Silent Thunder

FOURTEEN

KORIAZHMA, RUSSIA

7:25 A.M.

CIA Agent Bruce Fahey climbed the snowy hill overlooking greater Koriazhma, an industrial town that boasted one of Russia's largest paper mills. He'd been warned that the mill's odors could be over-powering, but the subzero temperature now dampened most of the smells. Biting winds roared down the hillside.

"It's somewhere around here, isn't it?" The CIA trainee, Cal Wilkes, who was struggling behind him, was short of breath, and his nose was cherry red from the cold.

"It's on the other side of the hill," Fahey said impatiently. "Didn't you read the packet?"

"Uh, yeah," Wilkes said. "I guess I just got turned around."

The kid was never going to develop the stuff to become a field agent, Fahey thought. At least, he was also accompanied by two Russian operatives who might be of some help.

Maybe.

The Russians were ostensibly there to provide assistance, but he knew their primary purpose was similar to his own: to find out if Dimitri Ivanov, the man Kirov claimed to be, was actually dead. If Bradworth's source was correct, the answer was less than a hundred yards away.

Fahey had worked in Russia for the past two decades, long enough to see the end of the Cold War era. As far as he knew, the Russians now "assisting" him had tried to uncover his identity and kill him several times during his many undercover assignments. He wasn't naïve enough to believe that they still wouldn't eliminate him if the political winds shifted only slightly.

"It's pretty cold, isn't it?" the kid asked. "You don't seem to feel it."

"I feel it."

The kid had been alternating between making inane comments and pumping him for stories about the good old days, Fahey thought, like so many other WASPy recruits who found themselves increasingly irrelevant in an agency that now prized brown skin and knowledge of Middle Eastern dialects. Poor bastard. He'd be lucky if he wound up with an agency research job in an archive basement somewhere.

They reached the hill's summit and walked down the other side, stepping carefully to avoid the slick patches of ice. Fahey pointed to the remains of a wooden gazebo. "Okay, it should be ten yards west of there."

One of the Russians turned on a metal detector and passed the disc-shaped sensor over the designated area. The small speaker buzzed, indicating the presence of metal at the site. Fahey kicked the area, and his heel made a hollow thumping sound on the earth.

"This is it. There used to be a house over there, and this was the vegetable cellar. Let's go."

The Russians handed Fahey and Wilkes a pair of shovels, and the four men uncovered a four-inch layer of dirt and snow that obscured the varnished wooden doors. The metal hinges and latch were almost rusted through.

"Help me with this," Fahey said.

The four men pulled on the right door, and the wood and metalwork crumbled as they tossed it aside.

Fahey pulled out his flashlight and shined it downward.

The kid's eyes narrowed as squinted down into the cellar. "Holy shit," he whispered.

Florida is a big state," Hannah said, as their rental car entered the ramp that would take them onto I-85 South. "Shouldn't we have some idea where we're headed?"

"I have the utmost faith in Eugenia."

"And that means?"

"By the time we hit the state line, we should have all the information we need."

"A jet would get us there a lot faster." They had taken a jet only as far as Atlanta and picked up the rental car at the airport.

"But not as safely. I took the risk of the flight out of Boston, but I didn't have time to get you ID that would keep your name off the transportation grid. An airport visual recognition scanner could still bring our trip to an abrupt halt."

Hannah nodded. "I guess you're right. I wouldn't put it past Bradworth to transmit our photos to every law enforcement database in the country."

"I can guarantee it, but we should be safe here on the road. It's a long drive, but if we take turns, we'll be there in less than a day. The highways are this country's last bastion of anonymity, and the driver's license and credit card I used shouldn't raise any red flags with the rental car company."

"You have all the bases covered."

He shrugged. "I've been doing this for a long time."

Hannah watched him for a long moment. "Have you ever thought of giving up?"

"Never."

"When will it be enough?"

"When Pavski is dead, and not a moment before. When will it be enough for you?"

"I don't know. Sometimes I think it would be worse for him to just rot in prison for the rest of his life. Sometimes I just want to blow his head off. At the moment, I'm leaning toward decapitating the bastard."

