The Good Spy (28 page)

CHAPTER 70

A
fter testing the rental equipment, Laura and Nick returned to the galley for coffee. While sitting with Nick at the mess table, Laura dozed off. Nick shook her awake, led her to Captain Miller's cabin, and ordered her to rest, promising that he'd wake her at five o'clock—a couple of hours away.

She lay on the bunk, fully clothed and covered with a blanket from the locker. After an hour's sleep, a wave of nausea woke her; then the queasiness passed. Although partially refreshed, Laura remained antsy, especially over Captain Miller's injury.

Laura turned on her side and focused on Yuri's decompression—another worry. She pulled the blanket over her shoulders but was not ready to sleep again.

Her ordeal would soon be over and she'd be able to rest. Once Yuri and his crewmates were safely ashore, Laura would arrange for both Captain Miller and the
Hercules
to return to Seattle. She planned to return to her Redmond home and collapse.

Laura smiled as she recalled the news about the singular uncertainty that had consumed her for the past day.

While in Vancouver, she'd asked Nick to stop at a pharmacy. She needed a few personal items. He waited in the Suburban; she purchased three different brands.

Before napping, she'd tested herself in the privacy of a shipboard lavatory.

Laura closed her eyes. She caressed her abdomen with a hand and whispered, “Are you a boy or a girl?”

* * *

Nick Orlov stepped into the head located off the main cabin. About the size of a phone booth, it contained a toilet, a miniature sink, and storage lockers. After three cups of coffee, he needed to relieve himself.

Finished, he zipped up and faced the sink.

Nick washed his hands and looked at the mirror mounted above the sink. He rubbed his right hand across the two-day-old chin stubble. He needed a shave.

Nick turned his torso to open the door when Captain Miller's .45, stuffed in the small of his back, snagged a locker handle. He sucked in his belly to clear the obstruction. He turned the knob and stepped out.

In the passageway next to the head he noticed movement to his right side.

A blinding flash seared his eyes and everything went black.

CHAPTER 71

L
aura hovered on that fine line between awareness and apparition. The dream had faded and with it, any memory of that seemingly real-life encounter. For eight minutes, but what seemed like hours, she'd been back in a Caltech classroom agonizing over a physics examination she hadn't prepared for.

Laura turned over in the bunk and faced the cabin's interior. Now that the sun had set, the stateroom was dark.

Laura settled into her new body position, not yet asleep, when she sensed an environmental shift. Her nostrils twitched, detecting the alien odor.

Her eyes opened. She stared into the blackness.

What is that?
It took a few seconds.
Booze!

She sat up. That's when she heard it: a telltale creak in the mahogany deck boards.

“Who's there?” she called out, her voice quavering.

No response.

Her heart rate spiked; her arm and leg muscles contracted.

She fumbled for the bunk-side light.

She flipped it on.

Ken Newman stood three feet from the bunk. He gripped the fish billy with his right hand, smacking its kill end into his left palm.

His eyes focused onto Laura's; he fed on the terror she radiated.

“You two-timing bitch, I'm going to beat the crap out of you!”

He stepped forward, the oak club cocked and ready.

The first swing whacked Laura's right forearm; she'd managed to lift her hands in defense.

Ken raised the club for another swing, but Laura initiated a preemptive strike of her own. She pulled her knees to her chest, and then thrust her legs outward. The heels of her stocking feet slammed into Ken's belly.

He reeled backward, crashing into a locker.

Laura sprang out of the bunk and rushed for the door. She almost made it through when Ken counterattacked. He lunged forward and his left hand snagged an ankle.

She smashed onto the deck.

CHAPTER 72

H
is head throbbed, the coppery bite of blood flooded his mouth, and his right eyebrow was swollen to twice its normal size. Nick Orlov lay facedown on the hardwood deck in Captain Miller's cabin. He smelled the polish. His hands, bound behind his back, were knotted to his ankles and cinched up into a hog-tie position. His joints screamed.

Voices broadcast somewhere to his left. He turned his head toward the closed cabin door. Its louvered vents still transmitted.

He concentrated on the male voice.

* * *

“What a crock, Laura. Do you think I'm gullible enough to believe a fairy tale like that?”

“But it's true.”

Ken Newman towered over his wife. The fish billy remained in his right hand.

Laura cowered at the base of the galley table, her lower legs tucked under her buttocks and her bound wrists resting in her lap. Blood stained her blouse, spillage from a lip tear. Besides the deep ache inside the arm walloped by the billy, Laura's right knee throbbed; she'd slammed it on the deck when Ken tripped her. Her hands and outstretched arms absorbed much of the impact, but not all.

