Текст книги "Blowback"

Автор книги: Emmy Curtis

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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 12 страниц)

CHAPTER FIVE

Molly walked past the ticket seller again and back toward the hotel. As much as she wanted to, she didn’t look back. She was sure that David could handle himself, but still a finger of fear jabbed at her resolve to be a big girl. As she cleared the site, she ran across the two-lane road again and slipped down a small pedestrian street.

She pulled out her cell phone to try calling Brandon again. This whole “serve your country” thing was so far out of control now. There was no reply.

She took a chance and dialed the telephone number that was one digit away from Brandon’s. A woman picked up.

“State Department, Brandon Peterson’s office.” The voice sounded tinny in the city air.

“I’d like to speak to Mr. Peterson please.” Molly was relieved to be actually through to his office. Maybe he could fix all this. She ducked into a store and stuffed her finger in her other ear so she could hear better.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Peterson is out of the country. Can I take a message?”

Damn. Damn.

“Can you tell me when he’ll be back?” she asked, hope dying with every word.

“I’m afraid not. Who is this please?” This time it was more of an indignant command. Molly pictured her with her hair in a bun, glasses perched on her nose, pressing some kind of CRAZY PERSON alarm button on her pristine desk. “Who is this?” Even more insistent. Almost panicked.

Was that an appropriate reaction to a caller for a man who was just out of the country?

Exasperated, and a little worried, she hung up.

She looked up at the road name and tried to figure out where the restaurant was. Checking her watch, she realized that Victoria probably wasn’t even there yet, so she slowed down. Her head wasn’t really into window-shopping, but she took her time looking as she went. She was about to walk past an artisan who made worry beads in his shop, but she stopped and went in. Worry beads would be a perfect gift for David. Help organize his worries, or fears, or prayers. She had no idea which one he’d choose to measure, and that made her simultaneously realize that she knew nothing about him.

She chose a set of matte black beads and made her way to their lunch appointment. If memory served, the restaurant should be just around the corner.

As she was about to cross the road, a man in a suit came out of a side road in front of her, walking quickly in the same direction she was. She instinctively slowed down. He looked to be the same height as the man who’d burst into her hotel room, the man David had thought was Russian SVR. So few men were in gray suits, and he stuck out like a sore thumb. As he rushed around the corner, his suit jacket flipped up, and she caught a glimpse of the gun he’d shown her earlier. She stopped in her tracks and watched him cross the road toward their lunch venue.

Looking around to make sure no one was following her, she ducked into a food store. How did he know they were going to that restaurant? Was David going to walk into some kind of ambush? She crouched down in the store, not really caring what she looked like to the people inside. What she really wanted to do is to curl up in a ball and rock. Rock herself back to the Lincoln Memorial, where she could say, “Hell, no!” to Brandon fucking Peterson.

She peeked out to see him look at his watch and scan the outside tables. Then he went inside, and Molly ran out of the store and pressed herself against the side of the building trying to figure out what to do. She didn’t have Victoria’s phone number, and frankly, excusing herself from the lunch date was fairly low on her priority list at that moment. Below “finding David” and “getting the hell out of Dodge.”

She felt someone brush up against her and she jumped, spinning around, expecting the worst.

Thank God. David leaned up against the wall next to her. “Not hungry?”

Her hand searched for his. “The Russian guy from this morning just walked into the restaurant.”

David said nothing, but eased her back from the corner and looked around it himself.

“He’s not eating. He’s standing over Victoria.” He eased back around.

“Oh God, we have no way of warning her,” Molly said, flashing back to his intimidating presence in her room that morning.

“She’s an American reporter. If he tried anything, she’ll have the story of her life. Don’t worry, she’ll be fine. Let’s see what happens.”

They watched the restaurant for a few minutes before a car drew up outside. Before it had even applied its parking brake, the man exited and got into the back of the car without breaking stride. “Phew,” Molly said.

“Are you ready for lunch then? I’m starving,” David said, as if he hadn’t just escaped an interrogation or worse.

Molly’s knees were warm and loose in the way they get when she was drunk, or scared witless. “You still want to go eat?”

