Cold Silence (A High Stakes Thriller) (33 page)

Oskar didn't allow himself to focus on Viktor's death. Today was a day to celebrate his life. It was the final celebration. And then the past would be buried. And soon, he alongside it.

He dialed Dmitri's line and listened to it ring. Even busy, Dmitri knew to answer it.

Oskar sat up and glanced at the boy, who was still standing with his hands behind his back, rocking left to right, left to right. The motion made Oskar sick, and he leaned forward against the pain. Cool sweat beaded along his brow, but he ignored it and dialed the familiar number.

He answered on the first ring.
"Alio."

"Eta Kirov,"
he said, his head down. "You've heard from Dmitri?"

"Nyet."

"No? Well, have you checked on him?"

There was a substantial pause, and for a moment Oskar thought the connection was lost.
"Alio,"
he snapped, irritated. He looked up to make sure Ryan was still there.

"Yes. I am here."

"Have you seen Dmitri?"

"Yes."

"He didn't answer his phone. Tell him he must keep it on him at all times," Oskar scolded. "We need to be in touch. Now let me talk to him."

"He can't talk now, Oskar Ivanovich."

Oskar was surprised by the formal way he was addressed, using Oskar's father's name. "Why not?"

He did not answer, and Oskar reared his head back in fear as pain severed him front to back. He roared. "What has happened?"

His voice was almost a whisper, soft and lethal. "He's dead, sir. I think she shot him."

The phone slipped from his hand as he yelled out for his son.
"Bozje!"
he cried, pleading to God. All three of his sons. They were all dead. He flattened his hands across his chest, the pain a throbbing surge.
"Nyet."
His dead sons.

Dead from his own hand, sure as if he'd shot them himself. He squeezed his eyes tight, dug the knuckle of his thumb into the pain in an attempt to drive it away. It burned in confirmation.

Oh, God. It was true. He'd caused their deaths. His Viktor, Dmitri, even weak Feliks. He should have saved them. He should have saved them all.

He pushed himself from the chair and felt a grip on his arm. He looked up, praying to see one of his boys. Instead, Ivan's empty stare returned his. He pushed Ivan away and then dropped to his knees. He moaned and the silent sobs racked him until the pain was so wrenching that he had to stop.

He lay on the floor for a moment and then pushed himself slowly up. His men stood motionless above him. "Help me, damn you," he screamed.

The men lifted him to his feet as he fought to keep his balance. He strained to catch his breath and pressed his fingers against the throbbing between his ribs. "Where is Murphy?"

"Below, as you said."

"Somewhere that they will find him?"

"Visible, yes."

Oskar nodded, working to pull himself together. Damn it all. He shouldn't have been last. He should have been first. He was the leader, the man. And now he was left to die alone.

"Should we hide him?"

"No," he said, feeling the anger harden. He would show them. He wanted them to find him. Find him and worry about what was happening to Ryan. Oskar clenched his fists.

He couldn't wait to deal with Ryan. Ryan would pay for all three of his boys. One little child. It was hardly enough to make up for his loss, but at least Ryan Riggs would be a last reminder of who Kirov was. His last mark on the world. He should have gone out bigger. He had so little energy left, but he would take his time with Ryan.

Oskar felt a bit refreshed at the thought of what misery little Ryan would endure before he succumbed. He licked his fingers and ran them through his hair.

He turned to see the boy's face, but he was no longer standing in the same spot. Oskar looked around. "Where is the boy?"

The men exchanged glances.

"Find him now," Oskar roared. "He hasn't gotten far in this snow."

The men ran off, and Oskar pushed himself toward the back of the house. Out the back window, he saw a Ford Expedition that must have been Murphy's. Beside it were two matching red Yamaha snowmobiles.

He scanned the kitchen counters until he spotted three sets of keys on a counter by the back door.

He staggered to them. Two of the key chains were marked Yamaha. Gripping one tight in his fist, he headed out the back door.

He found his men, tromping in the snow. "Forget it," he told them. "Stay and guard the house."

His men were worthless. He would find Ryan Riggs himself. And then he would see how much agony one small body could withstand. Oskar would work until Ryan had suffered the way his own sons had.

He would avenge their deaths once and for all. And then he would join them. He looked most forward to that.

He pulled himself onto the machine and felt the invigorating cold rip through his fur-lined leather coat. He turned the key in the engine and felt his own heart rev with it.

For one last moment, he was young and dangerous.

And he was on the hunt.

Chapter 31

Cody was trying to get her wireless modem connection to work as the colonel headed toward the mountains. They had no idea where they were going. Only another bug or a more descriptive picture could give them any guidance. That or something more from Jennifer Townsend. Cody hated the thought of depending on her even in the least, but right now she'd take whatever she could get. She'd launched the wireless icon when the cell phone rang again.

"Hello," she answered.

The colonel focused on the road with the kind of attention that made her feel he wasn't listening, even though he undoubtedly caught every word. Florence was still asleep in the backseat, so Cody kept her voice low. "Hello," she repeated.

"Megan?"

"Who is this?"

"It's Mei Ling."

Cody didn't answer.

