Boundless Ambition: (Kyle Achilles, Book 5), page 14
Rex summarized the situation. “So shortly after the assassination attempt went bad enough that your man was firing in panic, he and his two intended victims all went overboard.”
“Falling or jumping from a height of a hundred feet,” WZ clarified.
“If they didn’t climb down first. Remember who you’re dealing with. In any case, you haven’t heard from the assassin, correct?”
“Correct.”
“He clearly didn’t defect. We’re the ones with the money. So he’s definitely dead. He also clearly panicked before he died, given the way he unloaded his weapon. That means Achilles got wise to him. Therefore, the safe assumption is that our agent and his wife are alive and hell-bent on revenge.”
“Safe, but not probable,” WZ clarified.
Rex gave the CEO a withering look. “The man’s an Olympic athlete. The Mediterranean is calm and warm this time of year. Don’t get comfortable.”
“If we were comfortable, then we wouldn’t have asked you to join us.”
“I can’t intervene. The minute I do, I lose deniability. I can’t ever mention Kyle Achilles’ name, much less use my position to have him hunted.”
“You don’t need to use names,” Luci said, having tired of watching WZ get walloped. “Give physical descriptions and reference an American couple who went missing from a yacht. Your law enforcement contact will assume they’re influential donors and make it work.”
Rex clapped his hands down and shifted forward in his seat. “You surprise me. I thought the three of you would know better, but you’re making a typical civilian mistake.”
“And what mistake is that?” Ben asked, speaking up for the first time.
“You assume The Government exists, and it’s a machine. But it doesn’t and it isn’t.”
“What in hell’s blazes are you talking about?” William Zacharia asked.
“There’s Interpol. And there’s the Turkish Coast Guard. And the Cypriot Coast Guard. And there are an assortment of police departments along the coasts in question. And public hospitals, and private clinics. And dozens of other relevant organizations. All of them have their own systems and structures. All have outdated equipment and overworked employees. None of them report to the same person. Some of them have no links at all.”
Luci felt foolish. She really had made an amateur mistake. Why were people so eager to embrace simplistic solutions? To ascribe inflated abilities to others? That didn’t matter now. What mattered was getting back on track. “What would you recommend, Rex?”
“Old-fashioned footwork. Hire a bunch of private investigators and dangle big bonuses. Give them photos and fat expense accounts. Have them spread some money around while a hit team is standing by. You’ll have your answer within seventy-two hours—and with any luck they’ll be dead within seventy-three.”
The three stared at him for a while before Ben said, “We could have done that without you.”
“Exactly. You could have. Kindly recall that helicopter. It’s poker night in Washington.”
Chapter 35
Fighting the Tide
SWIMMING TOWARD SOMETHING you can see feels very different from swimming in search of rescue. The ocean is the same, the mechanics are the same, but the psychology is entirely different. Everything moves from the abstract to the concrete. The progress being made. The distance being covered. The time remaining.
It’s like flying when your plane has a mechanical delay. When takeoff is uncertain, you’re just praying it won’t be canceled, that you will actually, eventually arrive. Once the flight’s back on, however, it’s all how fast can I get there?
Swimming for the shoreline he’d spotted, Achilles tried not to think about the distance he still had to cover and the myriad things that might yet go wrong. He tried returning to an automated trance, but his subconscious mind was too active. It nagged like a child who couldn’t sleep in the backseat. It kept asking, “Are we there yet?”
On the upside, spotting land made it easy to dismiss his thirst and fatigue. With the solution in sight, they were but temporary annoyances, not life-threatening complications. And he was much closer to land than initially anticipated. Whether that was due to an advantageous starting position, faster swimming, or kind currents, he would never know. But he would be forever grateful.
The reason he couldn’t calm his subconscious was Katya. Before sighting the shore, he’d been able to suppress his overwhelming anxiety. He’d smothered it with his gratitude for finding her alive and in relatively stable health. He’d told himself that with her circulatory and respiratory systems working, she’d be fine.
But that hadn’t been entirely honest. The truth was, his wife had been unconscious for ten hours. That was a long time. In all likelihood, it was just her system coping with the low blood supply. But he couldn’t be sure and that doubt was the devil’s pitchfork.
He needed to get her hydrated.
Are we there yet?
Rather than swim against that unstoppable river of consciousness, Achilles diverted his flow of thought by mentally engaging Katya in conversation. He imagined working with her to solve the puzzle of the year. Namely, how did they end up there?
“Do you think Sergeant Belikov sold us out?” she asked.
“No. That just doesn’t compute. He might have been in on it, but he wasn’t behind it.”
“Why do you say that?”
“He could have killed us on the plane and flown the missile wherever he wanted. No need to mess with involving a third party and the crew of a cargo ship.”
“So the command to kill us came from above, either Aladdin or higher?”
“To be safe, we have to assume the White House ordered our execution.”
“That’s disheartening. It also complicates our next moves.”
“Exponentially.”
“Do you think killing us was Rex Rowe’s plan all along?” the voice of Katya asked. “Or did something change that made it necessary, politically speaking?”
