Ultraviolet

Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

FIVE MINUTES PASSED, then ten, before footsteps came into the bedroom and the coats over me were lifted away. Elizabeth looked down at me, hands on her hips and one eyebrow raised.

“Okay, this had better be good. I’m dying to know why we just helped you to escape from General Fuckwit and his merry band of assholes.”

The first thing I noticed was that her West Coast accent had vanished, replaced by clipped English tones. The second thing was that she wasn’t Elizabeth anymore. Well, she was, but not the giggling, irritating, simpering Elizabeth who’d been there a quarter of an hour ago. This Elizabeth was calm, self-assured, and perfectly composed. I met her gaze, and she held my eyes with an unforgiving stare.

I fought to keep my face blank as a groan rose in my throat. f**k. I’d fallen right into the trap I’d set for others so many times before. I’d taken Elizabeth at face value and grossly underestimated her. Inwardly, I cursed first myself and then Zacharov. Three years in that hole had dulled my senses, which was why I found myself trapped on a plane at ten thousand feet with a woman who very much reminded me of the person I’d been before my prison sentence began.

I didn’t take my eyes off her as I reached for my gun, praying it was loaded with ammunition that wouldn’t go through the plane as well as her head should I need to fire it. In a situation like this, I’d want MagSafe, which would fragment on impact, making a nice mess of the target while leaving everything behind it untouched. Oh, who was I kidding? Yevgeny had probably never even heard of MagSafe.

“Don’t even think about it.”

Dammit, I’d blinked, and now she had a gun in her hand. A Walther P88.

“And I know what’s going through your mind,” she said. “Yes, it’s loaded with MagSafe, and no, I won’t miss.”

“Shit.” The word escaped my lips as I laid my head back. Out of the f*****g frying pan and straight into hell, part two.

“Oh, for crying out loud. Get up.”

She motioned to the bed with the barrel of the gun as I calculated angles and distances. Could I take her down safely? She stepped back a pace. No. I couldn’t.

She sighed. “I’m not going to shoot you, but I know you’ve got a weapon of some sort on you, and I’d rather you didn’t use it.”

If the situation was reversed, I wouldn’t choose to fire at that point, so I got to my knees, careful to keep my hands in view. The last thing I wanted was for Tabby to end up in the middle of a gunfight.

“What have you got?” Elizabeth asked.

I shrugged. At this point in time, it didn’t matter. “A Makarov.”

She laughed. “There’s a reason why they’re cheap.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers.”

“I guess not. Give me the mag, eject the round in the chamber, and I’ll put mine away.”

I released the magazine while the gun was aimed at the floor and tossed it in her direction. She caught it without looking and tucked her Walther behind her back. I did the same with the Makarov. Even without the ammunition, I could use it to do a significant amount of damage to a normal person, but I had a feeling Elizabeth was anything but normal.

A muffled “Mama” sounded from the closet, and our eyes flicked in that direction.

“Do you mind?” I asked.

“Be my guest.”

I had to turn my back on Elizabeth to get Tabby, which caused my throat to tighten, but I made the effort to smile as I picked my daughter up and hugged her tightly against me. “It’s okay, katyonak,” I whispered, hating that I had to lie to her.

When I straightened, Elizabeth was leaning against the wall by the door, a less aggressive stance than before. I followed her lead and sat on the edge of the bed with Tabby cradled on my lap.

“You want something to eat?” Elizabeth asked. She smiled at Tabby, and the knot in my stomach loosened just a little.

Tabby looked back and forth between Elizabeth and me, eyes wide. The only other woman she’d seen was Olga, whose position as Tabby’s de facto nanny while I went away on jobs always bothered me since it was obvious she hated kids. And now here was this smiling brunette, and Tabby’s confusion was written all over her face.

“Are you hungry?” I asked her.

She nodded and rubbed her stomach.

“And you?” Elizabeth asked.

“Yes, please.”

She stuck two fingers in her mouth and whistled, and a few seconds later, her bodyguard cracked the door open.

“You summoned?”

“I did.”

He pushed the door all the way open and peered in. “Oh, good. You haven’t killed each other yet. Did you want something other than my presence?”

“Be a babe and bring some food, would you?”

“Any preferences?”

“As long as it’s not that Russian s**t I’ve been eating all week, I don’t care.”

“Not a fan of the pirozhki, then?” I asked.

“Every time I took a bite, a rock gave up its soul.”

The guy raised an eyebrow at me, and I was momentarily at a loss. I couldn’t remember the last time somebody asked for my preference on anything. Actually, I could. Three years and one month ago, when Tabby’s father took me out for what was to be our last meal together. Nothing expensive, just steak and chips at an American-style diner in Moscow, but because it was with him, the steak tasted like the best I’d ever eaten.

Stop it, Seven. I couldn’t dwell on the past. Sam Jessop was nothing more than a memory now, a ghost whose image grew fainter with every passing day. Tabby was the only thing left of him, and I needed to get a grip for her sake.

“I’ll eat anything.”

When the bodyguard left, Elizabeth sat on the bed and scooted back until she was sitting on one pillow. “What was that about?”

I clutched Tabby tighter. “What was what about?”

“You disappeared there.”

“It was nothing.” I didn’t mean to snap, but I couldn’t help it.

“Fine, be like that. And you still haven’t answered my first question.”

What question? Oh, right. Why was I escaping from Base 13? “Let’s just say General Zacharov and I no longer see eye to eye.”

