Two Evils (16 page)

After a full minute or so of settling his mind and his nerves, he lifted his head and reached for his cell phone. Dialing up Rex’s number, he explained what he wanted, which was access to a safe house not too far away and a doctor who could be trusted, as well as an unmarked vehicle they could use for pick-up and transport.

“You do realize I’m just an analyst
, right? I ain’t no OO like you,” Rex told him. “Your kind gathers the intel, my kind analyzes that intel. That’s how it works.”

“Yeah, but you’re
my
analyst,” John said with a grin. “And you’ve assisted me with logistics many times before. I’m sure you can handle this.”

Rex scoffed over the phone. “Sure wish I had your confidence. Look, why not just pick these guys up and turn them over? They’re soldiers. This whole thing is a military operation—let the military handle it.”

“It became more than just a military operation the moment Wainright called the agency for help,” John pointed out. “Plus, Billie has suspicions that the general is hiding something.”

He knew Rex was grinning when he said, “Oh, so it’s
Billie
now, is it? You’re doing this ‘cause you’ve got a thing for her.”

John snorted. He was not about to admit anything—certainly not the truth. “You’re delusional. The woman pointed a g
un at my head no less than two times in the last thirty-six hours, Rex. If anything, I’ll be glad when this is over. I do, however, trust her instincts. She saved my life twice in St. Thomas, and frankly General Wainright rubbed me the wrong way, too. He hasn’t even told the dead soldier’s family that he’s dead, which is pretty fucked up given the guy’s baby sister is working right there in the Pentagon.”

“Okay, I admit that’s a bit on the shady side,” Rex conceded. “But I say again, it’s a military op. Why not just pass that info to some other general and let them handle it?”

“Maybe I should,” John said with a sigh. “But you know me, buddy. I can’t let this go.”

“Yeah. Once you’ve made your mind up, there’s no changing it. So what do you want to do?”

“First, get me my safe house, car, and doctor. Make sure the doc has any medical supplies he or she will need, as I imagine blood should be drawn for testing. It’s possible IQ-56 is out of the guys’ systems, but probably best to take precautions.”

“You want some security on the safe house in case one or more of these guys wigs out like the other one did?” Rex asked, and John could hear him clacking away on his computer keyboard as he spoke.

“That’s a good idea too. Just a skeleton crew, mind you,” he agreed.

“Got it. Now what about this General Wainright character? What do you want to do about your girl’s belief he’s up to no good?”

John chose to ignore the jibe about Billie being his girl. “I think it best we start with last night. Billie made a good point when she told me that he should have been more eager to see her given how adamant he was about us finding her quickly. He was out of the office last night and this morning we waited nearly an hour before our meeting with him.”

“Well, I shouldn’t have to remind you that this morning you showed up at the Pentagon to see a brigadier general without making an appointment well in advance,” Rex pointed out. “And last night it was late when you got there, and he was at a hospital waiting on his first grandchild.”

“Check into that deeper, will you?” John said, a thought occurring to him. “Make sure he was actually at the hospital, and confirm how long he stayed there.”

“It’s as good a place to start as any, I suppose,” his friend mumbled. “I’ll call you back when I have your safe house.”

“Thanks, Rex. I owe you one.”

Rex chuckled. “You owe me a lot more than one. Later, man.”

Shaking his head, John felt himself grinning as he hung up the phone. He slipped it into his pocket and reached for the door handle as a taxi rolled past, though he paid no more mind to it as he got out and stretched his legs. As he was shutting the car door, he noticed that the house the Charger was parked in front of had a For Sale sign stuck into the front yard, and had the odd thought that maybe Billie should look into buying it.

When he turned around to head back to her father’s house, he froze in place upon seeing a man in dark blue jeans and a brown leather bomber jacket peeking in a downstairs window. He watched the brown-haired stranger attempt to slip his fingers under the sash of a window to the living room, heard his growl of frustration when he found it locked.

The next thing John knew, his feet were carrying him across the street at a fast clip. “In broad fuckin’ daylight, man?!” he shouted as he stepped up on the curb. “You’ve got some balls!”

The man started and turned toward him, a scowl on his face. “Just who the fuck are you?” he challenged hotly as he started toward him.

“Call me a concerned citizen, asshole,” John replied snidely, swinging his fist as soon as the man was within range. It was aimed to catch him full on the cheek, but his opponent jerked his head back and all he caught was chin.

