Bone Rider (41 page)

“So you’ve forgiven her.”

Young smiled thinly. “We’ve come to an understanding.”

“And the Russians?”

“Wherever they ended up, they’re lying so low they might as well be down in that hole too. I doubt they’ll become a problem, sir.”

Anyway, it was only a matter of time until they were caught. The USACIDC had DNA samples now, taken from the diner and the car, and Young’s quiet professionals had standing orders to keep an eye out for the Russians
and
the cowboy, just in case, and they were spreading the word. Personally, Young thought it was going to be the bounty that was going to do it. The world had become a small place. Offer enough money, and there wasn’t an area remote enough to hide a fugitive.

The Commander in Chief sighed and straightened up, signaling the end of the debriefing. “All things considered, we could’ve done worse. Good job, Nick.”

“Thank you, sir.” The general glanced at the folder on the big, antique wood desk. He’d typed his report on an ancient typewriter and as far as he knew, this was the only copy. It was going to be buried deep and he couldn’t say he was unhappy about that. “What about my other request, sir?”

The president smiled.

Y
OUNG
found Leandra Butler at the Three Soldiers statue of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. The area was almost deserted this early in the morning, but she’d found coffee somewhere. She always did; the woman had a nose for caffeine that rivaled any bloodhound’s. She was staring at the three metal men with a scowl or possibly pensively; it was hard to tell with her.

“You know what the problem is with metal, sir?” she asked, handing over a steaming paper cup without taking her eyes off the smooth faces of the statues.

Young glanced down at her, then up at the Three Soldiers. The cup was warm in his hands. “No, Lieutenant, I don’t.”

“Can’t make out emotion.” She was definitely scowling. “Look at them. Are they surprised? Tired? Indifferent? Could be anything. They could be waiting for the punch line of a joke and be a second from cracking up, for all we know.”

“I think that’s the point of memorials, Butler,” Young said dryly. “To make you look. Make you think about it.”

They’d both been doing a lot of thinking these past few days, separately and together. He’d been the one to debrief everybody involved who’d been in the know. Maybe he’d spent a little more time talking with Butler and Cabrera than most others. They were creative thinkers. It made sense to give them the opportunity to brainstorm a bit in a secure environment. See what kind of theories cropped up. Add his own observations to give them more data. Come up with possible answers for all those pesky holes in the story.

“Huh,” Butler grumbled, clearly not impressed by his theory, as usual. “What did he say?”

“No surprises.” Young studied the statues’ faces. They looked weary to him, resigned. Familiar. The faces of soldiers who knew the war was never going to be over. The location might change, the weapons and the terminology, but war was war, and a thousand memorials wouldn’t be enough to make it stop. “You’re cleared to work on the bodies whenever and wherever you want. I still want you on my team, though.”

“So Seeker is a go.” Butler rubbed a slender hand over her face as if trying to wipe away her smile. “Of course I’m in, sir.”

Young nodded once, satisfied. “Good.”

Butler took a sip of coffee and pulled a face. “Cabrera finished analyzing the footage. She says to tell you the combat cameras are crap and to bring more light the next time, because the quality of the underground clips was atrocious. She also says you were right. It was one of the Russians who opened fire in the canyon, not the armor host. And it was the armor host who caught Sergeant Vasquez in the cavern.”

“What about—”

“He shielded him, yes.” For a second, her face mirrored the expressions of the Three Soldiers almost perfectly. “It didn’t jump bodies. Not once. It stuck with its host, stuck with its host’s friends, killed only in self-defense, and chose to let you shoot it over slaughtering everybody in that cave. I’m thinking we might’ve fucked this up. Badly.”

They’d been over this. “We don’t know that.”

That bought him the impatient little “don’t be an idiot” look he’d had such a hard time getting used to but had learned not to take personally. “All evidence points to it. We fired the first shot. We went in hot when we should’ve tried to negotiate at the diner. And then we shot it, its host, and its host’s… whatever they were to each other.”

Young focused on his coffee, knowing it was useless to argue. They hadn’t known better. Still didn’t, really. They’d needed time to evaluate what evidence they had, time they hadn’t had before. So they’d gone with the worst-case scenario, because that’s what you did when dealing with a completely unknown potential threat. They weren’t diplomats. They were soldiers. Their first directive would always be to defend and protect their country and its people. Sometimes, that meant striking first and asking questions later. Sometimes, mistakes were made. Sometimes, you suspected mistakes might’ve been made, but couldn’t tell for sure.

