Banich nodded. Playing that kind of double game must be familiar to those who had risen in rank during the old Soviet Union’s last days. For the first time he began to see a way out of the deadly box he’d put Erin and the others inside. Soloviev, Pikhoia, and their compatriots would have every incentive to hush this whole affair up. But then an unpleasant thought struck him. “What about the French? By now they must be back in their embassy screaming at the top of their lungs to anyone who’ll listen. And once the FIS starts asking pointed questions, both you and the general are going to be sitting pretty far out on a damned thin limb.”
Soloviev’s pale blue eyes grew cold. “I can assure you that those three gentlemen of the DGSE will not be shouting to anyone… ever.”
Oh. Banich’s estimation of the man in front of him as one ruthless bastard went up another notch. He gave in to a sudden impulse to needle the other man. “You don’t fool around very much, do you, Colonel? Someone gets in your way and
“Perhaps.” The Russian’s thin-lipped mouth tightened. “But then the same could probably be said of you, couldn’t it, Mr. Banich?”
Maybe so, Banich admitted to himself, remembering the two men he’d killed while trying to rescue Erin.
Soloviev shook his head in abrupt exasperation. “All of this is beside the point, however. We face much larger problems, you and I.” He pulled a chair out from the table and waved Banich toward another.
Somehow the Russian colonel looked older and wearier off his feet. “I’ve just come from an all-night negotiating session, Mr. Banich.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Kaminov has reached a final agreement with the French. Once he issues the go-ahead orders, my nation’s armed forces will cross into Poland. And our two countries will find themselves at war with each other within hours after that.”
This bad news, though expected, still hit Banich with sledgehammer force. If they were caught between two fires, the U.S., British, and Polish troops fighting in Poland were doomed. Russian intervention in the war would leave the U.S. policymakers with just two unpalatable options. Accept defeat and a Europe forcibly united under a hostile banner. Or prepare for a prolonged war that would make World War II look like a child’s tea party.
Banich swallowed hard, staring blindly down at the table in front of him. “It’ll be a goddamned bloodbath.”
Soloviev nodded somberly. “Yes, it will be.
Puzzled, Banich stared back at him. “What exactly do you mean by that, Colonel?”
The Russian’s eyes grew even colder. “The orders that will commit my country to this conflict have not yet been issued. In fact, they cannot be issued until Marshal Kaminov and the other members of the Military Council arrive back in Moscow and regain their access to the Defense Ministry’s secure-communications channels. Therefore, I believe the equation is simple: if we stop those orders from being given, we can stop this war before it escalates.”
Prevent Kaminov from contacting his field commanders? How on earth did Soloviev propose… The answer flashed into his mind. In that instant, the whole world seemed to narrow down to the Russian colonel’s grim face. “Are you serious?”
Soloviev nodded. When he spoke, his voice was flat, utterly without emotion. “Deadly serious, Mr. Banich.”
Flanked by armed guards, Erin McKenna followed the paunchy militia sergeant who had ushered her out of her cell. She kept her head held high. She didn’t want to give these people the satisfaction of seeing her frightened or distressed in any way. But she couldn’t stop the panic welling up inside as she contemplated the next few hours. Alex Banich had said she wasn’t ready to take prolonged torture and interrogation, and he was right. Oddly enough, though, she found the prospect of being forced to betray Soloviev and her friends and colleagues far more horrifying than the physical pain and mental anguish she expected to suffer.
Her guards came to a heavy metal door at the end of the hallway and halted, waiting while the sergeant fumbled with his keys and unlocked it. When the door swung open, a sickly-sweet stench wafted inside — the smell of diesel exhaust mixed with rotting garbage. Erin gasped softly. The door opened out onto the back of the headquarters building, into a narrow alley crowded with overflowing trash bins. Where were they taking her?
Several men wearing Russian Army uniforms were busy hurriedly loading an odd assortment of long crates and boxes onto a pair of canvas-sided URAL trucks parked just down the alley. Two officers, one tall and slender, the other somewhat shorter, stood with their backs to her, supervising the loading process. Another man, much younger and wearing civilian clothes, waited beside a black ZIL sedan — an official staff car of some kind. Five shapes swathed in drab-green army blankets lay on stretchers lining one side of the alley. When two soldiers picked up the first stretcher and carried it toward a truck, an arm fell out from under the blanket — dangling lifelessly until one of the men shoved it back out of sight. To her horror, she realized the blanket-shrouded shapes were corpses.
She hesitated in the doorway, unwilling to go further. Fears that until then had been largely abstract, the product of her own imagination, were rapidly becoming real.
“Let’s go, Little Miss Precious,” the sergeant grumbled. He grabbed her arm and hustled her down the small set of steps. She briefly considered resisting but decided against it. Fighting back would only give the odious twerp another excuse to paw her body.
Still gripping her arm, the militia noncom marched her up behind the tall army officer, stamped his feet as he came to attention, and loudly announced, “The female prisoner you wanted, Colonel!”
Erin had to stifle another astonished gasp when the soldier turned around.
Valentin Soloviev stared down at her without a hint of recognition. “An attractive specimen, Sergeant. You’ve enjoyed having her in your custody, eh?”
“Yes, Colonel.” The middle-aged jailer smirked. “Makes a nice change from the usual riffraff we get. A real tasty morsel.”
“Yes.” Soloviev pulled his eyes away from Erin to study the militia NCO. A look that mingled disdain and anger flickered across his face before he nodded toward the door in polite dismissal. “Thank you, Sergeant. That will be all. I’ll take charge of this prisoner now.” His voice hardened. “But you can be sure I will remember everything you have done.”
The words were pleasant enough, but something about the way he said them sent a shiver down Erin’s spine and wiped the self-satisfied smile off the militiaman’s pudgy face. Suddenly pale, her jailer hurried back into the headquarters building.
After the door swung shut behind him, Soloviev swung back to face her. “My dear Miss McKenna. I sincerely hope you’re all right?”
Speechless with relief, she could only nod.
“Good.” The Russian smiled then. He inclined his head toward where the other man wearing an army officer’s uniform stood, still with his back to them. “I would introduce you to my new aide-de-camp, but I believe you already know each other.”
He raised his voice. “Captain Banich?”
Erin could scarcely believe her eyes when Alex Banich spun lightly around to face her.
He grinned faintly. “Hello, McKenna.”
“Alex!” The knowledge that he was safe and free brought feelings she’d been holding back for months to the surface in a torrent. All the game-playing, teasing, and tiptoeing around real emotion disappeared in the abrupt realization that she was in love with this quiet man. Without thinking, she was in his arms.
Neither of them saw the fleeting look of sadness and disappointment cross Soloviev’s normally impassive face. It disappeared as suddenly as it had come.
Reminded of where they were by a discreet cough from the Russian, Erin pulled away slightly from Banich. She fingered the thick cloth of his uniform tunic and looked closely at him. “How on earth did you…”
“Not me. Him.” Banich nodded toward Soloviev. Talking fast, he filled her in on the events of the past several hours. When he came to the marshal’s decision to intervene on EurCon’s behalf, he slowed down and looked away as he continued, “The colonel has a plan to stop Kaminov in his tracks, but he needs our help to pull it off.”
“Our…” For the first time, Erin noticed Mike Hennessy and Phil Teppler among the Russian enlisted men loading the two trucks. Both saw her looking at them and grinned back. She turned her gaze on Soloviev. “Am I included in this plan of yours, Colonel?”
“Regrettably no, Miss McKenna. Mr. Banich and the others have weapons skills we will need. You do not.”
