Black Widow (12 page)

"She'll use a cyber cafe, of course," Kate said.

"Of course. I would."

"I can put some of our techs onto the site. They can try to ferret her out for you," Kate said.

"Do it. I want to know how good she is."

"We
need to know how good she is."

"I'll talk with her, then get back to you," Samantha said.

"Do that." Kate said goodbye and broke the connection.

Kate drummed her fingers on her desktop. "I'm beginning to think Ajza Manaev is
too
good at what she does," she muttered to herself.

Leicester

Ajza leaned into the phone booth at the rail station. The building trapped the noise of conversations and the arriving and departing trains. She glanced at the digital clock over the entranceway to the boarding area and matched it against her watch.

Surely it wasn't too early. Trevor had had hours to work with the information she'd given him. Less than four hours remained before she was supposed to be contacted.

She dropped coins into the slot, punched in a number she'd memorized when she'd first called Trevor, and waited. He picked up on the first ring.

Ajza took solace in Trevor's familiar voice. He was a childhood friend of both her and Ilyas. For a time he'd lived in Leicester, then migrated to London with them when they all attended university. Where Ilyas had majored in history and art, and Ajza had majored in business, Trevor had gotten a degree in computer programming.

Incredibly bright and talented, with the most inquisitive nature Ajza had ever seen, Trevor could have taught the classes he'd taken. Only the constant scams and pranks he'd performed at university had kept him there. He'd become the bane of the computer department because he'd been so intelligent and enjoyed the rivalry and competition as they'd struggled to find some way to expel him.

On more than one occasion, he'd admitted his friendship with Ilyas and Ajza had barely lifted the university experience up to tolerable levels.

"You are making do, I trust?" he asked.

"Yes."

"No lurkers or other dreadfuls about?"

Ajza scanned the passengers who filled the station. "Not unless they're very skilled," she replied.

Neither she nor Ilyas had told Trevor that they worked for MI-6. But he'd kept watch over them and knew they were more than they let on. Besides being very talented with computers, Trevor was a keen observer of people. He'd known exactly when Ilyas and Ajza had decided to keep secrets from him.

Sometimes she felt guilty for not telling Trevor. She knew, when it came to secrets, Trevor could keep quiet better than anyone.

"Let's hope that they're not," Trevor said.

"I haven't much time," Ajza apologized.

"No problem, love. I've got the information you requested."

"Was he really MI-5?"

"Yes. I hacked into their network and confirmed the ID. I also went back through his files and matched up details with news stories. He's the real deal."

Ajza let out a breath. That wasn't a surprise, but it was off-putting all the same.

"So what have you done to raise the ire of MI-5?"

"I don't know."

"Love," Trevor said more quietly and with less-boyish enthusiasm than before, "if you're in trouble with this lot, it can be quite bad."

"I'm not in any trouble that I know of."

"Then why are these blokes interested in you?"

"I don't know." Ajza changed the subject. "What about my parents?"

"They're fine. I broke into the security cameras there. Your pop has already opened the store. He's still a workaholic, I see."

Some of the tension in Ajza's stomach eased. "Keep an eye on them for me, please," she said.

"Of course. You know, if you need a hole to drop out of sight in, I've got a couple."

Not all of Trevor's business interests were exactly legitimate. He sometimes ran computer scams.

"Thank you. That's very generous. I'll keep it in mind. But at the moment I prefer to work this out alone."

"As you wish, love. But do look before you leap. I haven't got many friends, and I should hate to lose another."

"You won't lose me."

"Didn't think we'd lose Ilyas, love, but he was gone before we knew it."

Ajza didn't say anything.

"Sorry, love," Trevor whispered. "I didn't want to have to point that out."

"It's all right. But I think I'm better off out here alone right now."

From the moment they'd learned of Ilyas's death, Trevor had scoured the Internet for information regarding his murder. Trevor had invaded government databases and almost brought disaster upon himself. In the end, he'd had to admit defeat. That was something he didn't easily do.