In his mind, Achilles shrugged, even as his real arms continued stroking. “I don’t know, but one thing is certain. Politicians like Rex don’t think twice about sacrificing others to save themselves—or their principal. To them, such moves are no more a transgression than when a lion eats a gazelle. It’s just the natural order.”
“But what does your gut say?”
“I’m not inclined toward the something-changed scenario.”
“Why not?”
“Two reasons. One, the extraordinary secrecy surrounding my meeting with Rex. And two, the fact that Rex encouraged your participation. It’s not normal to involve an operative’s wife. Quite the contrary.”
“I thought I was invited to enhance your cover?”
“Yeah, at the time that fit the picture, but now I suspect a different motivation.”
“Namely?”
“Containment. If I had disappeared on a mission initiated by the White House, you would have investigated. Relentlessly. But with the two of us gone, any questions could have been swatted away with canned answers. We have no family, so nobody would care enough to press back, not against the United States government.”
“I see your point. But if containment was such a big concern, why invite you to the Oval Office in the first place? Why didn’t President Saxon just call and recruit you on the phone? That would be considerably simpler and less conspicuous.”
As Achilles entered what truly looked like the last mile of the swim, he believed he had the answer to that crucial question. “Rex used the Oval Office as a proxy for the president.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Holding a meeting in the Oval Office conveys presidential authority, but it doesn’t actually involve the president. Not at midnight.”
“Why is that important?”
“Suppose President Saxon actually knows nothing of our mission. Suppose Rex is running it—either for his own ends, or more likely at the behest of someone else.”
“Why is someone else more likely?”
“Because the White House Chief of Staff has no use for a stolen missile, but he surely knows plenty of people who do.”
“You’re just speculating.”
“Granted. But for safety’s sake that’s going to be my operating paradigm until data drives me elsewhere.”
“It’s going to severely hamper our ability to act.”
“I know. It will make every move awkward, inconvenient and inefficient. But until we prove otherwise, staying safe means avoiding any activity that might make the White House aware that we’re alive.”
Katya fell into his groove at that point, in Achilles’ mind anyway. “So we can’t use our real names or any of our mission aliases. You can’t use Calix’s ID either. That leaves us with just the cash you took from his wallet.”
“And the money we transferred from Rex Rowe’s slush fund to a new offshore account.”
“Right! That’s close to a million dollars—if we can get to it. How familiar are you with the Turkish banking system?”
“Not very.”
As the land began looming large, Achilles pondered the acrobatics it would take to turn them from near-penniless anonymous castaways back into potent international operatives. He also adjusted their trajectory to take them ashore on sandy ground rather than the marginally closer forested peninsula. His goal wasn’t dry land, it was reaching civilization. More specifically, medical attention.
Unfortunately, the beach before them appeared to be deserted.
Chapter 36
Fire Escape
KATYA DREAMED OF RAIN. Not a downpour or a misting, but the occasional drip drop signaling that the heavens just might let loose. Ironically, that was good news. The only bright spot on her bleak horizon, in fact.
She was stuck in a bear trap. Her calf clamped by an iron jaw. And as if that weren’t bad enough, she was slowly dying of thirst.
She stared at the bulging black clouds and prayed for them to rip. Wouldn’t that be grand? The last time she’d tasted rain, she’d been six years old and running around the backyard of the dacha while her father yelled for her to come inside and her poodle leapt like a circus performer.
Katya tried pushing her tongue out, but it didn’t want to go. It wouldn’t respond.
Her father shouted again. “Katya. Katya, can you hear me? It’s me. I’m right here.”
“I know,” she said. “Just let me catch the rain.”
The drops came again, heavier this time, but she still couldn’t move her tongue. Then something stroked her face and the clouds cleared. Disappointed, she opened her eyes.
It wasn’t her father’s face that greeted her. It was Achilles. His nose just inches from her own. “Hello, beautiful.”
With those two words, reality shoved the dream aside as if it had never existed. “Hey. Why are you so sad?” Her throat felt painfully dry as she spoke.
His face contorted, then he kissed her forehead. “I’m not sad. I’m the happiest man alive.”
His touch made her more aware of their surroundings, though most of it was still coming into focus. They were in a dim room, one lit only by the glow of tiny lights. “Where are we?”
“We’re in a Turkish hospital.” He paused there, as if waiting for her reaction.
One second his words made no sense, the next the context struck. The cargo ship. The stolen missile. Ten days to sail home. “Something happened on the ship?”
“You were shot in the leg and fell overboard. I followed you down and swam us to shore, then carried you to a road where a kindly passerby brought us here in the back of his pickup truck.”
She bolted up in bed as the full force of consciousness came crashing down. Aside from a parched throat and a sore leg, she felt fine—if not a bit woozy. There was an IV in her left arm and a thick white bandage wrapping her left calf. She wore a hospital gown. “I don’t remember. Who shot me? Are you okay?”
Achilles used a button to raise the back of her bed, then handed her a Styrofoam cup with a protruding straw. “I’m fine. Calix shot you.”
