The Lazarus Moment (7 page)

Sherrie
grinned. “You didn’t just leave dishes in the sink, you left them all over the
counters and pretty much every surface that wasn’t covered by pizza boxes.”

“Hey, I
cleaned it up when you got back.”

She
patted his cheek. “Yes you did, dear, but you lived in it for a week.” He
flushed slightly as she let him go, heading for the bedroom, her hips wagging
back and forth. “Coming?”

“Huh?”

“Well,
we’re going to your folks’ place for three days. Do you remember what happened last
time? Or didn’t, should I say?”

He
looked up slightly, remembering their first and only visit together, the big
introduction visit. His mom had been a little surprised when Sherrie had put
her bag in his room.

“Oh, I
made up the guest bedroom for you, dear.”

“Umm,
oh, okay.”

And the
awkward weekend had begun, his father quickly putting an end to the bedroom
assignments when he heard about them at dinner. “They live together, dear, you
don’t think they’re bumpin’ uglies already? They’re kids, let them have fun.”

Leroux
wasn’t sure what shade of red he was, though he was pretty sure it was close to
Sherrie’s.

They had
shared a bed though nothing had happened in it no matter how much he had wanted
to break the dry spell that had been his teenage years. But this time he was
determined to have a little somethin’-somethin’ happen, though he knew he’d
probably chicken out.

So
get your ass in there!

He
grinned, Little Chris already in agreement.

His
phone vibrated in his pocket and he fished it out, frowning.

“Hello?”

He heard
Sherrie groan from the bedroom, she knowing there was only one reason he’d
answer the phone when sex was on the menu.

Work.

But it
was no ordinary work.

He was
CIA.

And so
was she.

And the
job always had to come first.

“We’ve
got a priority tasking, boss. Want the details now or when you get in?”

“Assemble
the rest of the team and get started. I’ll be there in half an hour.” Another
groan from the bedroom. “Make that forty-five minutes.”

“Woo
hoo!”

Dudnik Residence, Moscow, Russia

Katya Dudnik inhaled slowly, steeling herself for what she was
certain would be an exasperating encounter. To say she despised her ex-husband
would be an understatement. She hated him. He was a self-centered egotistical
pig and an impotent drunk.

Who
could never handle the fact she had been more successful in the FSB than he had.

They had
divorced only two years ago, and she had made it a point to avoid him, a
colleague assigning him to the Ukrainian situation that had him out of Moscow
very frequently. Fortunately they hadn’t had any kids together otherwise she
might feel a little guilty about what she had to do.

She
knocked on the apartment door, an apartment she had lived in for many years.

A lump
threatened to form in her throat.

There
were
some
good times.

They had
been in love once. You didn’t get married if you weren’t in love and not
pregnant. But his drinking had become so bad he had changed. The first time he
had raised a hand she had taken him down, her FSB training allowing her to
easily overcome a stumbling drunk.

Then she
had left.

The door
opened and Arseny stared at her, surprised.

“I
thought we were meeting at your office this afternoon?”

She held
out her hand. “May I?”

He
smiled. “Of course.” He stepped aside and she entered the apartment. Except for
the level of disarray and dirt, it hadn’t changed much.

“You
should really get yourself a maid.”

He
shrugged. “Or you could come back to me.”

“It’ll
be a cold day in hell before that happens.”

He
rubbed his upper arms. “This
is
hell. And it’s cold.”

She
shivered. “Why don’t you have the heat on?”

“I’m
never here, and it’s too expensive. I’ve got blankets.”

“And
vodka.”

He
frowned. “Don’t start.”

“Of
course.” She pursed her lips, looking for a place to sit. There was none she’d
risk herself on. She looked at her ex-husband. He seemed ten years older. And
worried. She decided to get it over with. “Who authorized you to do this?”

“I see,
no pleasantries.”

“You
expected some?”

“A roll
in the hay for old time’s sake?”

She
nodded toward his crotch. “Is that thing working again?”

He
grunted, dropping into his favorite chair, dirty dishes, empty bottles and
newspapers littering the surrounding area.

A
cockroach scurried under the couch.

I
hate this place.

“Nobody
authorized it.”

“So you
took it upon yourself to initiate an operation that could result in the death
of the President of the United States.”

He
shrugged. “I was doing a favor for a friend. I didn’t actually expect him to go
through with it.” He pointed a lazy finger at her. “And nothing says it’ll
work.”

“If they
manage to upload the virus, there’s every indication it
will
work.”

Dudnik shrugged.

“If the
President dies, they won’t stop until they find those responsible. It could
trace back to us and lead to war!”

“I’m not
concerned. There’s no way it could trace back to us.”

“If
you’re not concerned, then why are you trying to stop him?”

“Because
the First Family is on the plane. I never would have given him the virus if I
had known the President’s wife and daughter were going to be on the plane.”

“Why the
concern? You’re willing to kill almost a hundred innocent people, what’s two
more?”

“It’s a
kid!”

“I never
thought you cared about kids.”

Dudnik looked
away. “That’s only because we couldn’t have them, and I didn’t want you
thinking I was disappointed.”

This
caught Katya off guard. It was the first time he had mentioned children since
they had discovered she couldn’t have any. She had been terribly disappointed,
but he wasn’t, instead shrugging his shoulders and saying he never really
wanted them anyway.

Then he
had reached for the bottle.

Could
it have been children all along?

“You
never said anything.” Her voice was gentler, probably as gentle as it had been
since things started to go wrong between them.

He shrugged
again, stealing a quick glance. “I didn’t want you to feel bad and blame
yourself.”

She
wanted to reach out, to comfort the man she once loved, but she resisted the
urge. She knew what she had to do, and reestablishing an emotional bond now
would be a mistake.