“Sure. This is your day off, right? Let’s go have lunch with your friend. We can ask her what the Russian wanted with her.” He held his hand out to her, and she took it, sliding her hand slowly into his. Safe.

Victoria jumped up when they entered. “You came. I was getting worried.”

David looked at his watch. They were only a few minutes late. He pulled out a chair for Molly, and then moved around and pushed Victoria’s in too before taking his place. He intercepted an appreciative look that passed between them. Yup. He was the king of smooth.

He picked up the menu and pretended to read. Trying to position his query as casual chit-chat, he asked, “Who was that man you were talking to just before we walked in?”

Victoria looked startled and looked at the door. Then her face relaxed as if she understood the question. “I wasn’t talking to anyone. A man came in and asked me if I’d seen any other Americans at the restaurant. Which was weird, since I was quite obviously the only person in here.” She frowned. “Why?”

“No reason. I just thought I recognized him as he left. Had you seen him before?”

Her eyes shifted left briefly, and then met his. “No. Never seen him before.” Victoria switched her attention to Molly. “Are you hungry? I recommend the souvlaki. It’s awesome here.”

Molly smiled, and seemed to relax into her chair. “Sounds great. I’ll have that.”

They ordered, and then Molly brought up the previous night. “Were you at the cocktail party last night, or did you go to your reporter place? Did you hear what happened?”

Victoria’s eyes lit up, which, David guessed, would be the normal reaction to an assassination story. “I wasn’t, I was at the Media Club. You know, one cocktail party looks very much like the other, especially when you come from DC, so I skipped it. And it turned out to be the only time I really wish I’d accepted the invitation. What happened? Did you see it? I’m pissed that I only got to see the coverage the next morning on CNN. So was my boss.” She took a swig of her soda.

Molly caught David’s eye, and he subtly shook his head at her. “No…well I mean, yes, I was there. But I didn’t see anything. Just a crash and people running everywhere. And then this morning I heard that a Russian man had been killed.” She leaned forward. “What have you heard? You said you had some gossip?”

Victoria paused, looking at Molly as if sizing her up for some kind of interview, and then semi-shrugged. “I haven’t really heard anything definite other than what the police said last night. The man who was killed was a member of the Russian delegation, and there was no evidence left of the shooter because they’d rigged bombs to destroy everything they left. So strange, really. Who would want to assassinate a minister of antiquities?” She stared off into the distance for a second and then snapped her attention back to Molly. “What the grapevine says though is much less pretty.” She glanced at both of them.

Molly’s heartrate accelerated. “Yes?” she said lightly, feeling for David’s knee under the table.

“I’ve heard rumors—and that’s all they are for now—that the US is starting some kind of war against Russia. Not troops and tanks, yet, I guess, but by stealth. The assassination is just the beginning I hear.” By the time she had finished, her voice had become a whisper, and she had all but ducked in her seat.

“Obviously that isn’t true, though.” David said, absently playing with his knife.

“What makes you say that?” Victoria sat up and focused her attention on David.

“Why start with the minister of antiquities? Why now, a few weeks before the US president comes to visit? Seems…strange. I mean, why not take out the Russian ambassador any day of any week in any country? Why this minister, in this country, just before all the world leaders descend? It’s just not logical.” He shrugged.

Victoria looked so taken aback, that Molly intervened with what she hoped was a soothing voice. “Maybe you should get on the case? Get that Pulitzer? You’re right here, on the ground, in the thick of it. You should get to the truth.

“You know, you’re right. My boss told me to stick to the fracking, but when did a Pulitzer-winning journalist listen when she’s told to stay away from a story?”

“Exactly. That’s the spirit!” Molly said with a smile.

“So if you hear anything from the embassy, or your contacts, you’ll let me know? Off the record, of course.” Victoria said.

Molly opened her mouth to answer, but a huge crash from the kitchen made them all jump. David made himself stay seated, but he was poised to jump up if necessary. Maybe the Russian had come back through the kitchen. Maybe…And then a laugh came from one of the servers, and an old man lightly slapped the back of the head of a boy who emerged from the kitchen, red in the face and ducking to avoid the swipe he obviously knew was coming.