The man immediately countered by throwing a punch of his own and catching him on the left side of his face. He didn’t have time to dwell on how much it hurt or the stars that suddenly appeared before his eyes—or the fact that he’d already been in one fight that day. John could only react, twisting his body so that he could deliver a powerful uppercut. This blow landed right where he wanted it to, snapping the other man’s head back sharply and causing him to stumble. This seemed to enrage the fellow, who bellowed loudly and charged him.

All John knew for the next few minutes were pain and anger as he and the trespasser traded punches. He landed blows to the man’s face and midsection; his opponent did the same to him. That the fight was taking so long began to irritate him, and so he aimed to make his strikes more targeted. He had to take this SOB down.

So focused were the two that they missed the appearance of the Ryans from the back yard. They missed Andy’s shout of warning to his sister, followed by Thomas’s declaration to let her handle it. And John honestly couldn’t say who threw the punch that knocked Billie to the ground, but he and the stranger both froze when it dawned on them she’d been hit.

He looked down to find her glaring up at them, a hand on her left shoulder rubbing where she’d been struck. “Billie, I’m sorry,” he said at the same time the stranger asked, “Billie, are you okay?”

Her sky-blue eyes were winter cold as she slowly got to her feet. She shot them each a withering stare, then in a blur of movement, reached up and slammed their heads together.

Pain exploded from the point of impact and he stumbled backward, satisfied to see the stranger doing the same.

“Fuck, She-Devil! What the hell was that for?!” the other man asked.

In reply she merely said, “Maj. Gabriel Lincoln, meet Special Agent John Courtney. I’m going back to my dinner now—you’re both welcome to join my family and me if you’re through acting like macho morons.”

Billie, her brothers, and her father turned to depart. John looked at Gabe. “Billie said she was expecting you—why didn’t you just use the gate?”

Gabe shrugged. “Force of habit,” he replied. “Had to make sure someone was home.”

He shook his head. “There are cars in the driveway,” he pointed out as they made to follow their hosts. “That’s usually indicative that people are home. Not to mention I was right across the street.”

“The house across the street is for sale,” Gabe countered. “I thought you were the real estate agent, or some corporate schmuck checking out a potential new house for his family.”

“And you didn’t stop to think that said real estate agent or corporate schmuck might see you climbing through a window?”

Gabe merely raised his hands in the air, then stepped through the gate ahead of him. He made a beeline for the picnic table and took a seat to Billie’s left. “Did you save me a steak like you promised?”

John frowned as he watched Gabe bump Billie’s shoulder with his, a grin on his face in opposition to her scowl. She wordlessly shoved a covered plate toward him and returned her attention to the cheese cubes on her own.

“You’re a doll, Billie,” Gabe told her, leaning over to kiss her cheek before lifting the top plate and reaching for a knife and fork.

Jealousy, which John knew he had no right to feel, burned a painful hole in his gut, and it was an effort to maintain a calm façade as he returned to his place on Billie’s right. He was not remiss to the frown that crossed Gabe’s face, nor the look shared between the Ryan men, but he ignored both. He merely picked up the half-empty bottle of Bud he’d left on the table before going to make his call, then held the warming but still chilly bottle to his head, which was now pounding from the force of the head-butt Billie had inflicted.

With a sigh, he set it down and turned to Billie. “I’m sorry,” he said again. A moment later he had the thought,
Why am
I
apologizing to
her
? She’s the one who
—

Well, you
did
just get into a fist fight with one of her best friends in her father’s front yard because neither of you stopped to introduce yourselves. So yeah, dumbass, you should have apologized
, his conscience snapped at him.

She looked up at him, and though he could tell she was trying to keep up the appearance that she was pissed, in her eyes he saw…was that concern?

“Thank you,” she said simply. Then she turned to Gabe and said, “Hell of a way to introduce yourself to the man who may well be saving your sorry ass.”

Gabe had been shoveling potato salad onto his plate next to the steak, but he paused and looked at her with a confused frown. “You’re joking, right?”

“Boys, I believe this is the part of the show where the extras exit stage right,” Thomas said, standing.

Andy nodded and rose, but Kevin stayed in place, his elbows planted on the edge of the table and a cocky smile on his face behind his clasped hands. His brother slapped him on the shoulder, and when he didn’t budge, Andy grabbed his arm and yanked him out of his seat.

“Aw, come on! It was just getting good!” he protested as he was dragged behind their father’s retreating footsteps.

