“But I’m telling you,” said Nikki, “she never would have gone to work for anyone but the United States.”
“People don’t always align with another government. There are other entities, you know. The last decade has become a new era for tradecraft.” The gruff Russian spook, who had no doubt ordered (and probably even administered) his fair share of back alley beatings and terminations, took on a wistful look at the mention of this new era. She could envision how an old-school spy like him would be an inconvenient fit among the more outwardly refined operatives who ate sushi, did yoga, and hacked what they needed from underground computer nerve centers.
But Kije survived, if uncertainly. The bloated hide of his face told her he coped with his unsure future in the world order by cracking open a bottle of Stoli. Heat was more interested in the information she needed. “What do you mean by other entities?”
“I would say, ask Nicole Bernardin. But you can’t, can you?”
“What do you know about Nicole Bernardin?”
“I know that, just like your mother, Nicole became involved with people outside the strict margins of her government’s scope.”
Rook jumped in again. “For argument’s sake, what if her mother had turned?” He could almost hear the adrenaline rising in Nikki’s veins, so he added, “Or if it just looked like she had—would CIA act on that?”
“Not likely,” said the Russian. “Well, not on American soil.”
“Who would?” asked Heat, aware of the possibility it could have been the man standing right in front of her.
“Kill her?” He shrugged. “As I said, these are changing times. It wouldn’t have to be a government at all, would it?”
“Could it be the same as whoever hit Tyler Wynn?” asked Rook.
“Who knows? Either way, it’s a sad lesson about the nature of the trade. You can never really retire. I, myself, tried retiring once. It went poorly. That is why I have to meet people like this.” He gestured to the forest and the night.
“Even old friends?” asked Rook.
“You kidding, Boy-O? It is old friends who can be the most lethal of all.”
Nikki said, “You must know some of the projects my mother was working on. Nicole, too.”
She had conducted enough interrogations to tell by the way his eyes rose in his lids, to ponder, that he did know, and he was weighing how much to reveal to this friend of Jameson Rook—and daughter of a CIA operative. Then she lost his attention.
Kije cocked an ear to the darkness. Soon the bodyguards did, too, straining at the horizon as wolves did for signs of food. Or danger. Heat and Rook also listened, and soon heard them muttering, “Beptopet.” Rook translated for her, but by then, Nikki heard it herself. Helicopter.
She tried to draw Kije back to her, but the ignition of his Mercedes was already turning over. “What are some of the extracurriculars you’re talking about?” His bodyguard opened the back door of the car and held it open for him.
The little bear pumped Rook’s hand and gave him a fast back slap. “Boy-O, until next time, right?” And then he bowed to her. “Nikki Heat.”
Doors started slamming on the two Peugeots behind them as the other guards saddled up. Nikki’s frustration mounted as the clock ran out for the second time just when she was so close to getting an answer. Kije hurried to the side of his car. “Anatoly, please. At least give me a direction.”
“I told you. Check the bank,” he said and ducked to get in the backseat.
“I already got that. Give me more to go on. Please?”
He stopped and his head rose up over the open door. The Russian said to her, “Then think of what else I told you. Ask yourself about the new era.” That would be all she got.