Red Cicada, page 15
“I did not ask for excuse,” the man interrupted.
Tarus clenched his jaw. “Yes, comrade. I will succeed.”
“We need the disk. Red Cicada is overdue. But we can still create chaos, yes?”
“There are other ways,” he said, then immediately regretted it.
“Do not tell me how to command!”
“Yes, comrade. Red Cicada will succeed. I will see to it.”
“This is good. Svetlana is still with the lieutenant. It would be best to eliminate them both before retrieving the disk. You were sloppy last time. Do not repeat your error.”
Tarus scowled fiercely. He felt the burnt tissue on his face making his expression grossly lopsided and gargoyle-like. “I will die before I fail.”
Chapter 25
When Lance refueled his Cherokee in Ogallala, Lana assumed the driver’s seat before he had a chance to climb behind the wheel. He figured she needed to focus on something other than the way her world had flipped upside down, so he didn’t mind.
Four hours later, as they neared Lincoln, Nebraska, she said, “I have a question.”
“Shoot,” Lance said from the passenger seat.
“I’ve been going over every memory I have of my father, and I’m positive that at no time did he ever mention Red Cicada or its Russian translation.”
“Krasnaya Tsikada.”
“Whatever. My question—well, one of my questions—is did he know about it?”
Lance considered the query. “It’s doubtful he knew before his assignment in Akademgorodok. And if he learned about it while inspecting Novosibirsk Hospital, he never mentioned it later on.”
“But Goodwell did.”
“Yes. He’s the one who included the addendum in the report.”
“What did it say?”
“It’s classified informa—”
“Lance!”
He chuckled. “I was going to say it’s classified information, so don’t breathe a word of it to anyone.”
She scowled at him.
He smiled and brushed a few errant strands of hair from her face, then gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. It was a very tender gesture, and he wasn’t altogether sure why he did it—other than it felt like a natural thing to do. His smile broadened when he saw how the action caused Lana’s scowl to vanish and her neck and face to glow. But he knew it’d be short-lived. What he was about to reveal would be sobering, heart-wrenching.
He continued. “Goodwell’s addendum strongly suggested that human rights were being violated—especially those of children. He asked that an investigation be done on the research center. He said they found evidence of human experimentation on a microbial level. They documented BSL-4 clean rooms, genome splicers, numerous incubators, and an entire wing housing children from toddlers to late teens. The hospital staff said the kids were being quarantined because of smallpox, which made sense because those remote areas often don’t have access to vaccines. Goodwell took pictures of several body bags labeled with biohazard stickers.”
Lana frowned, not in anger but in sadness. “Did they die from smallpox?”
“He didn’t specify that in the report.”
“Did the morgue have other bodies besides . . .” She paused to steady her emotions. “Besides children?”
His voice hardened. “These weren’t in the morgue. The special wing had its own incinerator.”
Lana’s eyes began to glisten. “Toddlers?” she whispered.
“Apparently all ages. Makes me sick to think about it.”
They drove in silence for a few miles before Lana pulled into a rest area. Tears balancing on her lashes fell as she unbuckled her seat belt.
“You okay?” Lance asked.
“I need a minute,” she said, opening her door.
“We can talk while we’re still driving, or I can drive,” he offered.
“I just need to sort this out.” She clambered out of the SUV.
He quickly got out of the Jeep too. “Lana, wait. I really think we—”
“Leave me alone!” she yelled.
He flinched like he’d been slapped, but he persevered. “Hey, sorry. I was just trying to help—”
“You can help by letting me absorb this mountain of garbage you’ve dumped on me.” A huge sob escaped her throat. When he took a step toward her, she waved him off.
“Just . . . just give me some space. Please. I’m sorry for snapping at you, but this is a lot of information that basically means my life is a fraud.”
Not giving him a chance to reply, Lana walked quickly to a small visitors’ center.
Lance felt terrible for what he’d revealed. But she had asked for full disclosure and he wasn’t going to sugarcoat anything. Being forthright with each other was the only way they’d discover the truth. He knew the information he sought was on the disk, but the information she needed would be found only by following the clues left by Deacon Baker. If her father’s Rubik’s Cube clues led to a dead end, then Lance would be forced to make arrangements to retrieve the disk as soon as possible. The scarred Russian Tarus was clearly still after Lana. Lance knew how such agents operated. Tarus would redouble his efforts. And he would grow more ruthless.
Chapter 26
Tarus waited in his Lexus until the Ogallala Travelodge lobby was devoid of patrons, then entered with his gun hidden under his dark sport coat. The matronly receptionist looked up and gasped.
“Oh. I’m so terribly, terribly sorry,” the woman gushed, holding her hand to her chest. “I shouldn’t have reacted that way.”
“I am used to this effect,” Tarus said.
“Even so, I apologize. My name is Sarah. What can I do for you, sir?”
He pulled out a photo of Svetlana. “I am foreign attaché with CIA. I am looking for this woman. Have you seen her?”
Studiously avoiding his face, Sarah looked over the picture. “No, I’m afraid I don’t recognize her.”