Ken set the bludgeon on the table and grabbed a bottle of Redhook from the refrigerator. After removing the cap, he took a healthy swig and turned back toward Laura. “Who is this other jerk, the gimp?”

“His name is Yuri. He's the one who jumped overboard from the freighter.”

“So how many times has he screwed you?”

“It's not like that!”

“Oh, sure. What was that little love nest down at the beach all about?”

* * *

My God, that must be her husband, thought Nick.

He knew bits and pieces of Laura's past; Yuri had told him about the beatings.

He strained to pick up Laura's voice.

* * *

“I rented the house—to get away from you!”

“Is that what your shyster lawyer told you to do—so she could serve the divorce papers on me?”

“Yes.”

“So this Russian guy washes up on the beach and you take him in like a stray dog!”

“Not exactly.”

“Well, be exact.”

“He broke into the house, thinking it was vacant. He took me prisoner.”

“Oh, come on, Laura, that's pure bullshit. I saw you with him.”

“No, just wait. He was hurt and didn't know what to do. After he'd recovered some, he asked for my help—to defect.”

“Why didn't you just call the cops?”

“That's what I wanted to do—call the FBI. He insisted on contacting the State Department. He wanted nothing to do with the FBI or the police. He thinks they're all thugs.”

* * *

Orlov was dazzled with Laura's seamless mix of fact and fiction. If he weren't already part of the storyline, he'd believe her, too.

* * *

Ken said, “The Russian wants to defect to the good old U S of A, and the bozo hog-tied in the cabin is a CIA agent who is supposed to help him?”

“Yes, except he said he's with the State Department, but that might be just a cover—I'm not sure who he works for.”

“I see,” Ken said. He dropped his nuke. “So what's this stuff about chartering a plane to Finland?”

“What?”

“I heard you talking with your so-called State Department guy—back at that beach house.”

“You were there?”

“That's right. I heard everything. You were talking about planning a charter flight from Vancouver to Finland. Now that doesn't fit very well with your defector bullshit, does it?

“Oh,” he continued, “I almost forgot, what's the story about the sub?”

* * *

“Súka,”—
bastard
—
mumbled Nick, now horrified at Ken Newman's disclosure about the
Neva.

He strained to move his bound hands around the small of his back. Captain Miller's .45 wasn't there.

Nick worked at the bindings.

* * *

Laura stared at the deck, devastated by Ken's revelation. Near panic, she tried to recall what she and Nick had discussed:
Flying from Vancouver to Finland—Passports—the
Neva
. Oh no! What else?

“Come on, Laura, no more BS. What are you really doing with these people up here?”

He leaned against one of the galley counters a couple of steps away, beer in hand.

“What do you want, Ken?”

“Just the truth, babe, just the truth.”

“I can't tell you.”

“Sure you can. But if you don't I'm sure there's a couple of guys up at the Point Roberts border station that would really like to have a little chat with you and your friend.” He gestured toward Miller's stateroom and grinned. “He's not with the State Department—I heard him speaking Russian. He's from Russia!”

Laura bowed her head and closed her eyes.

“Come on, Laura, what's the real story here?” He took another swig.

She looked up. “I'll sign over half my stock—right now, if you'll just get out of my life and forget about all of this.”

Ken said, “I don't care about the damn stock. Now, what's really going on up here?”

Laura's trump card had failed. She turned away, devastated.

“Come on, Laura, fess up.”

Desperate, she again faced her husband. “Ken, I'm preg—” But she stopped in mid word, instantly sensing it would be a horrible mistake to reveal her secret. Ken would never believe the child was his—it would be an excuse to beat her again.

“What was that?” he asked.

Laura changed tactics, now in pure survival mode. “I'm a Russian agent, Ken. I've been passing secrets from the company to Russia for a year.”

“Wa—what?”

“I'm helping the Russians.”

“You really are a Russian spy!”

“I work for them.”

“They're paying you?”

“No, of course not. I volunteered.”

Ken's eyes ballooned.
“You what?”

“I can't stand our government. It's going to drag us into a war for sure. Russia needs all the help it can get, so I decided to . . .”

Laura delivered her punch line. “Ken. If you turn me in, the government will confiscate everything I own. That means all of the stock will go away. You'll get nothing.”

CHAPTER 73

T
he
Neva
surfaced inside Canadian waters. Captain Borodin and his observation team climbed to the bridge atop the sail.