Ajza checked the time. "I've got to go."

"All right, love. But if there's anything else you need, call me."

"I will." She thanked him and hung up the phone, then walked to the boarding area. Her mind raced. She had to trust that her message had been received. At least, for the moment, her parents were being left out of whatever mess she was in.

London

Ajza stepped off the train at St Pancras station and glanced around warily. Although she felt somewhat secure in the crowd of people rushing to work, Ajza's paranoia ticked steadily inside her. She discovered it was easier to be on her guard while undercover than at home with her parents.

In Istanbul, everyone she'd met had been a potential enemy. None of the terrain had looked overly familiar. That had been true of several assignments she'd drawn while working for MI-6.

But here in Greater London, everything looked too commonplace. She regularly rode the train from Leicester and frequently walked along the platforms she was on now. She felt even more out of place because she carried no baggage, while nearly everyone around her had a briefcase or valise.

She hailed a cab on Euston Road after making certain no one followed her.

"Where to, miss?" the driver asked.

"Broadway Market, please."

The driver flipped on his meter, pulled away from the curb and battled for a place in traffic. "Do you have any place special in mind, miss?"

"I'm just going to wander." Ajza pushed herself back in the seat and tried to relax.

After paying the driver, noting that her cash was dwindling quickly, she stepped into the flow of people patronizing the local shops and restaurants. The overcast sky promised dreary weather and the possibility of rain.

Broadway Market was a center of activity on Saturdays, when farmers brought their produce to sell. The neighborhood consisted of narrow buildings squeezed among several alleys and narrow streets. It was, Ajza had concluded, a particularly good spot for being elusive if the need arose.

Keeping her head low, Ajza used the shop windows to check the area. She scanned the reflections. No one followed her.

Unless they got here ahead of you — perhaps you're not as clever as you think you are, she cautioned herself.

She forced those thoughts from her head. She was clever. Not only that, she had no choice in what she was going to do.

The sights and smells of all the food around her made her stomach grumble. She knew she had to eat to keep her strength up. During the train ride, she'd managed to sleep most of the hour-and-twenty-minute journey, but that was nowhere near what her body craved. She still hadn't decompressed from the Istanbul assignment.

She purchased a blueberry scone from a small pastry shop, picked up a newspaper to check the headlines and walked into the Java Highway cyber cafe, squeezed between a wedding-apparel shop and a shoe store. The smell of fresh coffee gave her a lift.

A short counter with two staff took up one corner of the room. Computers and tables filled the rest. Dim lighting enhanced the blue-gray screens of the computers.

Ajza paid for an hour and took a computer near the back wall. The doorway to the alley was only a short distance away. She settled in, opened the account Trevor had created for her, then logged on to the Annie's Dungeon website.

She negotiated the handful of screens noting that the user was entering a zone for adult material, followed immediately by images of men and women in garish clothing, chains and holding whips. None of it made an impression on Ajza. This was all pretend. What she had seen in the field — what she had done — was much worse.

She logged into the chat room and looked at the names. No one with
cardinal
was on the roster provided.

The time was nine-fifty-three.

As calmly as she could, she sipped her coffee. She knew she should eat the scone, but she didn't trust her stomach.

Mum and Dad are fine, she told herself. But she kept thinking how quickly Ilyas had slipped away. He'd been gone before they knew it.

The chat room was active. Ajza watched each new name that entered. She ignored the suggestive and outright inflammatory remarks the other users posted. During her training, she'd been taught how to entice and lure over the Internet. The cyber battlefield took shape the same way as physical terrain. In the end, though, everything was filtered through human lust and greed.

And, perhaps, sometimes self-preservation.

CardinalSin logged on at nine-fifty-seven.

Ajza cracked her knuckles out of habit, then leaned into the keyboard and monitor.

Chechen Republic

"Bring them out." Taburova stood in front of the shack where the women were held. He'd spent the night talking and drinking for far too long. Now he was getting a late start and it angered him.