"That's good, because Pavski wouldn't rot in prison no matter what Bradworth promises you. Pavski is too valuable to them. He has immense, albeit dated, knowledge of the Russian Atlantic Fleet and command protocols. And he knows where all the bodies are buried in the present Russian bureaucracy. If we turn him over to Bradworth, Pavski will probably become the permanent resident of a government-run resort with his own private beach. To earn it, he would provide assistance to U.S. intelligence whenever a situation developed."

"Sounds like a pretty sweet deal."

"It is. He's sipping piña coladas, and you have a lifetime of remembering how your brother looked that night in the sub."

Sudden rage flared in her. "Stop it. You don't need to do that."

"Do what?"

"Stoke the fires by reminding me of Conner." Hannah's voice shook with anger. "It's okay that we're using each other to get what we want here, but it's not okay for you to use Conner. Understood?"

Kirov paused a long moment before nodding. "Understood. May I just say I didn't mean to use him? Sometimes manipulation comes a little too easy to me. Forgive me."

And this wasn't manipulation. Kirov meant what he was saying. She could feel the anger ebbing away. She tried to hold on to it. "Is that supposed to disarm me?"

He smiled. "I hope so."

And it had disarmed her, dammit.

LANGLEY, VIRGINIA

Bradworth picked up his telephone. "Fahey, where are you?"

"I'm at the site on my satellite phone. Your source was correct. There are skeletal human remains in the vegetable cellar. Adult male."

"Is there enough material to extract DNA?"

"There should be. We're almost finished packing it up."

"Good. What about size?"

"I measured the fibula, and the height calculations jibe with Ivanov. This man was about six-foot-one. We'll know more once we get it into a lab. By the way, do we know where we're headed with it yet?"

"One of our specialists is already on his way to Moscow. We'll be using the facilities at the Burdenko Military Hospital there. We found an uncle of Ivanov's, and he's given us a blood sample so that we can compare DNA."

"Good. We'll have the skeleton there by this afternoon." Fahey's voice lowered. "Bradworth, his skeleton was hacked to pieces by a barrage of bullets. Somebody really didn't like this guy."

VALDOSTA, GEORGIA

6:15 A.M.

Kirov's cell phone ring broke the silence as Hannah drove past a marker on I-75 informing her that the Florida state line was only forty-four miles away.

Kirov put the phone on speaker mode. "You're up early, Eugenia."

"Actually, not that early for me. I'm in Moscow."

"What?"

"I have to be done with this mess you brought on me. It's become dangerous to my business and my health."

"You can opt out."

"No, I can't. But I can handle it myself. My contacts are good, but I'm better." She went on brusquely, "There are two GRU operatives who are known to sell information and services to the highest bidder. Salvak and Danzyl. I'm betting on Danzyl. From what I've learned, he worked closely with Pavski before he was sent packing from Moscow."

"And can we get him to sell information to you?"

"I don't think so. And if I tap Salvak, Danzyl may hear about it and make things difficult for me. I'm having to walk very carefully. I may have to find another way." She changed the subject. "And I didn't forget about Dane. I've just been a little busy. Your bomb maker is working in Florida. Panama City. He should be fairly easy to find."

"Well, unless you were able to come up with a street address-"

"9860 South Thomas Drive."

Kirov frowned. "Eugenia, how were you able to-"

"The Yellow Pages. Brilliant, yes?"

"Are you positive it's him?"

"No doubt. It's the address of his bar."

"They all know him there?"

"They should. He owns it."

He shot Hannah a glance. "You're not serious."

"He's actually in semiretirement from the bomb-making business. As far as I can tell, he won't work for terrorists or mobsters, which keeps him off high-priority U.S. watch lists. If you're hoping to draw him out by promising employment, it might not work. He does quite well by selling tall, colorful drinks on the beach."

"What's the name of the bar?"

"You're really going to like this. It's called 'TNT.'"

A few hours later Kirov lowered his high-powered binoculars and handed them to Hannah. "See it?" he asked.

Hannah scanned the beachfront bars until she found TNT. The colorful sign featured a graphic stick of dynamite traced in neon lighting. She shook her head. "Subtle." She smiled. "And amusing. He obviously has a sense of humor."

"I'm sure he gets a good chuckle every time he looks at it."