“She was here this morning. She may have booked up last night.”
“Booked up?”
“How you say . . . check in?”
“What’s her name?”
“Svet—ah, Lana Baker.”
“Baker. Well, let me see . . .” The woman tapped away at a keyboard and frowned. “No, sir. I don’t have any record of a Lana Baker staying with us.”
“An alias, perhaps?”
“I can’t say. My shift started at six this morning. The night attendant went home hours ago, but he’ll be back at ten this evening if you’d like to come back.”
“I have not time. I need to see record of all check-in yesterday.”
The woman hesitated. “I’m afraid I can’t release that information, sir.”
“You must.”
The receptionist folded her arms. “I must?”
Tarus frowned deeply. “I am with CIA, you stupid woman. You must obey my command.” He longed for the glory days of the USSR, when all he had to do was say he was KGB and people did anything he asked.
The woman met his scowl with a steely glare. “I am not stupid, sir. And I don’t have to ‘obey your command.’ This is Nebraska, buddy. Where in the Sam Hill do you think you are?”
Tarus bit back a retort that probably would have come out in Russian anyway. He knew Svetlana had come to this motel with an army lieutenant named Kipling. What he really needed to know was whether they were still here. He quickly formulated another approach.
“I apologize, madam. My English is little good. I do not mean ‘command.’ What is proper word? Ask? Request? Require? Please. This is very important. Is international security matter.”
Sarah’s glare softened a bit, but she remained stone-faced.
“As you see in photo, she has beautiful blue eyes. Easy to remember, yes? She was possible with a man about her age.” He used a brochure on the desk to cover the scarred half of his face. “A good-looking man, much like myself . . . on this side.”
The woman’s face instantly showed remorse and pity. “I’m sorry, hon. I got out of line. I just hate bullheaded men, is all. Used to be married to the most worthless piece of male flesh to ever walk this earth. Thought he was God’s gift to women. Spawn of Satan, more like. Just gets my goat when men think they can push women around.” She waved off her tirade and smiled at Tarus. “You’re here on official business, so let’s see what we can do for you. Do you have identification, please?”
“You are very kind,” Tarus said, removing from his wallet a fake ID indicating he was a foreign agent with CIA-level clearance, just like he’d said. He had a collection of such IDs. “Please. What is name again?”
The receptionist pointed at her name badge. “Sarah.”
Tarus drew a soft gasp. “This is Serafima in Russian,” he lied. “It is beautiful name. It means princess. Is my daughter’s name.”
A soft glow colored Sarah’s cheeks. She used her mouse to scroll through some information on her computer. “Do you know the name of the man Ms. Baker was with?”
“Kipling.”
“First name?”
“He has many aliases. I do not know the one he currently uses.”
“Could it be Lance?” she asked with raised eyebrows.
“Is possible.”
“Then, I’m afraid you’re too late, sir. They checked out more than four hours ago.”
He cursed softly in Russian, his frustration rising quickly. “Do you know which way they travel?”
“I’m afraid not. People travel in and out of here all the time. It’s not my business to see which way they go when they leave.”
Tarus was tired of being nice. It wasn’t in his nature. The more time he wasted here, the farther away Svetlana got. “Do you have camera on car park?”
“The parking lot? Well, yes, but I can’t help you there, hon. I don’t have permission to access them. You’d need my manager for that.”
“Then, get him.”
“He’s not here at the moment. But I can leave a message if you’d like to come back.”
In a flash, Tarus reached over the short counter and grabbed Sarah’s hair. He yanked her forward while simultaneously pulling the gun from behind his back. She let out a scream but was silenced when he thrust the barrel into her mouth.
“Quiet, you stupid woman,” he growled. “I need to see which way the lieutenant and the woman drive. Where is video equipment?”
With the gun barrel in her mouth, Sarah couldn’t speak. She pointed a trembling finger to a small office behind her. Tarus dragged her along the counter until he could round the desktop, then shoved her into the back office. Slamming the door closed, he said, “Show me. Now.”
“But I—”
Her words were cut short when he pistol-whipped her across her cheek. She collapsed into a chair with a yelp of pain. Cradling her face, blood seeped between her fingers.
Tarus leaned very close. “I promise I will make your face look like mine if you do not cooperate. Is this what you want?”
“No,” she whimpered.
“Then, get video,” he said, punctuating each word. “Now.”
Sarah brought up the security feed from the previous night and ran it. Around noon, the camera captured a shot of a man and a woman leaving a room and getting into a dark-green Jeep Cherokee. A second camera showed the interstate in the background. The Jeep passed the westbound on-ramp and went under the bridge, out of the shot. It was easy to surmise they’d taken the eastbound on-ramp. The trouble with both cameras was that the images weren’t very clear.
“Is that Kipling?” Tarus asked.
“I can’t tell. Honest.”
“Did they not book out?”
“No. But that’s not uncommon. Lots of people prepay with a credit card so they can leave without stopping in. But they came out of the room that was reserved under his name, so it must be him.”
