadians double-checked.”

“You are only on the first leg of the smuggling trip.”

Mac waited, watching the Russian with no expression.

“I hadn’t taken you for a fool.” Demidov glanced toward Emma. “But that would account for your companion.”

“I don’t screw her brain,” Mac said. “What am I supposed to be smuggling if the owner doesn’t show up-”

“He won’t,” Demidov cut in.

“-and I take Blackbird back to the States?”

“You’ll be smuggling death,” Demidov said.

“In what form?” Mac shot back.

“Temuri trades in weapons, whether biological, nuclear, or conventional.”

Mac shrugged.

“You don’t care about your country?” Demidov asked sharply.

“Why do you?” Mac asked.

“Temuri is a traitor.”

“To Georgia?”

“If he was, I wouldn’t be here,” Demidov said. “He wants to hold an American city for political ransom. Or worse.”

Emma was glad she had already talked to Alara. Otherwise she would have jumped over the railing and landed on Demidov with both feet and a sharp knife, demanding information.

He spoke the words so calmly, as if terrifying and then wiping out a large city was a perfectly normal way to go about international politics.

“Why?” Mac asked, nudging the joystick.

Demidov hesitated, shrugged. “My people-”

“The Russian government?” Mac cut in.

“Yes. We assume Temuri plans to blame the entire episode on Russia.” Demidov connected the dots for Emma. “Then the U.S. would side with Georgia more forcefully on the Russian-Georgian border disputes.”

“If we lost a city, we’d probably do a hell of a lot more than take sides,” Mac said.

“If you could prove guilt, yes. Or perhaps, no. International politics is never what it seems.”

“No shit.” Mac nudged the joystick, waited to see the result, and asked, “What do you want from me?”

“We don’t know all of Temuri’s plot, just his goal, but we are certain that Blackbird is key to the matter.”

Where have I heard this before? Emma thought. When even the bad guys don’t know who’s on first, the game is beyond lunatic.

But she didn’t so much as glance at Mac to find out how he’d taken the non-news.

“So where do I come in?” Mac asked.

“It’s quite simple,” Demidov said. “I will transfer fifteen thousand dollars to whatever bank account you give me. In return, you will tell me when you are contacted and what you are told to do. At that time, I’ll transfer another fifteen thousand dollars to your account. That will more than cover any loss you have from Lovich and Amanar.”

Mac thought about it. “Do Lovich and Amanar know what’s really going on?”

“Unlikely. They are too soft.”

Mac hated to agree with Demidov, but he did. “What if I take your fifteen thousand and blow you off?”

“I will kill you.”

“Figured that,” Mac said.

“Do we have a deal?”

“Keep talking.”