"From the CIS."

The Computer Intrusion Squad. How long ago that life had been. Three short letters brought it all swimming back. She remembered seeing a yellow truck with those letters painted in red on its side when she was living in New Orleans. It had been some computer company's truck, but just the acronym had stopped her in her tracks and left tears streaming down her face. There were no tears now. She was over the FBI. She was alone. Ryan was hers to find, and hers alone.

"Megan, are you there?"

"I'm here, Mei."

"I left you a message earlier. I wasn't sure if you got-"

"I got it."

Cody wanted to hang up the phone, but she didn't dare. She would not ask for anything, but if the FBI had something about Ryan to offer, she wasn't about to refuse them.

"Oskar Kirov has left town," Mei said. "Agent Townsend indicated he'd left by plane, but we can't locate his flight origin."

Cody heard Jennifer referred to as Agent Townsend. What a joke. Agent Townsend was a goddamn traitor. "Who's interviewing Agent Townsend? Because she knows where they are. She sent them here."

There were a series of hushed whispers in the background.

"Mei," Cody said, her tone significantly softer.

"I'm here."

"Let's cut the crap, okay?"

Mei didn't answer.

"Jennifer sold our whereabouts to the Russians. Who the hell knows what she got for it, but she did. Now, she knows where they are going. And that's where my son is. So send some agents over there and shake it out of her."

There was more whispering.

"Damn it, Mei. Take some fucking action. Interview her. Find out what she knows."

"Jennifer's on her way to Cook County Hospital. They don't know if she'll make it. She took a bunch of pills."

Cody felt the prickling of hot needles behind her eyes. She refused to offer them any condolences. She and Jennifer had been close friends once. But that wasn't why she felt sick now. Jennifer was her link to Ryan. Without her, all Cody had to work with was some nameless camp.

"Megan?"

She cleared her throat. "I'm here." She forced Jennifer's condition from her mind and focused on Ryan. "There's a camp. She said something about a camp."

"To us, too. We're running a search now. Will you be at this number?"

"Leave a message if you hear the voice mail."

"I will."

Cody started to shut off the phone when she heard Mei's voice call her name. "Yeah?"

"We'll find him."

Cody bit back a harsh retort. She hung up without answering.

As the colonel drove toward the Sierras, Cody plugged the phone connection into her laptop. She waited through the series of beeps and clicks that told her she was there. It was so dark it was almost impossible to see anything outside the car. She let the colonel do the driving and focused on the small screen in front of her.

A small gray box appeared, confirming her connection, and she launched Microsoft Internet Explorer and chose the first bookmark— www.ivegotpeter.com.

The picture loaded slowly, one tiny row after another, but she knew instantly that it was a new one. She gasped at the promise of new information.

"Tell me what you see," the colonel said, keeping his eyes on the road.

"Not much yet. Mostly white walls again. A tiny bit of ceiling." She waited, her pulse making double time with the
whoosh
of the windshield wipers pushing the snow off the glass.

As the room slowly appeared, Cody searched left and right for Ryan. Finally the small round top of his head appeared. "He's there—lying on the floor, it looks like."

"Anything new?"

She knew the colonel meant bugs, and she scanned Ryan's clothing and the area around him. "I can't tell. It's too dark."

The colonel punched the button overhead for her reading light.

"It'll be too hard for you to see the road."

He shook his head. "I can drive. You find us something new."

She brought her legs up and crossed them under her, pulling the screen closer to her nose. Ryan was lying on his belly with a magazine open in front of him. "It's a new one." She couldn't tell what the magazine was, although from the small portion of his face she could see, he seemed interested. She wished he were looking at her.

Unlike the pictures before it, this one was taken at a distance. He was wearing the same clothes, but that was almost all she could confirm. From the small side view, there was no way to be sure he was truly okay. She imagined a huge laceration bleeding out on the other side of his face and forced the image away. He was fine. He looked fine.

She studied his surroundings but found nothing else to add any value. The carpet beneath him was short and gray with flecks of other colors. It looked very generic, and she was certain it would offer them no clues. There was a small metal mixing bowl in front of him, and she imagined at home it might be filled with microwave popcorn. The scene was peaceful, and from his posture, Ryan could just as easily have been lying on a friend's floor.

"You're awfully quiet."

"I can't find anything distinctive yet."

"Describe what you see."

"White walls. No visible texture. Gray Berber-like carpet. Ryan's lying on his belly, horizontally across the picture. The left side of his face is visible. He's looking at a magazine or something. I can't tell what it is. There's a small metal mixing bowl." She exhaled. "Damn it. That's all. Nothing else. No lights, no furniture."

"It look like the same place?"

"Maybe. There's nothing to suggest it is. And nothing to suggest it isn't."

"What about insects?"

She shook her head, inspecting the picture again. "Nothing."

"You're sure?"

"No. I can't be sure. It's too dark."

The colonel turned on his blinker and shifted lanes.

Cody looked up to see Landon's Porsche still in the left lane. "What are you doing?"

The colonel met her gaze for the first time since they'd left the dead boy's crime scene. "I'm pulling over so we can take a good look at that picture."