“You’ll get your orders tomorrow,” he told her for lack of something more comforting to say. “I want you and Cabrera there to help pick the core team.” He hesitated for a moment, then reached into the inside pocket of his dress uniform and pulled out a piece of paper. “My personal number,” he explained as he handed it over. “The line is secure. Keep me posted, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir,” Butler muttered as she slipped the paper into her own uniform pocket. “I will.”

It was going to be fun to work with that one, he could already tell. For some reason, Young found he was looking forward to it. “You’re in this for the long haul now,” he warned as they stood and watched the sun come up over the Washington Monument. “Life’s gonna get interesting from here on.”

And maybe he was thinking about a cowboy and a hit man facing down death when he said that and maybe he was thinking about their interlaced fingers, one hand bloody and the other covered in metal. Maybe Lee Butler was thinking about the same thing when she lifted her coffee cup toward the Three Soldiers in a quiet salute and said,

“Bring it.”

I
T
WAS
a beautiful day in Fairview, New Jersey. Not too warm, not too chilly. Blue sky and green grass, the smell of warm earth and exhaust fumes in the air. Perfect funeral weather, as it happened. Vasiliy would’ve hated it. He’d been the type of man who’d expected the heavens to cry when he was lowered into the ground, who’d have wanted rain and gloom and a sobbing, miserable crowd. He would’ve appreciated his widow’s performance, though. It was top-notch.

Anna Tokarev had arrived dressed in a stylish black dress, a wide-brimmed hat complete with black veil tilted at a suitably dramatic angle, her white lace hanky at the ready. Maybe her tears were even for real now and then. Andrej wanted to believe they were, wanted to believe she’d cry for her son if not her husband, but he’d never been able to read Anna and he just couldn’t tell. Unlike her mother, Mariya had cried openly when he’d brought her Misha’s weapon and told her he was sorry for her loss. She’d shed her tears grudgingly, as though she considered them a weakness, but she hadn’t tried to hide them from Andrej.

“Will you swear your allegiance?” she’d asked, slender fingers wrapped around the cold metal with an easy familiarity that would’ve shocked her father. “Will you fight for me like you did for my brother?”

“No,” Andrej had answered, because he’d only ever followed Misha and that wasn’t going to change. “I’m done with this. When Misha quit, so did I.”

She didn’t need him anyway. She was taking over already, directing the guests, receiving their condolences with cool grace, her husband and daughters always a respectful step behind her. The entire East Coast branch of the syndicate was present and accounted for, but the expected power plays weren’t happening. Mariya had them well in hand, had stretched her wings and was flying as though she’d been born to it, confident in her leadership ability as Misha never had been. Power suited her, Andrej observed, not without pride. He’d never seen her look so alive.

Anton stood at Mariya’s side through it all, showing his support and scaring off any potential troublemakers. He was still a legend among these killers, a boogeyman dressed in a crisp suit, watching them all with dead eyes. He looked old. He’d looked old since they’d buried Misha. Well. An empty coffin with a framed picture of Misha in it, and the knife he’d used to kill his first man. Misha’s body hadn’t been found.

“He’s with God now,” the priest had claimed, all patronizing kindness.

Andrej preferred to believe that Misha was with Riley.

It made him happier.

He listened to the whole ashes-to-ashes spiel, thinking of Misha going out in a blaze of glory with Riley and McClane. He thought of the look on Misha’s face when Riley had let him make that choice, hadn’t tried to push him away. So happy to be allowed to die with the one he loved. Crazy bastard. Crazy, lucky bastard.

He missed Kolya more than he’d anticipated. Kolya had been the one to get both of them out of those tunnels when the detonation had proved too much for the brittle limestone ceiling and the whole thing had come down on them with a groan and the clinking of breaking stalactites. Andrej wouldn’t have found his way back without his cheat sheet, but Kolya’s memory was better than GPS even in pitch-black darkness. Kolya hadn’t understood why Andrej had chosen to go back to New York with Mariya and Anton before the military could rally and snatch them all up, but someone had to tie up all the loose ends. Someone had to honor Misha and his father by showing up at their funerals, take care of the money issues, and make sure none of the vultures took off with Misha’s favorite guns.

