The Skorpion Directive Part 26

"Okay. But I got to say something."

"Shoot."

"We were out of line. No hard feelings, okay?"

"No . . . And thanks . . ."

"No. Is more. You going after this Aleksandr Vukov guy?"

"Yes."

"So are we. You want in?"

"I am am in. I own it. in. I own it. You're You're the guy who wants in." the guy who wants in."

"Okay. You own it. We want in. How about it?"

"Who have you got?"

"Me. And Daniel. He still wants his tooth back."

"Declared? Flying the flag?"

"No. Not declared. But we got some backing, if we need." Fyke was silent for a moment, thinking it through.

"Okay. Just you two. And I'm running it."

"Good. Okay. Where are you?"

"In Athens. At the docklands in Piraeus. When do you leave?"

"We are in air already. Dagan gave us a jet. Meet us at Ellinikon Airport in . . . three hours. Okay?"

"Done."

Fyke clicked off, hit CALL, and heard Nikki's line beeping, his chest suddenly cold. Answer please, Nikki, answer Answer please, Nikki, answer . . . . . .

"Ray, I've been ringing and ringing."

"Where are you?"

"In a cab, on . . . Poseidon . . . We're going by a big football stadium . . . I'm following Kirikoff . . . They're in a white Mercedes, a two-seater of some kind . . . He's with the guy he met at lunch."

"You get a shot of them?"

"Yes. That's why I was calling. I went on our Greatest Hits page-all known terrorists on the watch list?"

How does she have access to that? he thought. he thought.

"Okay. And . . . ?"

"I think the guy with him is Milan Babic. He was Ratko Mladic's second-in-command."

"Kleinst said he was involved. And here he is. If you have access to that database, then you have access to Deacon Cather too, don't you?"

"Yes. Indirectly."

"Then send him a flash about Babic. Where are you now?"

"We just merged with a big street . . . Piraeus something . . ."

"You're headed to the docklands. Don't get too close."

"I won't. We're already falling back. Where are you?"

"Where you're going to be in about five minutes."

FYKE was still in the shadows across the road when a white Mercedes SL550 roadster came gliding down the wharf, weaving in and out of the carts and forklifts, pulling up in front of the door to Northstar Logistics. The door pulled back-electric-and Fyke was treated to the prolonged spectacle of a sweating, writhing, red-faced Piotr Kirikoff struggling to extricate his bulging bulk from a car not specifically designed for bipedal belugas. was still in the shadows across the road when a white Mercedes SL550 roadster came gliding down the wharf, weaving in and out of the carts and forklifts, pulling up in front of the door to Northstar Logistics. The door pulled back-electric-and Fyke was treated to the prolonged spectacle of a sweating, writhing, red-faced Piotr Kirikoff struggling to extricate his bulging bulk from a car not specifically designed for bipedal belugas.

Fyke was aware of Nikki walking down the wharf toward him, having dumped her taxi a block back, but he found it impossible to look away as Kirikoff, wrapping his fat flippers around the door trim, managed to give birth to himself. It was like watching a giant pink crab leave home and waddle off down the sh.o.r.eline without his sh.e.l.l.

His pa.s.senger, Milan Babic, a whipcord type, tall, slender but muscular, with a trim gray beard, stood by the entrance to the warehouse and pretended to be fascinated by his BlackBerry. Nikki reached Fyke just as Kirikoff came free with an audible pop, pop, his pink face dripping wet and his linen shirt already hanging limp. his pink face dripping wet and his linen shirt already hanging limp.

"Dear G.o.d," she said softly.

"Yes. They'll have to bury him in installments. That your Serbian lad with him? Babic?"

"Yes. Kleinst thinks Babic is next in line if Mladic ever gets caught. He's taking quite a chance walking around in Athens. Every security agency in the West wants him."

"You hear back from Cather?"

"No. Early in Langley."

"He'd still be in his crypt, then, sleeping on a bed of his native soil and dreaming of nubile young Carpathians?"

"Transylvanians."

"He really behind this . . . whatever this is we're doing?"

"He's paying for it anyway."

"How'd he talk you into it?"

"It was more trick than talk. By the time I had finished listening to him, I was already wrapped up in spider silk and hanging out to cure. Why are you here, Ray?"

"Mikey."

"Simple as that."

"Not simple at all. By the way, one of us is going to have to go along to Ellinikon Airport in . . . about an hour and a half."

"Why?"

Fyke told her.

"Dear G.o.d."

"Is that relief or horror?"

"I didn't like Joko very much. And you knocked out that poor boy's teeth. What was his name?"