She took
in a deep breath. “That’s the past. Now back to the present. Who knows about
this operation?”

“Me,
you, Khomenko and his friend, Thulas Zokwana. And some of Khomenko’s men,
obviously.”

“Does
anyone know the source of the virus?”

“No,
only Khomenko. He assured me he’d tell no one its source.”

“And you
can trust him?”

Dudnik
nodded. “Yes. He’s a man of honor, a man of his word. And he only has a few
months left to live with no one to live for. Even if they catch him, there’s
nothing they could do to make him talk.”

“They
could torture him.”

“That
would only hasten his death.” Dudnik shook his head. “He won’t talk.”

“Which
means the only way they can trace it back to us is through his connection to
you.”

Dudnik frowned
at her. “I suppose so.”

“If we
kill him first, then there’s no risk of that. Can he be reached?”

Dudnik shook
his head. “I’ve been trying, but after the first call when I ordered him to
abort, he hasn’t answered.”

She
sighed, turning her back on him as she stepped toward the door, unbuttoning her
jacket. “We can’t risk this backfiring. It must be stopped.”

“I don’t
know how. That’s why I called you.”

“You did
the right thing.” She turned to face him as she reached inside her jacket. “For
once.”

She drew
her weapon and fired two shots into his chest, the look of shock on his face
one she would never forget.

A tear
rolled down her cheek in memory of the good times.

So long
ago.

Now
how do we warn the Americans without admitting involvement?

CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

CIA Senior Analyst Chris Leroux poured over the data his team was
gathering, the emergency tasking to run a background check on one Thulas Zokwana
a priority that he was certain was going to keep them there far too long. He
had already postponed the visit with his parents, delighting his girlfriend,
CIA Agent Sherrie White. They had been disappointed yet understanding, it not
the first time plans had been cancelled due to his job.

Worse
was cancelling plans on Sherrie. He always hated doing it, he knowing how it
made him feel when she was forced to do the same. Something in the back of his
mind always thought she wanted to spend less time with him, to end things.

Your
insecurity is what’s going to end this.

She was
way out of his league, or at least that’s how he had always felt. She was
gorgeous, at least in his eyes—
and Dylan’s!—
and the first real
girlfriend he had ever had. He was a loner, geek, nerd, dork—whatever the kids
were calling it these days. She was beautiful, vibrant, outgoing, confident.

All the
things he wasn’t.

It
wasn’t that he was ugly, though he would never describe himself as handsome. He
was slim but not skinny, blessed with genes that just allowed him to eat
whatever he wanted and not gain, though also not to be just skin and bones. He appeared
athletic yet was anything but.

The real
difference was their personalities. If the old adage of opposites attract
needed any proof, it was them, though with her help and encouragement, and his
boss giving him an unwanted promotion that resulted in a team of almost ten, he
was coming out of his shell.

Slowly.

He found
more and more often he would forget who he was, sometimes catching himself
giving orders, directing his staff during a crisis, that he’d shock himself
when he realized it was his voice barking the orders.

“I told
you you could do it.”

His
boss, National Clandestine Service Chief Leif Morrison’s words always brought
him comfort. Morrison was as big a champion of him as Sherrie was, and he found
his team was frequently getting the tough assignments where real digging was
needed, or a rapid response.

Like today.

The
President had taken it upon himself to invite a guest aboard Air Force One
without telling anyone. It apparently happened from time-to-time, though this
was the first time Leroux had been involved.

So far the
guest was coming up clean, though that could just be because they had nothing
on him besides a name. They were running it against every database they had and
were tapping South African sources where they could.

Yet so far,
all they had was a name and address, and a photo they
thought
might be
him.

“This is
interesting.”

Leroux
looked over at one of his team, Marc Therrien. “What?”

“He’s
related to the South African President.”

“We knew
that, didn’t we?” Leroux quickly glanced at the notes he had made. “Yeah, the
agent who reported it said he was his cousin.”

“Sorry,
boss, a little tired, I forgot.” Therrien took a long drag on a Red Bull.

Leroux’s
mouth watered. He had kicked his long time addiction to the stuff at Sherrie’s
insistence, yet he had to admit there were times, especially mid-yawn, where
he’d kill to have just a sip of the caffeine infused drink.

“Don’t
worry about it,” he said, tearing his eyes away.

“Whoa.”

The
entire team paused, looking at Therrien.

“What?”

“You’ll
never guess where he just came back from.”

Leroux
felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “Where?”

“Moscow.”

Madison Cove, Andrews Air Force Base, Maryland

Pam Wimbush watched as the Military Police officer stepped up to the
door and knocked. It had taken less than ten minutes for them to arrive, and it
was probably closer to five, her body fueled with adrenaline that seemed to
make everything feel longer.

“You
don’t think I tried that?” she snapped, immediately regretting it. “Sorry, I’m
just worried.”

“I’ll
get you to step back, ma’am,” said the second MP. He noticed her stomach. “Umm,
maybe you should sit in your car, let us handle this.”

She
nodded, stepping back, with no intention of getting in her car.

The
first MP slammed on the door with his fist. “Military Police, please open the
door!”

Nothing.

He
looked at his partner. “What do you think?”

“We’ve
gotta know. Open ’er up.”

The MP broke
the glass with the back of his flashlight then reached inside, unlocking the
door. He pushed it open, stepping inside. “Military Police! Is anyone here?”
The two officers stepped inside, listening for any sign of life, as Pam crept
through the door behind them.

She
gasped.

The MPs
turned. “What?”

She
pointed to a table in the hallway, Cecilia’s purse sitting on it. “That’s her
purse. She’d never leave without her purse.” She stared at the officers.
“Something’s wrong. I know it.”

The
first MP pointed at her. “Wait here.”