So Andrej sat through the wake and the memorial service and then the burial. He said his prayers and gave his condolences. He hugged Mariya and told her Misha was proud of her. He looked Anton straight in the eyes and shook his hand and he realized, much to his surprise, that he wasn’t afraid of his old teacher anymore. Didn’t want to take him on, maybe, but that bone-deep childhood terror was gone. Apparently, watching your best friend, your brother, face down an antitank missile without a blink of fear put things in a different perspective.

He walked away, then, black duffel bag slung across his back, over the green lawn, between the lines of headstones, to disappear in one of the cemetery’s shady groves—and that was where the NSA agents watching the proceedings lost him.

A few minutes later, a young man dressed casually in jeans and a graphic T-shirt strolled past the office building at the east side of the grounds and out of the gate. There was a small gravel parking lot across the street, framed by trees and bushes, and he made his way over there to a beat-up pickup truck parked beside a muscle car.

Kolya was leaning against the muscle car, looking too cool for his pants, as usual.

Two very familiar men were leaning against the truck, comfortably close, matching cat-got-the-cream smiles on their handsome faces. They looked like they’d gotten laid very recently and the sex had been pretty damn fantastic. Lucky bastards.

“Yes,” Andrej said wryly, “it was a beautiful service. I think the wailing women were paid by your mother, though. Also, your sister is all kinds of scary.”

Misha beamed at him. “She’s taking over?”

“Like a boss,” Andrej confirmed. He slipped the duffel bag off his shoulder. “Got something for you,” he said, and tossed Misha his guns.

Goddamn if Misha didn’t coo at them like an idiot. Riley rolled his eyes, pretending not to be charmed by his antics. Andrej smirked and reached into his bag again, this time to fish out a 1994 Heckler & Koch pistol. He tossed Riley his father’s gun and laughed at him when he almost dropped it in surprise, only to have his fingers close around the grip all by themselves.

“I can’t believe you fuckers swam an underground river all the way to Carlsbad,” he grumbled as they stashed the weapons in the back of the truck. “This kind of shit doesn’t happen in real life.”

“
I
can’t believe Kolya knew where to go to fish us out,” Misha threw back over his shoulder, trying to fit his guns in with the rest of the arsenal.

“I did most of the heavy lifting,” Riley reminded him, a flash of silver in his eyes and his pitch a bit off, just enough to make Andrej shudder and think that he was never going to get used to McClane.

“Augh,” he muttered. “Shut up, I’m not talking to you, you’re creepy.”

Kolya laughed at him and handed him a bottle of a sports drink, his favorite brand, because Kolya was awesome and knew evading government agents was thirsty work. “You’ll get over it.”

Yeah, he would. He had to, because the smug little alien shit was clearly there to stay.

“S
O
WHAT
now?” Andrej asked once he’d drunk his fill and grabbed his own guns. He tugged on his shoulder holster until it was set just right and inched closer to the driver’s side door of the muscle car. It was pretty, for all that it also was a redneck’s wet dream. He wanted to drive it. Judging from the indulgent smile on Kolya’s face, he might even have a shot at that.

“Road trip,” Misha told him, eying the truck with a certain measure of resignation.

“Awesome.” Andrej studied Kolya’s slacks, looking for the telltale key bulge. “Where are we going?”

“Kansas,” Riley said stoically.

Andrej interrupted his hunt for the keys to stare at him. “What the fuck are we gonna do in Kansas?”

Riley shrugged. “McClane wants to find Superman’s crash site.”

“Superman’s crash site.”

“Superman’s crash site,” Misha confirmed.

Andrej looked at Misha. Misha was smiling, loose and relaxed next to Riley, who was outright laughing now at something none of them could hear. They still had plenty of issues, all three of them, but by this point Andrej was reasonably sure they’d find a way to make it work. They were certainly willing to do whatever it took. He looked at Kolya, who’d dug the car keys from his back pocket and tossed them to Andrej with a challenging smirk. Andrej snatched the keys out of the air and let go of his old life with a helpless little chuckle.