All three of them seemed to relax.

“So you were sent here to cover fracking? What are you hoping to find out?” David asked as their food arrived.

“Someone’s going to make some big reveal about the relative safety and sustainability of fracking at the energy talks this afternoon. So my boss wants to be on the front line for that because there are planned fracking sites all over our region. Seemed like a good place to get it straight from the horse’s mouth.

“What about you? How did you two meet?” Her eyes sparkled as if she was expecting some scandal.

Molly smiled. “We actually met last year, but bumped into each other last night at the party. It was quite unexpected.” She reached for David’s hand, and he took hers, wondering at the normality of the situation. Molly was basically introducing him as a boyfriend. Equal measures of pleasure and anxiety fought for dominance inside him. As her eyes glowed, the former took control.

He squeezed her hand back. “A happy coincidence.”

“That’s so romantic,” Victoria said, half-whispering in what David could only describe as a wistful tone.

“What about you? Are you married?” he asked to deflect a little of the discomfort that inched down his spine at being the center of attention.

“Boyfriend. But really I’m too busy to commit to anything right now. After all, I’m here, and this is the third trip I’ve done this month. My job is not conducive to romance, I’m afraid.”

Molly tutted. “I can’t imagine anything more romantic than traveling the world, reporting like you do. It must be a dream job.” She smiled warmly at the other woman.

A tiny sliver of warmth penetrated David’s heart. He loved how Molly was trying to make Victoria feel better about her boyfriend situation, when other women—including several he knew personally—might not have been able to help themselves from giving self-satisfied advice.

“It is,” Victoria said, “at least…no. It is a dream job. What I do…it’s everything to me. So I don’t mind the lack of relationships, and the lack of sleep.” She laughed and speared a piece of chicken with her fork.

The conversation moved to more general things, but kept circling back to the shooting the previous night. He didn’t blame them for wanting to talk about it—it was a form of catharsis after all—but he for one would rather not tempt Molly into saying something she shouldn’t in front of someone they really didn’t know.

“So where did you two meet last year?” Victoria asked.

Uh-oh. Molly crinkled her eyes at him, and he tried to mentally warn her about saying too much.

“I was at an archaeological site last year, and we met for a few minutes only, really. Right?” She looked at David, although it was clear he wasn’t supposed to interrupt. “It was a really brief encounter. Barely anything, but then I saw him at the cocktail party and…” Molly sighed, a happy look on her face. “The rest is history.”

“So what were you at the party for?” Victoria asked.

David forced a laugh. “Is this for an article? Because I’d rather not be news fodder.” He smiled broadly to negate the lack of elaboration.

“A man of few words,” Molly said patting the top of his hand again.

“Well sometimes those are the best, am I right?” Victoria laughed.

“Sometimes,” Molly agreed. “Now what does your boyfriend do?”

Victoria’s face fell a little. “Urgh. Boring stuff. A policy wonk. We barely see each other.”

Molly leaned toward her. “Isn’t that nice though? I’ve often wondered about those kind of relationships. Long distance, maybe. Where you don’t get to see each other much, so you spend your time thinking about the other person until you meet again. Isn’t that nicer than seeing one another every day? I always thought it might be.”

David stared at her. Did she really think that? He guessed she made sense. God knew he’d spent more than fifty percent of his time thinking about Molly in her absence, and was already preparing mentally—or not preparing mentally—to be away from her again. Was that what she wanted? Or was she distracting Victoria from making them part of her story? He made a note to ask her about that later.

“I guess so,” Victoria said into her drink. She didn’t seem convinced.

“When are you heading home?” David asked, trying to get the conversation back on neutral ground.

“In a couple of days.” Her face brightened. “The scientist is giving his fracking talk tomorrow, I think, and then I’ll report on it from here, and then fly home.”