“And the woman?”
Still cradling her lacerated cheek, Sarah said, “I honestly don’t know. Like I said, the room was assigned before I got here. I never saw either of them in person.”
Tarus grunted. “This is no good. Freeze camera on back of vehicle.”
Sarah rewound the recording and stopped it as the Cherokee made a turn that revealed the back end. The license plate digits weren’t readable, but the plate design was white with a strip along the base that showed a yellow-and-black checkerboard alternately patterned with a red-and-white Maltese cross design.
“You know this plate?” he asked as he threaded a silencer to his gun barrel behind her back.
“I think it’s from Maryland. Those colors are on their state flag.”
“This is good. Thank you, Serafima.”
The shot was a muffled pop that no one outside the room would have heard. Tarus calmly donned some nitrile gloves, then used the computer mouse to access the lobby and parking lot feeds. With a few clicks, he erased the past five hours of recording while Sarah watched with lifeless eyes.
Chapter 27
Finding nothing to distract her in the visitors’ center, Lana found a shady spot under a large elm tree and sat. She felt deeply vulnerable and alone. She shouldn’t have blown up at Lance like she had. The shock of knowing Deacon Baker was not her real father was bad enough, but learning Deacon had discovered solid proof of experimentation on children tipped the scales on the craziness of the past few days. Her dad had always treated her with utmost respect. Growing up, she’d assumed all parents treated their kids the same way. But the older she got, the more she’d discovered that was not the case. Some parents were neglectful; some were downright cruel. Her own mother had allowed her to be taken away “for the good of the motherland.” Now she had to reconcile the knowledge that innocent children had been used as guinea pigs. She needed time to step back—to sort and digest. She longed for peace and understanding.
Her mind rehearsed what the cashier in Laramie had said: Lana was the kind of woman who made her own luck. But every time she discovered something new about her past, that luck turned out to be anything but good. She berated herself for even starting this insane quest. Even the note from her mother—the only communication she’d ever received from the woman—had brought more sorrow than joy.
She clasped her rhodonite pendant with both hands and sought to bring back the cathartic memories of Lake Julia.
You have a sharp mind, and I know you have questions. There’re a few things I need to tell you. You see, life comes down to a matter of trust.
Lana loved her dad with all her heart, but how could she trust anything he’d said now that she knew he’d fabricated her entire past? And what about Lance? He’d shared a mountain of classified information with her, but how did she know he wasn’t lying too? Where was the proof?
She shook her head but continued to clasp the pendant tightly. Dad’s words wrapped around her like a thick blanket fresh from the dryer.
They say rhodonite lays bare emotional wounds and scars of the past, for healing, restoration, and reinvigoration. . . . They also say rhodonite empowers the holder to reach their full potential and can bring its owner back to center during stressful times. It’s used for calming emotional shock and panic and provides grounding when dealing with painful issues.
Is that what you use it for?
As a matter of fact, I do, sweetheart.
She inhaled a deep cleansing breath and let it out slowly. Lana had taken a geology class in college. She’d learned the rosy gemstone was actually pink manganese inosilicate webbed throughout with black manganese oxide. It had no conclusive magical properties, and yet her pendant always brought a measurable feeling of calm when she clutched it. A placebo effect? she wondered. Does it matter?
“How’re you doing, Lana?” Lance asked from a few feet away.
“I’ll be all right.”
“Does your chest hurt?”
She realized she was pressing her pendant firmly to her breastbone. “No. Just getting some grounding so I can get through this.”
He glanced at his watch. “We still have about six and a half hours to go. If we push it, we could get to St. Louis around ten.”
He held out his hand to help her stand. She looked up into his rich brown eyes. She knew the only way to truly trust him was to jump in with both feet. She needed to believe he wanted to help her, not just the project. She took his hand, stood, and didn’t let go. Walking back to the Jeep, he didn’t try to pull away, which made her happy.
After a few minutes on the freeway, Lana turned to Lance. “Why are you doing this?”
“The investigation?”
“It went way beyond a military investigation long ago,” Lana said evenly.
His smile was a mix of resolution and compassion. “When I figured out Deacon Baker is probably not your real father, it um . . . it struck a chord.”
“What chord?”
“I’m adopted. My mom raised me as a foster child before adopting me. I don’t know who my father is either.”
Lana ached with remorse for having yelled at Lance. He had to pursue all leads, and that included uncovering her past. She couldn’t fault him for that. She softly cleared her throat. “I apologize for snapping at you back there.”
“It’s okay. I get it.”
“I know you do. But I lashed out at you for something I asked for. That wasn’t fair.”
He gave her that soft smile that weakened her legs. “I can’t blame you. I’m not sure I’d handle it as well as you have.”
“Thank you.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek.
They traveled in silence for a time. Sixty miles south of Lincoln, Nebraska, Lance said, “I have a question for you.”
“Okay, shoot.”
“How’s your head?”
She touched the back of her skull. “You mean the disk? Fine, I guess. The incision seems to be healing okay.”