Two of his men entered the shack and herded the women back outside. In the daylight, they looked like scarecrows wrapped in light coats. Most wore headscarves, but none of them had veils to cover their faces. None were beautiful, but a few of the younger ones were pretty enough.

One of the older women fell to her knees in front of Taburova. She cried out for mercy and touched her forehead to the ground.

"Don't cry out to God," Taburova told them. "He will not hear you. Today, only I am listening."

Quickly the other women knelt and pressed their faces to the ground. A handful of them cried, their thin faces jerking with their repressed sobs.

"Your tears will only hit the dry ground, and even it will remain parched rather than accept them," Taburova told the women. "No one cares about you. You are nothing. The Russians made you that way."

The men stood around them with their weapons but didn't speak.

"I could kill you out here and leave your bodies for the carrion feeders."

One of the women looked up. "Please, I have a child. She needs me."

"You disgrace your child," Taburova said. "You disgrace God. And you think only of yourself."

The woman wept openly.

Taburova stepped forward and kicked the woman in the side. She screamed and tried to get away. He kicked her again.

"Be still," Taburova ordered. "And stop crying or I will kill you, instead of offering you a chance to avenge your husband and yourself, and to make your daughter proud of you."

The rest of the women watched him fearfully. They knew what he was talking about, and they knew that — in the end — they had no choice.

"I'm going to offer all of you that chance." Taburova stared at them while the woman he'd kicked shuddered on the ground. "Like God, I don't have to be merciful. You have lost your husbands fighting the Russians. Your sons. Your fathers."

Tears tracked down the faces of all the women.

"Those brave men gave their lifeblood fighting for your freedom," Taburova went on. "You can do no less. Your country needs you."

"My daughter," the woman on the ground wailed.

Anger spiked within Taburova as he turned to look down at her. "Your daughter is an orphan." He pointed the AK-47 at her head and pulled the trigger.

The bullet exploded through the woman's head and the detonation caused the others to jump. Her blood was the only thing that moved on the ground.

"Death became your fate when your husbands, brothers, sons and fathers died," Taburova told the rest of them. "All of you have sinned. You know you have sinned. It stains your hearts, and it brought the bad luck that has left you here."

His words left them shaken. What he told them was nothing new. They had grown up steeped in such beliefs. And Taburova knew that no one who had ever dealt with misfortune felt they were without sin. Every person, eventually, blamed themselves for where they were in life.

These women lived hard lives even before they'd been left without guardians.

"I will give you the opportunity to redeem yourselves," Taburova said. "And to strike back at the Russians."

He paced in front of them, searching the dirty faces for the one who could be the leader he needed among these women. They couldn't all be sheep. God willing, there was a lioness among them.

"Don't you want to make the Russians pay in blood for all that they have taken from you?" Taburova demanded. "They have stripped you of everything. You have no one to speak for you. Stained by sin as you are, you have no chance to get into heaven. I will take you there."

A young woman stepped forward, but she ducked her head fearfully as she faced Taburova. "I will go. I will bring death to the Russians."

Taburova walked toward her. Her resolve lessened as he got closer. She stood on shaking legs with her chin trembling and tears streaming through the dirt on her face.

"Who are you?" he asked in a soft, nonthreatening voice.

"I am Roza."

"That is a fine name."

She bowed her head. Upon closer inspection, Taburova doubted she was sixteen years old. In some ways, she was still a child. Dirt streaked the dark tangles of hair that hung below her headscarf. Sadness and defiance gleamed in her dark eyes. She was thin, but she had a figure.

"My mother's name was Roza," Taburova lied. "She was a fine, brave woman."

Roza nodded.

"Why do you wish to kill the Russians, Roza?"

"My husband was a soldier. He died fighting the Russians in March."

"You loved him?" Taburova was only mildly curious. Some families sold their girls as early as they could to rid themselves of daughters.