For a while they discussed the food, and Greece, and how they all wished they had a little down time there to vacation a bit. Eventually, a silence fell as they finished the last remaining morsels from their plates. David reached for his wallet, but Victoria held up a hand. “No, it’s okay. I’ve got this. Expense account. I’ll just say you’re informants. So you know, make sure you are!” She smiled and left a bunch of euro notes on the table. “I better get back. I’m meeting a new cameraman in twenty minutes. I have to break a new one in almost every trip it seems.” She smiled, squeezed Molly’s shoulder as she passed, and bid them goodbye.

As she left the restaurant, Molly leaned forward and gave him a kiss.

“What was that for?” he asked, before he could stop himself.

She looked bemused. “Because I wanted to. That’s okay isn’t it?”

He smiled in response, not knowing what the right answer would be. A guy had to keep some stuff back, if only for his own sanity. A “yes” reply would probably infer that they were in a relationship, and he wasn’t sure if that was true. Not exactly true, anyway. And a “no” might cause some kind of hiccup in their recent…physical activities, and he wasn’t prepared to put a stop to those, regardless of what the long-term situation could be.

“Want to get out of here?” he asked.

She raised one eyebrow. “Sure,” she drawled, ripe with meaning.

“I meant for coffee…but if you prefer…”

She laughed, as he’d meant her to do. “Coffee’s great too.”

Molly reached into her purse and brought out a five-euro note. “She didn’t leave enough for the waiter,” she said, as she took a few steps toward the bar at the back. She held out her hand as if to shake the waiter’s, but slipped him the banknote.

In an instant he remembered.

David was pissed. At himself, and her. As soon as he’d seen her pass the waiter’s tip, he remembered Molly doing the same to Doubrov. Fuck. He’d forgotten about that until he saw it again.

After about fifteen minutes of weaving around squares, street corners, and pedestrians, he found a café with chairs and tables in a square across the road.

She seemed normal, but man he wanted to shake her. Instead he pushed her toward some iron tables in the square. “Sit, stay.”

He heard her murmur, “I’m not a dog.” Before he disappeared into the shop to place his order. All the while the man was making their coffees he kept an eye on Molly across the small street. What was she up to? She kept checking her phone. Goddamnit. This made him mad. He’d been so wrapped up in her that he hadn’t even stopped to consider that she was up to her freaking eyeballs in this simply because she was really up to her freaking eyeballs in this. He was sure she was up to her neck in something she didn’t fully understand.

The Molly he’d met last year was an innocent. A bystander. But clearly that had changed. He just didn’t know if it was worth his own peace of mind to stand with her in whatever shit she’d fallen in. Every part of him wanted to protect her, but the voice of his work therapist telling him not to get involved with anything that wasn’t sanctioned also echoed. It was a compelling voice. It was on her say-so that he would keep his new job.

He tipped the man behind the bar and took his two caffé freddos out to the table.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“Cold cappuccino,” he replied sitting down.

“Did you think to ask what I wanted? Maybe I like tea.” She definitely sounded pissed off. “So what’s wrong? You switched into automaton-David as soon as we left the restaurant, and you dragged me here as if I’m some kind of suspect in something. What happened?”

He couldn’t even bring himself to try to talk her down. He just sighed and raised his eyebrow at her. “You slipped Doubrov something. I saw it, and forgot it with all the—” he waved his hand at her “distractions.”

“Distractions? You mean me? Is that what I am?” She sat back in her chair and leveled a look at him.

“Nice try, Mol. Enough with your tangents. What did you pass him?”

She paused and took a sip of the coffee and shrugged. “I don’t like tea, actually. I love freddos. I just…” She took another sip.

“You just wanted to be contrary, didn’t you?” He put his sunglasses on and relaxed a little. He was going to get to the truth, if they sat there all day. “We should have spent more time together in Iraq.” Let her try to chat her way out of it, but he’d get his answer.

She leaned forward. “You were working for the bad guys.”

“Not to put too fine a point on it, but so were you.” He shrugged, but inside, poking at this wound made him nervous. Making light of his nightmare year working for a private security company that turned out to be full of criminals and murderers felt wrong. But easy. Easier than being real anyway.

“That’s so unfair. I didn’t even know I was working for the bad guys. You, however, did. Wait. Didn’t you?” She shoved her sunglasses on her head as if to see his expression better.

