'You'd better go.'
'Cathy, if there's anything I-'
She made an impatient gesture to stop him. 'George, I know you meant well, but I'm disappointed that you let anyone use you like this. It's going to take a little while to come to terms with it.'
'No one used me. I did what I thought best, Cathy,' he said gently.
She nodded jerkily. 'I can't see that right now. I'll call you later, George.'
'Do that.' He got up to leave. 'And think long and hard about leaving Hannah out on a limb like this.'
She stared at the door as it closed behind him. She was bitterly disappointed in George. He'd always been totally up-front with her, and yet this time he'd let Bradworth convince him to be his errand boy. What the devil was happening?
And who the hell is this Kirov, Hannah?
Dananka watched Congressman Preston leave Cathy Bryson's house and climb behind the wheel of his energy-efficient hybrid car. Good for a few thousand votes from the Sierra Club, he thought.
He'd been ordered to trail the congressman and watch for any sign of Hannah Bryson. What total bullshit. The bitch had gotten what she needed from Preston, and there was no reason to think she'd be back.
Perhaps this stakeout was punishment for his handling of the Samsova matter in Russia. Christ, Pavski never specified that Samsova was to be left
His cell phone beeped.
'Where's Preston?' Pavski asked.
'He's leaving Cathy Bryson's place.' Dananka hesitated. 'Are you sure this surveillance is necessary? The chances of Hannah Bryson's meeting with the congressman again aren't that good.'
'Don't worry, Dananka. Sometimes the obvious target isn't the true one. Don't let Preston out of your sight. I'll call you with further instructions.'
Dananka smiled. 'Understood.'
No sign of Hannah Bryson,' Teague said as he came into Bradworth's office. 'And the agent doing surveillance at Cathy Bryson's home reports she hasn't shown up there.'
'Damn.' Not that it surprised him. Kirov wouldn't have let Hannah surface if he chose not to do it. He knew all the tricks. Which left Bradworth no option but to sit and twiddle his thumbs until the bastard decided to get in contact with him. He'd used Congressman Preston to intercede with Cathy Bryson once, but he doubted if he could get him to do it again. 'Keep looking. I need that woman-'
His phone rang, and he started to ignore it. Then he saw it was Sordberg, the director. He picked up. 'Bradworth.'
'What the hell is happening?' Sordberg asked. 'Have you screwed up, Bradworth?'
'I don't know what you're talking about.'
'My assistant just got a phone call. Get the hell up here. We have to talk. You have some explaining to do.'
FAIRFIELD, CONNECTICUT
9:25 A.M.
There he is,' Kirov said to Hannah.
A mustached man in his late fifties was unlocking the antique store's accordion-style security gate.
'Are you sure he's the one we're looking for?' Hannah asked.
Kirov nodded. 'Boris Petrenko.'
'How do you know?'
'I downloaded his driver's license photo to my laptop last night.'
'Breaking into a secured Web site?'
'No, I had a friend who did that for me.'
'You evidently have the ability to tap many people in many places for favors.'
'Any objection?'
How could she object when she'd done the same thing to find Kirov? 'No.' She got out of the rental car. 'Let's go.'
Petrenko stared at Kirov and Hannah with a frown as they entered the shop. 'I'm sorry, I'm not open yet.' His brow wrinkled. 'I thought I locked that door.'
'You did.' Kirov locked the glass door behind him. 'We're here to inquire about some merchandise not on display. Your real merchandise is in the back room, isn't it? Or perhaps downstairs?'
He stiffened warily. 'I don't know what you're talking about.'
'Don't worry, Mr. Petrenko. I'm no customs agent. My name is Kirov.' He gestured to Hannah. 'Hannah Bryson. We just want some information.'
Petrenko moved toward the main sales counter in the large, musty showroom. 'I don't sell information. I've found that it's too hazardous to my health.'
'Oh, I don't want you to sell it to me. I expect you to give it to me.'
'And why would I do that?'
'Because it would be hazardous to your health
Petrenko stopped short. 'I really can't help you.'
'You won't know that until you try.'
Hannah stepped forward. 'Mr. Petrenko, I can't tell you how important this is to us. Please help us.'
Petrenko glanced at her and his expression softened. 'I'd like to help you. But it's not-'
'We need to know about the three men you picked up last weekend,' Kirov said. 'Two questions: who were they and who hired you?'
Petrenko's gaze shifted from Hannah and narrowed on Kirov. 'Who the hell are you?'
'No one who gives a damn about your midnight imports. However, if you don't help us, I won't hesitate to inform some people who do care. Believe me, U.S. Customs would be the least of your problems. Many countries are quite protective of their treasures, and they can be ruthless in dealing with individuals who appropriate them.'
Petrenko hesitated.
'I'm not bluffing, Petrenko.'
Petrenko muttered a curse. 'I'll tell you what I know on one condition.'
'And that is?'
'Tell me how you found me. If you found out about me, others might, too.'
'No deal. But rest assured, my sources aren't available to just anyone. You'll probably be able to continue your operations for some time to come if you don't make another stupid mistake.'
Petrenko shrugged. 'It was worth a try. Not that I can help you much anyway.'
'Try.'
'I know very little about these people.'
'You're lying.'
'No. One of my usual suppliers contacted me a few days before a shipment was due. They asked if I'd bring in some human cargo. It more than paid for that evening's purchases, and a little extra besides.'
'How were you paid?'
'In cash. Half was paid to me that evening, the remainder I found in an envelope on my car dashboard Monday morning.'
'After your three passengers made it safely to shore.'
Petrenko lifted his eyebrows in surprise. 'You know that?'
'You were boarded by a Coast Guard cutter?'
Petrenko nodded. 'Yes, but they only seemed to be looking for drugs or weapons. They let the dog sniff around for a while, then left.'