Billie waited until they’d gone into the house before quietly gathering her plate and utensils and standing. She casually walked around the picnic table and deposited the items in the middle on the other side, opposite where she’d been sitting before. She then moved to the cooler and retrieved two Budweisers and a Mike’s Hard Lemonade, setting the latter by her plate and holding the beers out to the two men across from her.

John took his with a mumbled “Thanks”. Gabe took his wordlessly, and only then did Billie sit again. She opened her wine cooler and took a drink before she spoke.

“No, Thunderhead, I am not joking. I realized the only way to get you, the Professor, and Spin Doctor to safety was to utilize the resources available to me,” she said slowly. “John is one of those resources.”

Gabe threw a glance in his direction before looking back to Billie and saying, “And just how the hell is he going to pull that off?”

“A safe location is being arranged for you as we speak,” John said. “As soon as I have confirmation, we’ll leave here to pick up a vehicle enabling us to retrieve your comrades. I’ll then take you to the safe house, where you’ll be treated by a doctor if necessary.”

“We’re also going to take a closer look at General Wainright,” Billie added, looking to him as though to make sure. John nodded. “We can only put out a few feelers at this point, but it’s better than nothing.”

Gabe looked at her for a moment and then nodded. “Wish we had more to go on then our gut instinct,” he muttered darkly.

“Hopefully the feelers I’ve got my man putting out will uncover a thread we can pull,” John said.

Gabe turned to him again. “And you’re all for this? Why are you even stretching your neck out for us? The CIA’s involvement ended the moment you brought Billie back.”

John glanced at Billie, who seemed just as interested in his answer as her fellow Marine. He turned a level gaze on the man next to him and said, “I believe I’ve gotten to know Billie fairly well since I met her two days ago—at least enough to believe her when she says that something is wrong. She asked for my help. I’m going to give her as much of it as I can.”

For a long time Gabe just stared at him. John felt as if the other man was trying to see into his soul, though why he would search that far for whatever answers he sought was something he couldn’t figure out. He thought he’d been completely straightforward with his answer to the man’s question.

And then it came to him: Gabe had feelings for Billie. And from the look that now came into his eyes, he knew John did too.

A
fter John had declared he would give her as much of his help as he could—which, frankly, surprised the hell out of Billie—he and Gabe shared a long look that told her the latter was taking his measure.

Gabe must have seen what he wanted to see in John’s eyes, because he nodded and returned his attention to his food…and Billie released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

Man, she couldn’t believe they’d gotten into a fight. What the hell had Gabe been thinking? Why hadn’t he just come through the gate like a normal person? Asking these questions in her mind was a welcome distraction from the fact that her heart had stopped when she and her father and brothers had raced out to the front yard to find Gabe and John locked in combat—because Gabe could very easily have killed John.

Shortly thereafter, John’s cell phone rang. There were a number of clipped “Yeah” and “Got it” replies, then he hung up and slipped the phone back into his pocket. “We have our safe house,” he informed them. “And a car, which we have to go pick up.”

“So now comes the twenty-four million dollar question,” Billie said, then looked to Gabe. “Do you know where Wayne and Darren are?”

“We decided that it was best they didn’t tell me,
” Gabe said, “but Wayne gave me a clue to follow if I decided to give up waiting to see if Billie would come back, which was also meant for Billie and I to follow together if she did.”

“So what’s the clue?” John asked.

Gabe glanced at her. “Wayne said if I needed to find him, to follow the happier times to the cave. We’re supposed to know what it means, or at least be able to figure it out.”

Billie snorted lightly as she placed her elbows on the edge of the table and laced her fingers together, tapping her clasped hands against her chin. “He would use a fuckin’ riddle, wouldn’t he?” she murmured. “The Professor strikes again.”

“Do either of you actually have any idea what he’s talking about?” John queried.

“Riddles like this are meant to make us think,” she explained. “It’s one of the reasons Wayne’s codename is The Professor.”

“He’s our team leader,” Gabe added, “the one who teaches us what we need to know about any given mission.”

“Given the words he used, his location has a connection to the past,” Billie went on. “We just have to figure out whose: his, Darren’s, Eddie’s, Gabe’s, or even mine.”

John looked at her. “Does anything in your past have to do with a cave and happier times?”

Sighing, she shook her head, unclasping her hands to reach for her drink. She’d just taken a mouthful when a memory, one she’d locked away a year ago, clawed its way to the surface, and she nearly choked in her effort to swallow the liquid in her mouth.

