Death Echo

Sort of like her parents. “Lane hacked into one or more of St. Kilda’s databases,” Faroe said.

“Mother of God.”

“That’s one way of looking at it,” he agreed dryly. “Father of Satan is another. But Lane’s making a patch to keep other hackers out, so I’ll give the honors to Mom rather than Dad. Lane sent the information he got to Emma’s computer. And mine.”

Grace sat down next to him on the couch and sighed. “Have I told you lately that I love you and don’t know how I would have handled Lane alone?”

Faroe set aside the computer, pulled Grace into his lap, and nuzzled her neck. “You would have done fine, but thanks for sharing him with me. And Annalise. If we survive them, we can conquer the world.”

Laughing, she settled closer, letting her husband’s warmth sink through to her bones. “Flip you to see who talks to Steele next.”

“Tails,” Faroe said as he smoothly flipped Grace out of his lap and onto her back on the couch. Head up. “You lose.”

Her arms tightened around his neck. “Two out of three?”

“Think she’ll sleep that long?”

“Let’s find out.”

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