He kept a poker face going. That he was good at. “I had an idea. I just didn’t know how bad it was until all the shit went down. And what you saw, that wasn’t even the half of it.

Concern etched her forehead as she watched him. He wondered if she was genuine or if she was wondering how to play him. Or if he was just too suspicious of everyone. This wasn’t how meeting Molly again was supposed to go down. Amazing sex followed by revelations and suspicions.

“What happened after Iraq for you?” she asked, unwrapping a straw and sticking it in her coffee.

“Not nearly as much fun as happened to you, I think,” he said. “I saw you on television. A lot.” It had been a sweet torture. Seeing her in his room, on the airport TV screens, her voice speaking to him, had been agony. But the positive outcome of seeing her on TV was that it had fooled his body into thinking she was unattainable.

“Well, Harry thought that the more coverage we got, the safer we all were. If anything happened to us, journalists already had us on their radar. Stuff would have been harder to cover up.

Harry—or Henrietta—Molly’s boss, and David’s friend’s wife, had been smart. And lucky. “No one I ever worked with at the company was scared of being found out. Few were scared of anything. That’s why I mostly rolled alone.” And that was still true.

“So what happened?” she persisted.

“Not much. I had to give evidence at a few committees, none of which made C-SPAN, thankfully. I stopped my short-term relationship with bourbon and severed my ties with MGL Inc. That was the easy part, as most of my bosses had gone to live in federal prison. There were so many charges.” He shook his head. “Then a friend hooked me up with Barracks Security and gave me a second chance doing some good. The company’s a good one. Not driven by money. They only take jobs for the good guys. It makes a difference.

“What about you? What happened after the cameras stopped rolling?” He was determined to get to her truth one way or another. God she looked good in the sunlight that dappled her face, shining through the trees, playing light tricks over her lips. He wanted to grab her and kiss her right now. And that pissed him off.

“When we got back from Iraq, our team was sequestered while they rounded up all the ringleaders. Then we were questioned. A lot. Debriefed, over and over. They wanted to know everything. We’d been working for tomb raiders for three years.” Her voice rose in indignation.

“Tomb raiders?” he suppressed a grin.

“That’s what one of the senators called it. I mean, we never found a tomb per se, but they did take our site research and just plundered those areas, stealing everything they found there. It was heartbreaking to find out what they’d been doing.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. He’d known she was finishing up her studies at the time, and he imagined that discovering the last three years of her life had been nothing short of criminal must have been devastating.

She shrugged. “The State Department debriefed us, and then I basically went on the speech circuit, warning people about the stolen artifacts and the dangers of private archaeology. And how easy it is to proliferate a country’s history across borders. And demanding that the government establish some way to monitor private archaeologists. But, actually, when my speech here is done, I’m not entirely sure what I’m doing next. Harry’s taking a break from the company”—her eyes lit up—“She’s pregnant.”

He smiled. “I know. Matt told me a couple of months ago when I ran into him in Florida. Very good news.” Matt was one of David’s old EOD buddies he’d met up with again in Iraq at the same time he’d met Molly for the first time. “Anytime I get down, I remember what they went through, and figure if they can make it through hell and out the other side, then I can.” Shit. That was a little too much information to share with someone he didn’t know if he could trust. He decided to cut to the chase. “Okay. Enough about history. Let’s talk about last night. What were you trying to slip Doubrov when he got shot?”

She sat up straight. “Dr. Doubrov? I don’t know…”

“Sure you do, sweetheart. And whatever it is nearly got you shot.” He moved in for the kill. “I’ve waited a year to see you, and if you die here, because you didn’t clue me in on what you’re doing, I’m just not sure I could handle it.” True, but also, he hoped, a good enough manipulation to make her talk.

Instead she got quiet. Crap, was she going to cry? Her lower lip trembled, and he wondered what black magic he’d used to make her so emotional. He’d better dial it back down.

“David, I…” Her phone bleeped, and she grabbed it off the table like it was alive. She pressed a button. “Hell…what? I can’t hear you. Say again? What?”