She took a long, steady sip. Then a second. Her mind was racing in a dozen different directions. “How long was I out?”
“From the time you passed out in the water until you woke up in this bed, about thirty-two hours. It’s 4:00 in the morning here in Turkey.”
Katya wanted all the details, but instinct told her there was more pressing business to discuss. “Why did Calix shoot me?”
“He was hired to kill us. By whom, I’m not entirely sure. But whoever it was probably thinks we’re dead, and we need to keep it that way. I told the hospital staff that we’re Latvian. Your name is Anna Annina. I’m Anton. Got that?”
“Anna Annina. You’re Anton. Were you worried I had brain damage?”
“I was keeping it simple. Not to match your mind, but because we have plenty of other issues to occupy our thoughts.”
Katya drained the cup and then bought a few additional seconds of digestion by looking around the room. It was a basic private hospital suite. With no external cues coming through the curtain-covered window, they could have been in Mexico, Moscow or Memphis.
A pair of aluminum crutches propped up by the door caught her eye. “Can we leave?”
Achilles refilled her drinking cup from a pitcher on the bedside table. “We’ll talk about that when you’re feeling better.”
“I’ve had thirty-two hours of rest and I’ve just been doused with a big bucket of ice-cold news. I’m ready for action.”
“Let’s test that theory, in case it’s just the pain-killer talking,” Achilles said, retrieving the crutches. As he lowered the side rail, he added, “Keep your left leg raised.”
Katya slid to the edge of the bed while her husband managed the IV line, then she gingerly maneuvered herself onto the crutches. So far, so good. She ambled slowly across the room, turned and returned but didn’t sit. “Satisfied?”
“You really feel fine?”
“I’m not ready for kickball, but I’m not going to pass out either.”
“Good. I believe the staff has instructions to call the authorities when you wake up. I suspect the police will stop by first thing in the morning regardless. It would be nice to avoid that entanglement.”
“Didn’t the police question you already?”
“They did. I told them it was a spearfishing accident. We were scuba diving and I grabbed the gun the wrong way and the next thing I knew you had a spear through your leg.”
“Did they buy it?”
“They seemed skeptical. I don’t know what the doctor told them. Given all the time you spent in the water, he probably couldn’t be definitive. In any case, they definitely want to talk to you.”
“I’m glad they didn’t wait around.”
“They did at first, but another call came through. It’s peak vacation season for locals in this part of the world, so they’re probably understaffed.”
“But we’d better not push our luck.”
“My thoughts, exactly.”
Achilles disconnected the IV, then produced two sets of green surgical scrubs and some matching rubber clogs. As they started changing, he said, “I got you moved to the end of the hall by asking for a quiet room. Since your condition doesn’t require much monitoring, they were accommodating. There’s a fire escape stairwell across the hall that the staff use for smoking breaks.”
“What about the bill?”
“We’ll have to settle that later. The soggy wad of euros I took off Calix won’t cut it.”
That minor issue brought the big one front and center. “What are we going to do once we get out of here?”
“Don’t worry, I have a plan.”
Chapter 37
Missing Memories
ACHILLES DIDN’T ACTUALLY HAVE much of a plan. Not for the short term. Not for the long term either. What he had was a basic set of objectives and tactics. Don’t get caught. Do turn the tables. Use the big bank balance at their command to wage a clandestine operation the likes of which the world had never seen—not from a married couple who didn’t own a castle at any rate.
He had not been this furious since an injury ended his Olympic dreams. He had burned off that all-consuming anger by climbing a Colorado cliff without a rope. No sport could help him this time, however. Back then, his frustration had been directed at fate, so it eventually diffused into the universe. This time, his rage took aim at a very real target. An as-yet-unidentified individual or group. An adversary that would soon become intimately familiar with the sharper side of suffering.
Achilles had fought powerful enemies on plenty of prior occasions, people who used underhanded tactics to obtain their evil ends. But never before had a war felt so personal. That was the big difference, he decided. In the past, the lines had been clearly drawn. Each party had fought for its side. This time it was different. This time, Achilles’ own team had turned on him. This time, he had been betrayed.
Betrayal was an escalating force. A dirty, indecent, provocative action. It took the situation, and what he would do to correct it, to a whole new level.
On top of all that, they had shot Katya. His innocent partner, his wonderful wife, the love of his life. For that alone they would rue the day they’d first heard his name.
“You feeling okay?” Katya asked. “Am I hurting you?”
He was descending the third of three flights of stairs, with Katya draped over his shoulder in a modified fireman’s carry. It was easier than attempting a quick getaway on crutches. “Not in the least.”
“I thought I felt you tremble,” she pressed.
Achilles chuckled at her misinterpretation as he pushed through the fire exit and out into the night. “Just a bit of emotional release. How about you? Are you okay?”
“I don’t envy potato sacks, but I’m not complaining.”
“Once there’s a building between us and the hospital, I’ll put you down and we’ll give the crutches another try.”
“Are you saying we don’t have a car? We’re making our escape on foot?”