Both of the men across from her noticed. But the frigid, achingly bitter cold of heartbreak now blinded her to their concern. For several heartbeats she did not move—she forgot to even breathe—and then she began to tremble. When she at last she breathed again, it was in shallow, sharp draws through her nose, as her lips were pressed tightly closed.

John and Gabe both tried to get her attention, but their voices sounded muffled and far away. Not even the shattering of the bottle in her hand snapped her out of the trance she’d fallen into. Billie merely looked down at her hand in a daze, as though surprised to see that it was bleeding. John, moving faster than Gabe, was around the table in a flash, grabbing a handful of napkins to staunch the flow. It was only when he pressed them to the wound that she came back to herself.

Slapping his hands away with her free one, she held the flimsy paper to the cut. “I’ve got it!” she said sharply as she stood and marched into the house, her back as stiff as steel.

John watched her go. After the back door slammed behind her he turned to Gabe, whose hands were balled into fists. Clearly the other man was angry, and it was with both confusion and concern that he asked, “What the fuck was
that all about?”

“If her reaction means what I think it does,” Gabe said tightly, “and I know Billie pretty damn well, wherever Wayne and Darren are has something to do with Travis. I ought to fucking kill that son of a bitch when I see him.”



Andre
and his team had departed St. Thomas as soon as he had finished speaking with his grandfather. Luck was on their side that they had arrived in a private plane, so they didn’t have to wade through the mess of trying to obtain a commercial flight at the last minute. Now they were in another rented SUV, speeding through the streets of Langley, Virginia to find an address Grigori’s secretary had e-mailed to him.

Thank fuck Anton had known how to operate the GPS system.

His phone trilled again.
Lisus Khristos!
he thought in annoyance—he’d already conveyed the message that they were in Virginia and had acquired transport. The least his grandfather could do would be to give them some time to get to their destination before he called to castigate them.

“
Da?
” he said when he put the phone to his ear.

“Your objective has been altered,” said Vasily, his grandfather’s secretary, in a crisp tone.

“Really now?” he countered. His voice when speaking to Vasily was snide, as he had never been able to stand the man. What the hell else could his grandfather possibly want them to do?

“That is correct,” his caller replied. “Four more targets have been added to the list. They must all be eliminated, or you are not to return home.”

Anger rushed through him. He loved St. Petersburg—home was home, damn it—and his grandfather was threatening him with banishment?!

Better banished than dead
, he mused, but then countered the thought with the chilling knowledge that even a banished man can be hunted down and shot.

Fighting the urge to shudder, Andre said to Vasily, “Who are they?”

Vasily rattled off the names. “At least one of these targets is with the woman already. He was sent to St. Thomas to retrieve her—it really is too bad you were too clumsy to kill them then.”

His blood went from merely simmering to boiling, and it was all Andre could do not to throw the phone at the windshield. Of course, what he really wanted to do was take his rage out on Vasily. Had the man been standing in front of him at that moment, he would have shot him for his insolence.
I swear, when I am in charge, he’ll be the first one I put a bullet in
…

“Pictures of the four are being sent to you,” Vasily continued. “I recommend you do not fail again.”

Before he could comment, the connection was severed. Andre loosed a mumbled string of curses as he waited for the e-mail to come through.

“What’s up, Boss?” Anton asked from beside him in the driver’s seat.

“Grandfather wishes us to kill more than just the
shlyukha
, apparently,” he replied, opening the e-mail on his cell phone. One of the pictures was indeed the man from St. Thomas, who had conveniently led them to the coffee shop—where the woman damn well
would
have been killed had the fucking police not shown up when they did. The other three were Americans as well, soldiers who were known associates of their primary target.

“
Khernya!
” Andre shouted suddenly.
How the hell are we supposed to kill these bastards if no one can find them?
he thought upon reading that the whereabouts of the soldiers was unknown.

Then an idea came to him. “Anton, please tell me you have a tracking device in your bag of tricks,” he said to his friend.

“Of course,” Anton said, turning to smile at him. “I have several—never know when you’re going to have need of one.”

“Well
, we do now. The only likely known whereabouts we have are for the woman, though the man she was with on the boardwalk is said to be with her. She is supposed to bring the others back to Virginia. If we can somehow plant one of your trackers on their vehicle—”

Anton held up a hand. “Say no more, Boss. We just have to make sure the woman is where that
govnyuk
Vasily says she is.”

