Eight years earlier
Whether she’d chosen to help Carl Logan or not, the Red Cobra knew she was playing a dangerous game. She was used to that. That was her life. But whatever the many and varied reasons for the choice she’d made, she couldn’t ignore the strong pull she felt toward Carl Logan. Was it his supreme confidence? Or how he seemed so emotionally detached from what was a deadly situation?
Was he detached, or simply in control?
Carl Logan reminded the Red Cobra of her father. He too had been charming and kind when he wanted to be, particularly when he was playing Dad. But she’d come to know that beneath the surface, he was quite a different beast. He’d worn so many faces in his life it was impossible to know who he really was. The same could be said for her, of course.
She cursed herself for comparing anyone to her father, whom she still loved dearly and sorely missed. But, she figured, the similarities she saw between Logan and her father were a big reason she felt so drawn to Logan. And why she’d agreed to help him.
Not that it meant she wouldn’t slice him open if the time came. She had to be prepared for that, no matter what.
‘How long’s the drive?’ the Red Cobra asked.
‘About an hour,’ Logan said, staring out of his window.
They were travelling in a high-powered black Audi saloon. Logan was sitting in the back, behind the driver. The Red Cobra was next to Logan. The driver was the man she’d seen with Logan in Gazinsky’s hotel suite. He was again smartly dressed in a black suit. She couldn’t determine whether he looked more like a young businessman or a clichéd well-groomed secret agent from a Hollywood movie. Whichever it was, he was a mile away in looks and persona to the mysterious Logan. The driver had been introduced as Martin. She wasn’t sure whether that was his first or last name and hadn't sought to clarify.
‘Where are we going?’ the Red Cobra asked Logan.
‘East.’
She knew there wasn’t much left of Germany heading east from Berlin. Soon they’d be into Poland. That made her nervous.
‘I don’t have my passport,’ she joked.
‘Sure you do.’ Logan turned to face her. He looked down at her rucksack, sitting between her legs. ‘You’re carrying everything you had with you in Berlin. Aren’t you?’
He was right. She was. She’d packed her things that morning before setting off to the Waldorf to track down Gazinsky. She’d never intended to stay in Berlin another night. She looked away from Logan, out of her own window, and watched the city buildings blur past.
‘We’re not leaving Germany,’ Logan said, ‘if you were worried about that.’
The Red Cobra turned back to face him. ‘I’m not worried. Just curious.’
‘Good.’
‘Why out of the city?’
‘It’s a safe place.’
‘Safe for what?’
‘Safe for you to meet someone.’
‘Gazinsky?’ she asked with optimism.
‘Maybe. You’ll see.’
This time it was Logan’s turn to look away. And that signalled the end of the conversation for the rest of the journey.
They were soon out of the city and onto the Autobahn 11, heading east towards the town of Eberswalde. The Red Cobra wondered if that town was their destination. But they passed right by it, heading closer and closer to the Polish border.
The Red Cobra felt her nerves grow. In her line of work, she had to travel across borders with the utmost caution, because it invariably left a record of her movement. She had enough cover identities to allow her to move freely around most of the world but hopping from one country to another was still a potentially fraught move. She liked to leave as little trail as possible. Plus she had countless enemies in countless locations, and Poland was certainly one such location.
In the end, despite her wariness, she needn’t have worried because Logan hadn’t lied. They weren’t leaving Germany. But just where were they going?
Not long after leaving the Autobahn they headed down a twisting road and into a thick forest that was filled with pine trees and oaks, the green canopy above them so condensed that it was like driving at night.
They passed isolated houses here and there, and the occasional small cluster. Eventually they turned onto an even narrower road that continued for a couple of miles, coming to a stop at a rustic stone and timber house that looked in some need of love and care. Martin parked the car next to a grey SUV directly in front of the house. The lights were on inside.
Somebody was home.
Not for the first time in the journey, the Red Cobra wondered whether Logan was laying a trap for her. Was he about to turn on her out here? Imprison her? Interrogate, torture? Or maybe the plan was simply to kill her straight off and bury her in the remote woodland.
But if Logan wanted to kill her, why bring her all the way out here alive? It simply wasn’t necessary. He would have killed her already.
Or tried to at least. She still firmly believed she’d be able to get the better of him if he made a move.
She wondered again whether this was the place they had stashed Gazinsky. And if Charles McCabe was there too, that would mean all the targets Potanin had given her would be right there in front of her.
That would certainly put her in one hell of a dilemma.
‘Come on.’ Logan opened his door and stepped out.
The Red Cobra did the same. Martin got out of the driver’s seat but then hung back, by the car, as she and Logan walked toward the house’s large front door. They were a yard away when the door creaked open.
Inside, the Red Cobra spotted another suited man, dressed much like Martin, though this guy was older, forties probably, and also much thicker in the frame. His suit jacket was undone and he made no effort to conceal the holstered handgun that was strapped to his side. The Red Cobra, hands in her jacket pocket, caressed the handle of her hunting blade. A comforter.
As she stepped in through the open doorway, two paces behind Logan, he suddenly stopped and turned to face her.
‘Give me your backpack.’ He held out his hand.
She gave it to him without hesitation.
‘What weapons do you have on you?’ he asked.
The Red Cobra thought before answering. She didn’t want to give up her hunting blade, nor the pocket knife that was strapped to her ankle. But did she have a choice? There was always the choice of taking the hunting blade and using it to kill every man in sight.
Perhaps that was a step too far, though. For now.
‘Two knives,’ she said. ‘One in my jacket. The other on my ankle.’
‘Leave them here.’
The Red Cobra hesitated then relented. She took the small pocket knife out of the ankle strap first and handed it to the suited man. Then she drew out her hunting blade. Logan stared at her, as though impressed with her choice of weapon. She handed that over.
‘Anything else?’
‘No.’
‘Okay. Butcher will pat you down.’