"Maybe he's not who we're searching for. It doesn't look like he needs Pavski's money."

"It may not be the cash. He's always considered himself an artist. He likes money as much as the next man, but I'm sure he still jumps at the chance to create new and better designs for his explosive devices. Especially if a lucrative offer came from someone he knows and trusts."

"Like Pavski?"

"Yes."

"Or you?"

"If he did the job for Pavksi, I'm not sure what he's been told about me. We can't just go stumbling in there. We have to have information."

"And how do we get that?"

"It's an electronic world. We'll try that first. But he's very smart. We have to have a hook."

"You know what he's like. What kind of a hook? What buttons can we push?"

"His ego, his conviction that he's the Michelangelo of explosives, his passion for good-looking women, his love of the good life." He took the binoculars from her. "Come on, we'll check into a hotel and clean up and plan strategy."

They found a decent Best Western Hotel located on the beach. Two hours later they had showered, rested, and met in the coffee shop on the lanai for dinner.

"The fish looks good," Kirov said as he handed her the menu. "Fish is almost always a safe bet on the coast. The competition for the tourist dollar is a guarantee."

Hannah nodded. "Order for me. I don't care. Anything."

"You're trusting me to make a decision?"

She smiled faintly. "I figured you couldn't mess up too badly on a menu choice."

"I'm flattered." He gestured to the waitress and ordered quickly before turning back to Hannah. "Did you get a nap?"

"No, I got a business call, and I had to take it."

"Business?"

"I do have a life apart from Silent Thunder. The sub was supposed to only be a fill-in job." She waited until the waitress filled her wineglass, then said, "I'm going to the Canary Islands and help with the exploration of Marinth. It's an underwater city that some people think may be Atlantis."

"I've read about it. The security surrounding it is cast-iron. Skeptic that I am, I wondered if that security was hiding a bogus discovery."

"It's not bogus. It's the real thing. I've seen some of the artifacts they've pulled up." She took a sip of wine and leaned forward, eagerness surging through her as she thought about it. "I don't know if it's Atlantis, but the city is ancient. It's going to be exciting. I can't wait."

"It's good to see you excited." He was studying her expression. "I haven't had the opportunity since we came together. Were you like this with the Titanic?"

She shook her head. "We knew too much about it going in. Marinth is different. It's a whole new world to explore." She chuckled. "You said something like that to me, remember? That there were new worlds to discover. Well, Marinth is one of them. Scholarly tablets and ancient inventions and fabulous treasures. Who knows what we'll find?"

"Who indeed?" He was cradling his glass of wine in his hands, rolling it back and forth. "A true adventure."

Hannah found herself fascinated by that lazy, almost sensual movement. The crystal seemed fragile, infinitely breakable in those big hands, and his rubbing fingertips were light but oddly rhythmic.

Watch his hands.

Eugenia had said those words when she'd been describing Kirov's sexuality. Hannah could see what she meant. That restrained, rhythmic delicacy made one wonder how it would feel to be intimately touched by-

"But treasures?" Kirov asked. "I didn't think you'd be impressed by treasures. You didn't seem interested in the Golden Cradle itself. Yet the cradle is probably as ancient as your Marinth."

"I'm interested." She forced herself to look away from him and bring her mind back to the subject at hand. "But it's hard to think of the cradle without thinking of all the death and pain it's caused. I'm sure your sub's crew and Conner were only the latest in a long history."

"You're probably right."

"But you don't make the connection?"

"Not once the first pain passed. Look at all the treasures we lust after. The Amber Rooms, the Holy Grail, the Ark of the Covenant. They dazzle us and draw us like beacons. The cradle is incredibly beautiful, but it's an object. Most treasures are created by man and, therefore, coveted by man. Men are violent creatures and will grab what they covet. That's why treasures must be guarded."

"How philosophical."

"I'm a realist." He met her eyes. "If I was taught anything at all by the Golden Cradle, it was to hold on to what I value and not ever let go."

She felt heat surge through her. She looked down into the wine in her glass. "Providing you live long enough."

He laughed. "There is that. Ah, here comes our food. Do you want to discuss Dane over dinner or wait until later?"