“That’s all you’re gonna give me?”

“What else do you want?”

“Are you defecting?”

“No, I’m quitting.”

“Quitting what?”

“My previous life.”

“Which is…?”

“You don’t give up, do you?”

She grinned. “It’s one of my better qualities.”

“I worked for Zacharov, on…various projects. But over the last few years, he’s been more and more difficult to get along with, and the only other way to leave his employment would have been feet first. But I have a daughter now.”

“What about her father? Will he come after her?”

I understood her real question—did Tabby’s father work at Base 13? “Her father is dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

The door opened again, and the bodyguard came back with an armful of packets. “Sorry, it’s all pre-processed junk until we land. You want coffee?”

“You already know my answer,” Elizabeth said.

I nodded. “Please.”

“Milk? Sugar?”

“Neither.”

Tabby’s eyes lit up at the sight of all the colourful snacks, and I helped her to open a bag of cookies. She tried to stuff a whole one into her mouth and crumbs went everywhere.

“Sorry. She doesn’t often get sweet things.”

Elizabeth smiled faintly. “Don’t worry. It’s not my plane, anyway. The UN can pick up the valet bill.”

I opened a bag of chips and helped myself to a soda. The food was far from gourmet, but compared to the fish and potatoes Olga served up for almost every meal, it tasted like a little piece of heaven.

The bodyguard came back again with two plastic mugs, one for me and one for Elizabeth. I blew the steam away from mine and took a sip, relishing the burn as the coffee slid down my throat. My cell was so far from the kitchen, all my meals got served lukewarm, and although I had a heater, it had barely taken the edge off the Siberian winter. I’d spent the last three years freezing. Tabby had never felt the sun on her face, and the vitamin D tablets we took daily were no substitute for spending time outdoors.

In those three years, I hadn’t dared to make any plans for the future. Doing so would have felt like tempting fate. But now I needed to think about the logistics, and I knew one thing—our final destination would be hot.

“Where are we going?” I asked Elizabeth.

She took a sip of her coffee. “Switzerland first to drop off the weapons inspectors, then the United States. Take your pick—Geneva or Virginia.”

I noticed she didn’t class herself among them. “So you’re not a weapons inspector?”

Her shrill American accent came back. “No, I was the comic relief.”

“What were you doing at the base?”

“A favour.”

“Is that all you’re going to give me?” I echoed her earlier words back to her.

She paused, considering her words. “General Zacharov has upset a few people.”

It wasn’t a proper answer, but I couldn’t blame her for being evasive, not when she barely knew me. “General Zacharov has the finesse of a bull.”

She wrinkled her nose. “And Vlad smelled like one.”

“I’m not sure he ever takes a bath.”

“It wasn’t just him. There’s a serious personal hygiene problem on Base 13.”

“You didn’t seem to mind when you were posing for pictures with them earlier.”

“I needed photos for my report, and it was easier to get them to pose than rely on a lapel camera. Those often come out blurry.”

“Good call, suka.” I called her a b***h without thinking, and from me, it was meant as a compliment.

She took it as one. “Thanks. I do try.”

I knew at that moment I’d met a kindred spirit. My first genuine smile in years crept onto my face, and Elizabeth grinned back.

Russians had a saying, “To smile with no reason is the sign of a fool,” but today, I had a reason.

Then the door opened, and the bodyguard held out a phone. “Lizzie, James is on the line.”

She made a face. “I’ve got to take this. It’ll probably be a long one. You should get some rest.”

Once the door closed behind her, I realised she was right. All the adrenaline had seeped out of me and been replaced by a gnawing tiredness, as so often happened after a job.

But even exhaustion couldn’t mask the tingle of elation growing inside me. The hard part was over. We’d left Base 13, and now we had the choice of Switzerland or the United States to disappear in. It wasn’t a difficult decision. My English was better than my German and my French, so I’d be more comfortable in America. Plus, Tabby’s father had come from Massachusetts, and although it wasn’t a great basis for such an important decision, I wanted Tabby to see the country he’d called home.

With Elizabeth back in the main cabin, I rummaged through the bedroom for anything that might be useful. The closet held a few items of women’s clothing, and I quickly pulled on a soft purple sweater under my own black polo neck so it wouldn’t show, as well as rolling up a pair of leggings and stuffing them into my jacket pocket.

The flight case was mostly empty, but I found a blank legal pad and a pen that would come in useful before hitting the jackpot in the nightstand drawer. A knife glinted up at me, and not just any knife. The Emerson CQC-6 was my tactical knife of choice, designed for one purpose: killing people. Elizabeth’s? I pocketed it, hoping it wouldn’t come in handy later. I didn’t need that kind of drama in my life anymore.

Blood stained my soul.

I’d hoped to find cash, but apart from a stray nickel under the bed, I came up empty. I’d need to steal money when we landed. No, my days of dancing on the wrong side of the law weren’t over yet.

Without my watch, I didn’t know for sure how long we had until the plane landed in Geneva, but I guessed at two or three hours. Elizabeth was right—I needed to sleep. But first I wanted to write a letter, a thank you, if you like.

Beside me, Tabby yawned, and I cleared the mess of food packets out of the way and tucked her under the blanket.

“Sleep, katyonak.”

Her forehead felt so soft as I pressed my lips against her skin.

As she snuggled against me, safe at last, I leaned against the wall and began to write.