"Daniel. You hit Joko with the champagne bottle."

"I did not. I merely handed it to you."

"What did you think I was going to do with it? Stick a flower in it?"

"Do they still think Micah killed Galan?"

Fyke shook his head, his smile fading.

"What is it, Ray? You look strange."

"You remember a cop named Bogdan Davit, in Kerch?"

"I heard good things, but I never met him. I never got to Kerch."

"Seems he has . . . acquired . . . a video of Galan being killed. It clears Dalton. That's why the Mossad want to help. We're after the same people now."

" 'Acquired'? That sounds like Micah Dalton."

"Yeah. Has Mikey written all over it, especially since there now seems to be a good chance that Russia and the Ukraine are going to war. He's an active lad, is Mikey."

"I'd like to know what he knows. There's a good chance we've got hold of both ends of the same tail."

"If we do, I hope he's got the end closest to the tiger's a.s.s. There's one way we can get in touch with him."

"What's that?"

"Set fire to this end of the tail. He'll hear about it. I'll bet he already knows about Tel Aviv."

"Everybody does. We made the BBC, Ray."

"Yeah. Good point. Then be patient, Nikki. He'll turn up."

Nikki looked across the wharf, watching as Kirikoff and Babic circled around the big stainless-steel tanker truck. Kirikoff was leaning in close to Babic to make himself heard over the din of the port, Babic running a loving hand over the gleaming surface of the tanker's body.

"What is this?" asked Fyke. "Is Kirikoff trying to sell the d.a.m.ned thing to Babic?"

"I don't know," said Nikki. "But we better not lose sight of this thing. Whatever's going on, that tanker has something to do with it. I'd love to know what's in it."

"I can tell you that," said Fyke. "Nothing. That tanker's bone-dry. You can tell by the tires and the height off the ground. A full tanker, one that size, would be squatting down over its shocks like a beetle with a brick on its back, tires all bulged out."

"So it's empty? That tanker?"

"Empty as my pockets, Nikki, dear heart."

"Well, this is too deep for me. I guess I better get going."

"Ellinikon. You know it? It's down the coast from here, about ten klicks."

"I know it."

"You'll recognize them, then, will you, my darling?"

"Yes, Ray. I think so. They'll be the grumpy ones in the bloodstained bandages."

Airborne Pa.s.sING OVER ISTANBUL, TWENTY THOUSAND FEET, TWO P.M. LOCAL TIME.

Dalton watched the city of Istanbul glide by underneath the starboard wing of Poppy Pownall's corporate Learjet. The Sultan Mehmet Bridge was almost directly below, noonday traffic streaming across it, hundreds of gypsy freighters dragging their white wakes up the Bosphorus to the Black Sea, through the Kerch Strait and into the Sea of Azov and the gritty Russian coal and iron ports or down to the Sea of Marmora through the Dardanelles and out into the Aegean. A pall of smoke and haze lay over the low, crowded slopes of Istanbul, the spear tips of a hundred minarets lancing up out of the smog, facets of sunlight bouncing off the dome of Hagia Sophia.

He checked his watch, checked their airspeed indicator, made a rough calculation that they'd be on the ground in Athens by three in the afternoon. He sipped at his G & T and shifted his weight in the wide leather chair, easing the pressure on the wound in his hip, which was painful as h.e.l.l. Mandy, sitting opposite, gave him an up-from-under smile, crossing her long legs as she did to great effect, since she was wearing a tight blue skirt and a crisp white blouse, sleek black stilettos with bright scarlet soles. She looked, as always, shatteringly and untouchably beautiful.

For his part, Dalton, although shaved and showered and turned out in a very fine blue pinstripe over a fresh white shirt, felt like a low-rent fur ball. He smiled back at Mandy, sipped at his G & T, and asked about Dobri Levka, who, after getting some medical attention and a couple of stiff vodkas, had gone limping off to sleep at the rear of the jet.

"Levka's a tough lad," said Mandy. "He just needs some sleep. How are you doing?"

"Vukov. I can't get over it."

"Well, try," said Mandy, holding her winegla.s.s out for Dalton to fill, "Whiners bore me."

"I'm not whining."

"Not yet. But you're circling the drain. Anyway, what's left of him is probably working its way through some creature's alimentary ca.n.a.l right now. We were sixteen miles out at sea. You really think he could swim sixteen miles, in water that cold?"

"I think Vukov is hard to kill."

"So's my sense of humor, but you're managing. What do you want to do when we get on the ground in Athens?"

"How's your math?"

"I don't do math. I have people for that. How's yours?"