"We'd better discuss him now. After dinner I have something to do."

His brows lifted. "Really? What?"

She smiled at the waitress as she set her salad before her. "I have to go shopping."

Good morning, pretty lady." The bartender smiled at Hannah as she stepped off the sand and took a seat at the long bamboo bar. It was 11:15 A.M., and she was TNT's only customer.

She adjusted the flower-print skirt and bikini top. She wasn't comfortable in this outfit, but it had definite male appeal, and distraction was the name of the game. "Good morning. Am I your first customer of the day?"

"Yep."

No trace of a Russian accent, she noticed. The man was good-looking and had a beautiful bronze tan and unruly golden hair. No different than a thousand other beach bums she'd known. "Maybe it's too early for a drink?"

"Wrong. If that was the case, I would've slept in." He poured himself a shot of Bacardi and downed it. "You're on the Florida coast, honey. It's always time for a drink."

She smiled. "Okay, you talked me into it. Start me with one of those shots."

"Now you're talking." He poured the Bacardi and pushed the glass over to her.

She swallowed the shot. "Is this your place?"

He nodded. "You like it?"

"Very much. My name is Hannah."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Dane. Everyone around here calls me Great Dane." His eyes were twinkling as he saw her brows raise. "I know. I know. But believe me when I say that it's nothing I expect or encourage."

Dane Niler in the flesh. This smiling, attractive man might have built the bomb that almost killed her, she realized. "I like the name of your bar, Dane. TNT. How did you come up with it?"

"I like surprises."

"Nothing more surprising than a stick of dynamite going off, I guess."

"Well, if you want to be literal about it. But since I'm a pretentious son of a bitch, I happen to like metaphors. When people sit at my bar, I want them to blow up all their inhibitions, all their preconceived notions, and start from a new place. Take a vacation from themselves, you know?"

"Interesting. It sounds like something I need to do."

"Then you've come to the right place. What brings you to Panama City? You're not from here, are you?"

"It shows?"

"Afraid so."

"You're obviously a student of human nature. Why don't you tell me what I'm doing here?"

"Oh, I figure you're in town for a conference. You looked at the schedule, and this morning's sessions were a little on the dry side, so you decided to log a little beach time."

"Wow."

"Impressed?"

"Dane, you couldn't be more wrong."

He smiled. "Okay, so I'm a lousy student of human nature." He held up the Bacardi bottle. "Another?"

"Sure."

He poured her another shot. "Normally, I'd go right to the second possibility-you're tagging along with your husband, and he's the one here on a conference. He's in a Hyatt ballroom learning about new actuarial analysis techniques, and you're trying to find ways to fill your days."

"You don't think that's the case?"

"Nah. A woman like you doesn't tag along with anybody. People tag along with you." He smiled. "Am I getting warm?"

"Warmer." She glanced at a small black-and-white monitor behind Dane. It offered a view of the bar's parking lot, where a single car, a Nissan Z-98, was parked. Kirov crouched next to the car, working on the lock.

Dane chuckled. "Warmer, huh? Okay. How about this: It's been years since you've taken a vacation, and your company's human resources department insisted that you take off for a couple of weeks. But now that you're here, all you can do is think about work."

"That's depressing. You've got me totally pegged. And here I thought I was a unique and fascinating individual."

"We all get lucky sometimes." He shifted position, as if about to turn toward the monitor.

Hannah quickly leaned closer to him. "I'd say you're an excellent student of human nature, Dane. How does your wife manage you?"

He turned back toward her. "I'm not married. Life's too short for the ties that bind. There are too many gorgeous ladies that need my attention."

She shot a quick glance at the monitor. Kirov was in the car's front seat, rifling through the glove compartment.

"I'm sure you give it to them."

"Another drink?"

"Not yet."

He refilled her glass anyway. "On the house."

"How can I possibly drink this? There are at least thirty other bars along this beach I need to visit by tonight."

"You'd only be wasting your time. You're already sitting at the best place in town."

Hannah laughed and stole another glance at the monitor. Kirov was gone.

She drank the shot, slipped off the stool, and tossed a twenty onto the bar. "I might come back and give you my verdict at the end of the night. Will you still be here?"

"I'll make sure that I am. I close at 1:00 A.M."

