“But there’s still the mental side. I—”
“What the fuck are we talking about?” Rapp said, finally losing patience. “The liver? Cara needed one and you found a donor. But that’s not going to mean shit if Krupin survives. He can’t leave you breathing and she’s going to end up getting dragged in again. The only way you and Cara have a future is if Maxim Krupin doesn’t.”
Azarov turned to Claudia, apparently not convinced that Rapp was a reliable arbiter of sanity. “And you? What do you think about what I did?”
Her eyes actually misted up. “I think it’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”
CHAPTER 45
CENTRAL RUSSIA
RAPP leaned forward to examine the landscape below the chopper. A whole lot of nothing. Marshy plains, tree-covered mountains, and a distant river that he assumed was the one Claudia had told him about. Irene Kennedy was trying to get a raft and other gear onto its banks, but when they’d boarded the helicopter in Zhigansk, it still hadn’t been done.
The sub had gotten them to Sweden, only to find the airspace so full of warplanes and the occasional missile that the CIA’s G550 had been turned back. They’d been forced to divert to Denmark, putting them well behind schedule. The original plan had been to meet with the scientists they were replacing. Instead, the two men had been stopped by MI6 in London and then transported to a forgotten corner of Africa where they’d stay until this thing was over.
Rapp and Azarov had taken their seats on the last plane going to Moscow before travel between Europe and Russia was shut down. The pilot arced south of the chaos in the Baltic, but fighter formations and smoke rising from burning ships had been visible against the clear sky. The passengers had spent much of the six hours searching their windows for military activity, speaking in agitated whispers, and consuming the galley’s entire supply of vodka.
When the helicopter finally touched down, the Spetsnaz team Rapp half expected didn’t materialize. Instead, a man with dreadlocks and cargo pants ran toward them in a practiced crouch. He removed some of their gear and jogged away with what he could carry as the chopper took to the air again. When the noise faded, he introduced himself.
“Chase Mason. Glad you guys could still make it with all the shit that’s going down.”
“We are, too,” Rapp said, shaking his hand. “I’m Mitch. This is Greg.”
“Nice to meet you both. Let me show you to your tent. I’m afraid you’re going to have to share, but it’s pretty spacious. We don’t have all the creature comforts, but on a sunny day like today, it’s not so bad. At least the bugs are down. Be thankful you weren’t here last month.”
Rapp worked up a friendly grin, only half listening as he studied the camp. Not much more than an outdoor cooking area, two latrines, and six yurts skinned with dirty white canvas. The largest of them was flanked by a freestanding satellite dish and its stovepipe was the only one producing smoke. It looked newer than the others, with a beat-up lawn chair out front and a generator humming just out of sight.
Their quarters were more basic, but still better than what Rapp was used to in the field. A single circular space with a rusty woodstove for heat and a battery powered lightbulb for after sunset. A wood slat floor kept them off the soggy ground, and two cots were piled with enough blankets to hold back the cold nights.
“They probably told you,” Mason continued, “but we’ve got signal on a couple of collared wolves. You’ll be happy to hear that they’re only a few miles east of here and there’s a pretty good game trail that’ll take you most of the way.”
“Sounds great,” Azarov said, in an impressively neutral American accent.
“Go ahead and get settled in for a few minutes,” Mason said. “But don’t take too long. Sergei wants to talk to you.”
“Sergei?” Rapp said. Claudia had given him a dossier on everyone at the camp and there was no mention of a Sergei.
“Yeah. He showed up a month or so ago. Some kind of government representative. Harmless, but a pain in the ass. He’s basically a red tape machine who wants to hear about everything that’s going on but doesn’t really understand any of it.” Mason lowered his voice. “We figure he’s some politician’s dumber brother and he needed a job.”
Rapp tested his easy grin again but this time it was even more strained. The good news was that the sudden appearance of a political officer in the middle of nowhere suggested they were on the right track. The bad news was that Russian bureaucrats despised unexpected changes. Whoever this Sergei was, he’d be suspicious about the last-minute substitution of Rapp and Azarov for the team he expected.
“Yeah, no problem,” Rapp said. “Where is he?”
“Big tent with the dish. You can’t miss it.”
? ? ?
Rapp banged on the plank door and was immediately rewarded with an answer from within.
“Come in!”
He did, rounding his shoulders and regretting tossing Claudia’s peace sign ponytail holder. Fooling a bunch of young researchers whom he could largely avoid had never worried him much. A Russian intelligence officer was a different story.
“Welcome,” Sergei said, examining him and Azarov from behind an oddly ornate desk. The floors were covered with thick rugs and there was a well-stocked liquor cabinet behind him.
“Thanks. We’re happy to be here. It was touch and go there for a while.”
The Russian clearly wasn’t worried about reinforcing stereotypes in his tracksuit, garish rings, and comb-over. An ample belly strained at the scarlet polyester and deep-set eyes tracked with more intelligence than Chase Mason had given him credit for.
“I’m sorry the others couldn’t make it,” he said in solid English. “How fortunate that you were both available at the last moment.”
Rapp just nodded while Azarov followed his lead and remained silent. The less said the better.
“I understand that they were called away on an emergency in . . .” Sergei glanced down at a piece of paper on his desk. “Senegal. I have to say that I wasn’t aware that there was such a thing as a wolf research emergency. Or wolves in Africa, frankly.”
This time an answer was clearly required. “Canis anthus,” Rapp said. “They may be infected with a strain of rabies that no one’s ever seen before. Probably not, but the WHO guys were worried enough to want to bring in a couple experts.”
“Your paperwork only got to me a few hours ago,” the Russian complained.
Rapp gave the expected disinterested shrug.
“You look a little old to be a PhD candidate.”
This wasn’t going to go as easily as he’d hoped. Fortunately, Claudia and the Agency had seeded their legends all over the Internet—Facebook, university sites, expedition blogs. All complete with doctored pictures of them tagging animals, working in labs, and teaching classes.
“I was working for an outdoor equipment retailer in the States but this had always been my dream. I guess I got a late start.”
“I enjoyed your blog about the trip you did to Europe to try to find a sheep.”
“It was an ibex, actually. They—”
The man held up a hand and turned his attention to Azarov. “Have you two known each other for long?”
“We met on a project in China years ago and stayed in touch.” His American accent was holding. Bland Middle America with a few West Coast overtones. Calculated to be something no one would remember or be able to place within a thousand miles.
“Why?”
“No reason, really. We hit it off and both of us specialize in wolves. I’m not a full-time academic, though. I work for Wyoming Game and Fish. Mitch called me when this opportunity came up and I jumped. Beautiful country you have here. It kind of reminds me of home.”