Borodin raised his night vision scope and peered northeastward. The beacon at Lighthouse Point, Point Roberts, flashed every quarter minute.

Borodin set his NVD aside and picked up the portable radio set. He keyed the microphone and began transmitting. The encrypted UHF signal had an effective range of about twenty kilometers—deliberately limited to minimize detection.

“Tiger, this is Lion. Come in, over.” Borodin spoke in Russian, using the pre-arranged code names that he and Orlov had agreed on the previous night.

No response.

Borodin repeated the call.

No response again.

He waited thirty seconds and tried again, “Tiger, this is Lion, acknowledge, over.”

* * *

“What the hell is that about?” Ken Newman said as he eyed the portable radio on the galley table. Orlov had set the Russian military radio on standby mode after checking the unit earlier. A tinny voice had just broadcast foreign call signs through its speaker.

“Don't answer it,” warned Laura.

“Why not?”

“You say the wrong thing, and they'll come and kill us all.”

“Is that your spymaster calling?”

“Worse—it's a detachment of Russian commandos. They're waiting offshore on a boat to rendezvous with us.”

“Dammit, Laura! What are you mixed up in?”

“Walk away from this—you'll live. Keep poking around and you won't.”

* * *

Borodin prepared to make another transmission when his radio speaker burst to life: “Whoever is out there jabbering on this channel, speak English.”

“What's this?” Borodin muttered, baffled at the response.

The two portable radios and their encryption software were unique to each other; the chances of a third party picking up the initial transmission, decoding it, and resending on the same frequency were out of this world.

Borodin had limited English-speaking skills. “I talk with Orlov,” he said. “Put on frequency, please.”

“He's not available. You're going to have to deal with me.”

Something's wrong here, Borodin thought. “Stand by,” he replied in English, and set the portable radio aside. He called the
Neva
's electronic countermeasures officer over the main intercom: “Fyodor, I need a fix on the next transmission from the portable unit. Can you do it?”

“Affirmative, Captain. Give me thirty seconds to set up an intercept.”

Borodin activated the portable radio. “Tiger, Lion. Who is speaking, please?”

“A concerned citizen. Now, who are you and what do you want?”

Borodin waited for his ECM officer. It took just ten seconds.

“Captain, the signal originates from the northeast—in line with Point Roberts.”

Borodin activated the transmitter. “Put Orlov on frequency now!”

Twenty seconds passed and no response.

Borodin repeated the call.

* * *

Ken was about to respond when a voice from behind called out a warning: “Step away from that radio or I'll shoot you!”

Elena Krestyanova stood in the open aft doorway to the main cabin. She held a pistol with both hands, aiming at Ken's chest.

Ken dropped the microphone and raised his hands in stunned surrender.

“Where's Nicolai?” Elena demanded as she stepped farther into the cabin.

“Who?” Ken asked.

Laura answered, “He's in Captain Miller's cabin, tied up.” With her bound wrists, she pointed to the closed door ahead of Elena.

As Elena walked forward, Laura noticed that Ken was staring at the bulkhead to his left. Mounted to the wall just a step away was a red-handled fire ax with a wicked pick end and a fire extinguisher.
Oh no!

Elena stood next to Miller's cabin door. With her left hand still gripping the Beretta, she released her right hand from the grip; the pistol remained targeted on Ken. She reached for the door. As soon as she turned the knob, Ken made his move.

With common sense and ordinary fear muted by alcohol, Ken yanked the twenty-pound fire extinguisher from its wall mount and hurled it at Elena. The steel cylinder smacked her rib cage under her extended left arm. The Beretta spilled onto the deck and she dropped to her knees.

As Elena scurried to retrieve her pistol, Ken fished for something inside his coat pocket. Laura watched horrified as he pulled out Miller's .45. Before Laura could yell, he pulled the trigger. The slug plowed into a mahogany deck plank six inches from Elena's left thigh. The report rang. The stink of gunpowder flooded the cabin.

Elena froze in place.

“All right, blondie,” Ken said with the smoking Colt still pointed her way. “You just sit tight right there or I might have to punch a few holes in those lovely tits of yours.”

Elena, on her knees, remained motionless.

The portable radio broadcast in English: “Tiger, Lion. Come in.”

Ken faced Laura. “Tell your Russian buds that we're going off the air for a while.”

* * *

Captain Borodin was about to repeat his call, when an English-speaking female voice broadcast from the speaker: “Lion, this is Tiger. We have a situation here. We'll get back to you later. Out.”