She gave him a brilliant smile. "Have a nice day, Dane."

He's gorgeous," Hannah said five minutes later, when Kirov opened the car door for her. "He's like something out of Baywatch, only better."

"I forgot to tell you what a charmer he is." His lips tightened. "You're definitely mellow."

"Trust me, if I'm a little woozy, it's not because of his charm. I just downed three rum shots in the space of five minutes."

"I'm surprised you're still on your feet."

She shrugged. "I've had practice keeping up with hard-drinking sailors. So what did you find out?"

"Not much. I found the auto registration, but he used the bar as his address. There were receipts indicating that he often eats drive-through fast food on the way home after work. There was a gym bag with workout clothes in the backseat."

"Which he probably wears to work off all that fast food. Nothing else?"

"No. It was always a long shot, but there was no DayRunner, PDA, or anything that could lead us to Pavski. There was a luggage tag on the gym bag that had Dane's name and phone number. I might be able to use it to get a home address."

"Even if it's unlisted?"

He shrugged. "Eugenia has made me a bit paranoid, so I'd like to stay away from my usual contacts if I can."

"So what are we going to do?"

Kirov turned the wheel sharply and pulled into a convenience store parking lot. "Wait here."

Before she could reply, Kirov jumped out of the car and walked quickly to a pay phone. He thumbed through the Yellow Pages telephone directory, deposited some coins, and made a call. She watched as he repeated the process several times, then finally hung up and climbed back into the car.

"What was that about?"

Kirov scribbled something down on a scratch pad. "It was about getting Dane Niler's address."

"Who gave you that?"

"Papa John's Pizza."

Hannah thought about it for a moment. "You called every pizza place in the vicinity of those other fast-food restaurants…"

"Exactly. When one orders a pizza delivery, the first thing the store does is ask for a phone number. That pulls up the customer address in their database, which the order taker reads aloud to confirm. I only had to call three other restaurants before I found one that Niler had previously ordered from." He handed her the pad. "Let's map this through the GPS device."

"Are we going to break in?"

"Hell, no. Believe me, we don't want to go in there. Think about it. Niler is one of the world's leading experts in explosive booby traps, and he could have a most lethal idea of what constitutes a home security system."

"Then I'm surprised you were willing to break into his car."

"It was a risk, but people in Niler's profession don't usually like to drive around town in cars packed with explosive materials. Too dangerous. A little fender bender could blow him to Kingdom Come." Kirov shrugged. "I might have to resort to bare-knuckled diplomacy to find out if he knows anything."

"There may be another way."

"How?"

"I think he and I have a date tonight."

"What?"

"I told him I'd meet him at closing time."

"Five minutes alone with him, and you-"

"I didn't really think I'd go. I was flirting with him, trying to keep his eyes off the security monitor, and I said I might drop by at closing time-1:00 A.M. He said he'd be there."

"Sounds like a date to me," he said grimly.

"I'll go back to his place with him, get the lay of the land, and see what kind of booby traps he may have in place. If I get a chance, I'll check his caller ID logs on his home and cell phones. Anything else I should look for?"

"This isn't a good idea. When you decided you wanted to play vamp to distract him, I didn't like it, but I went along. The risk wasn't that great. But this is different."

"Vamp? I wasn't trying to vamp him. You said he liked women, and I knew I could keep his attention for five or ten minutes. If I was Cinderella's ugly stepsister, I could have done that."

"But not as well. I'd bet you bowled Niler over."

"He's not that easy. The beach is crawling with women who want to sample an episode with a passing ship in the night."

"But not one who looks like she thinks as well as she fucks."

The rawness of that curt sentence stunned her for a moment. "I'm going to do it, Kirov. You can be my backup."

"Your support team again?" he said sourly.

"We'll use the speakerphone function on your cell. I'll keep it on me, and you can listen to every word."

"It's still a risk. He may be Mr. Charisma, but I assure you, he's smart, and he can be very dangerous."

"I can do this, Kirov. It might get us one step closer to Pavski."

He was silent. "I'm not going to talk you out of it, am I?"

"No," she repeated. "What else should I look for in there?"

Kirov said curtly, "Computer passwords."