Andre chuckled. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

It wasn’t long before they found the address on Weatherford. Two cars were in the driveway, and another sat across the street. Although it could have belonged to anyone, the powerful-looking vehicle screamed “cop”—and the man from St. Thomas was in the CIA. Andre ordered Mikhail to use Anton’s computer to run the plate, and as he had guessed, it came back registered to the prick.

“It’s too bad the house that’s for sale is across the street and not next door,” Mikhail observed as they cruised past. “We could have snuck in and spied on them easier.”

“A very astute observation,” Andre said. “Perhaps you are not entirely stupid.”

“We could always take over one of the next-door neighbors’ houses for a few hours,” suggested Vladimir, the last surviving member of his team. “Or however long we have to wait before we start following them.”

“I like that idea,” Andre replied. “Anton, back up—slowly, of course.”

Anton did as he directed, backing up and then pulling into the driveway of a house on the right of the Ryan address. They all got out and walked up to the door, which Vladimir opened nice and quiet with his lock pick. Inside they heard a woman singing from somewhere on the second floor; Andre put a finger to his lips as the team came in behind him, then headed for the stairs. Each tread was carpeted, silencing his careful footfalls as he walked up to the top.

The singer—a twenty-something brunette in a pink tracksuit—stepped out of a room on the right as he reached the landing, gasping loudly and dropping the basket of clothes she was carrying. She drew in a lungful of air in preparation for a scream but did not have the time to blast his ears with it, as Andre moved quickly to grab her, slapping his hand over her mouth as he slammed her into the wall. Her eyes were wide with fright as he said to her, “Speak honestly and you may yet live—are you alone in this house?”

She nodded as tears started falling from her eyes. “My men will tell me if you are lying. If they find anyone else, even a child, your death will be most painful.”

The woman whimpered pitifully as he commanded the others to search the house. Minutes went by as a search was conducted, but the report came back that the rest of the house was empty.

Andre smiled at his captive. “You’ve done very well,” he told her sweetly. “Now, I’m going to remove my hand—you may cry all you like, but if you scream, you will die. Is that understood?”

She nodded again, and he slowly moved his hand off her face. Immediately she began to sob. “P-please d-don’t h-hurt me,” she begged. “You c-can have any-anything you want.”

“Is that so?” Mikhail asked as he stepped up to Andre’s left. “Does that mean we can have you too?”

A sharp wail issued from the woman’s mouth. Andre slapped his hand back over it to shut her up, his eyes on her face as he snapped his fist up and backward—and a satisfying crack was heard as the back of his hand connected with the other man’s nose.

“You must
forgive him— I’m sorry, what is your name?” he said, ignoring Mikhail’s groans of pain. He slid his hand down again to free his captive’s mouth so she could speak.

“L-Lydia,” she mumbled.

“A very beautiful name,” Andre said with a smile. “I say again, you must forgive my comrade. He’s a complete fucking moron. We’re professional killers—not rapists. Now tell me, Lydia, do you live in this big house all by yourself?”

Lydia shook her head. “My husband…is visiting his parents. They live in Pennsylvania. His mother…had a heart attack.”

Andre tsked. “I’m very sorry to hear about your mother-in-law, Lydia. Why didn’t you go with him?”

“I couldn’t get the time off of work because I’m new. I’ve only worked at the newspaper three months,” she replied.

He frowned. “You’re not a reporter, are you?”

“No!” she cried fearfully. “I’m just maintenance—I clean the place, that’s all. I swear!”

“Shh,” he said softly, putting a finger to her lips. “I believe you. Now, is there a room on this floor that does not have a window?”

“The bathroom.”

“And do you have a cell phone on you? I’d rather not have to search you, so if it’s in one of your pockets, produce it now,” he told her.

“It’s on the kitchen table,” she replied. “Please, just let me go.”

Andre shook his head. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Lydia. Now, my comrade Vladimir is going to take you to the bathroom. You’re going to sit in there and be quiet—no noise, no calling out for help. You really are doing very well, my dear.”

He nodded at Vladimir, who had come up on his right, and the other man took Lydia by the arm, guiding her down the hall to what he presumed was the bathroom. Andre then turned to Anton, who’d just walked out of the room Lydia had exited on their arrival.

“Great news, Boss—and I mean really great news,” he said with a grin.

“You are smiling, Anton.
I hope that means I will soon be smiling as well,” Andre prodded.