USA
RAPP disconnected one of the Gulfstream G550’s last remaining passenger seats and shoved it through the open door. The plush leather cushioned its fall, leaving it to bounce across the dimly lit tarmac. He jumped out after it and handled one end of the gurney containing Cara Hansen. She wasn’t particularly heavy, but the IVs and ventilator equipment made three people necessary.
A military ambulance was already backing toward him, its taillights turning her pale skin a deep pink. She’d taken a turn for the worse a couple days ago, forcing him to transport her in a CIA jet he’d virtually gutted to make room for medical gear and personnel. Now they were in a race to get her to a waiting surgical team at Walter Reed.
The ambulance crew loaded her into their vehicle under the supervision of a navy doctor who had cared for her on the flight. A few moments later, they were speeding up the runway in the swirling blue and red glare of their light bar.
It was déjà vu all over again. Not long ago it had been Scott Coleman clinging to life on a similar gurney. For some reason, seeing this girl he barely knew fighting for her life hit him almost as hard. Maybe it was because she hadn’t chosen a life in harm’s way like Coleman had. Or maybe it was because when he looked into Cara’s face, it wasn’t just her he saw.
Rapp grabbed his duffel and started for an Audi Q5 parked about fifty yards away. Claudia Gould didn’t get out to greet him as she normally would, so he tossed his bag through the open back window and into Anna’s empty booster seat.
He climbed in and Claudia accelerated away without a word. The night air flowing through his open window wasn’t as heavy as it had been in Costa Rica. The feel of it on his skin and the familiar scent of city was comforting in a way that took him a moment to identify.
It was good to be home.
“How is she?” Claudia said finally.
“I don’t know. They say the next twenty-four hours will tell. But they’ve been saying that for days.”
“I should have had a medical team there,” she said. “It’s my fault.”
“I wouldn’t have authorized it. You can’t plan for luck this bad, Claudia.”
“We could have—”
“We could have done nothing. You play the percentages in this game. If you try to plan for every lightning strike and shark attack you just end up paralyzed. I’m not telling you anything you don’t know here.”
When she didn’t respond, he leaned the seat back and closed his eyes. There hadn’t been much time for sleep over the last few days. Now, though, Cara was inside U.S. borders and would soon be tucked away in Bethesda under an alias. Krupin might have gone nuts, but not nuts enough to assault an American military hospital to try to finish off a girl who probably couldn’t find Russia on a map. She was safe and, just as important, someone else’s responsibility. For now at least.
“What’s happening in Costa Rica?” he said, breaking the silence in the car. There wouldn’t be even a hint of a relationship between them until they got home. In an effort to make this situation work, they’d decided to completely separate personal from business. Coleman put even money on it working. Rapp saw the odds as somewhat worse.
“The Russians cleaned up pretty well and the local authorities are stretched to the breaking point by the power outage,” she said switching to the French she was more comfortable with. “For now, they’re satisfied that the fire is out at Grisha’s house and Cara’s left the country.” She glanced over at him. “Did you blow someone up in the jungle?”
“I hope so,” Rapp said, though he was less than confident. As much as he’d like to believe that he’d rammed that RPG right down Nikita Pushkin’s throat, he doubted he was that lucky. “Where do we stand on finding Grisha?”
“Irene and I agree with you that he’s on his way to Russia, but we’re not sure what he’s planning on doing there when he arrives. I know he’s good, but taking on Maxim Krupin by himself? No one’s that good.”
Rapp looked out the window as they started across the Potomac. She was right. At this point, all Azarov could do was create a mess or get himself killed. Neither outcome was in the best interests of the United States. At least not yet.
“Russia’s a big place, Claudia.”
“I know. We’re working on it. Grisha’s operating in a way he never has before. He’s angry, he’s alone, and by now Krupin will know he survived and assume he’s coming. That means he can’t use any of his normal methods or contacts. Basically, we’re in a race against the Russians to find him.”
Rapp rolled his head left and watched the city lights wash across her face. “That’s fine. As long as we win.”
They fell silent for almost a minute before Claudia spoke again. “Are we done with business?”
“Yeah.”
She leaned over and kissed him, keeping one eye on the road. “I’m glad you didn’t get shot or squeezed by a python.”
He grinned. “You didn’t tell me about the pythons.”
“Or the scorpions with giant fangs. I didn’t want to scare you.”
“Where’s Anna?”
“I left her with the Nashes. We can just walk over and get her in the morning.”
Mike and Maggie Nash had recently finished building a home in Rapp’s subdivision. The security benefits of being surrounded by loyal shooters turned out to be significantly overshadowed by the benefits of built-in childcare. The Nashes had a brood large and chaotic enough that it could take them two days to even notice Anna had moved in with them.
“We can swing by on the way home if you want,” Rapp said.
She shook her head. “What I need tonight is a bottle of good wine and some adult time.”
CHAPTER 15
NORTHEAST OF TUAPSE
RUSSIA
ANDREI Sokolov opened the safe that had been delivered two days before, taking comfort in the substantial weight of the door. As one of the men responsible for the early subversion of digital communications, he had a strong preference for paper and steel.
The file in his hands was more than a centimeter thick and contained everything known about Maxim Krupin’s medical condition. Despite having spent the last twenty-four hours poring over both it and a mountain of supplemental material, he found himself staring uselessly down at it.
The news was worse than even his most pessimistic expectation. Ironically, Krupin had been betrayed by the strength and toughness that had allowed him to rise to power. He’d ignored the worsening symptoms, allowing the tumor to wind its tendrils through his brain. At this stage, surgery would be dangerous and potentially debilitating, while the standard radiation and drug therapies would be of questionable efficacy.
He replaced the file, selecting three others before locking the safe again.
The world was becoming unmoored. America was retreating while China pressed its advantage. Western Europe was teetering between implosion and a newfound sense of interdependence. North Korea was creating instability that could lead to a war that would be certain to turn both nuclear and biological. New technologies were driving the world away from fossil fuels and toward a future of safe, cheap renewables.
It was a time of historic danger, but also one of opportunity that Maxim Krupin should have been able to exploit. But now the best-case scenario was a significant reduction in his ability to lead his country through the obstacles ahead. The worst-case was that his treatments would fail and he would leave behind a power vacuum that would tear Russia apart.