Siberian Treasure
Page 47

Still. Helen wasn’t about to give up.
Her fingers tingled. She had to be on track. And that was what she was counting on today. Little more than her instinct.
Determined and certain as she was, Helen hadn’t been foolish enough to pull the Feds and local cops from other potential targets … but she’d chosen to come to Detroit to oversee because it had to be here.
With the help of Dr. Everett, on-staff geologists had determined that the controller must be within ten miles of the explosion detonation; yet, he wouldn’t want to be too close, or he’d be caught in the destruction. So, the bomb experts and the geologists had done some rough calculating and pinpointed an outer radius of two miles wide where the searches were contained—at all three locations.
Three hundred law enforcement officials combed the areas; checking cars, buildings, shops; everywhere.
Someone had to find something.
The tingling in her fingers told Helen it was a matter of time.
She just hoped that time would come in the next eighty minutes.
At that moment, Colin Bergstrom ran up to her “Helen!” he shouted. “I’ve got them! MacNeil!”
“Tell me it’s Detroit.”
“It’s Detroit.”
She almost grinned, but there was no time. Hope, now, yes, but no time. “What else?”
“He called from his sat phone. I could barely hear him but he told me he and Marina Alexander were with the Skaladeskas.”
“What else? Do they know how to stop this?”
“He said they moved up the time. Forty minutes from now. We lost connection, but I know he will try and call back.”
“Forty minutes? Do they know how to stop this? Get him on the damned phone!”
Frustration crawled into her belly, gnawed there. It was close … so close. Gabe was still alive and on the job. And there was even someone who might be able to help them … .might. But couldn’t.
“Get him back on the phone. See if he knows anything!” She stalked away, ignoring the fact that she’d just snapped orders to a senior CIA director.
She didn’t care, because the tingling in her fingers was beginning to wane.
-44-
As they hurried along the hall, as quickly as Gabe could move, Marina felt the desperation climbing inside her. “Give me the phone. We need to try and get through again. I have some information that will help—” She wanted to scream in frustration; it took too long to get the words out. “Dial Bergstrom. I hope to God he’s in Detroit.”
Gabe handed her the phone. The ring sounded tinny and far away, but when the voice boomed on the line, it came through loud and clear. “MacNeil?”
“This is Marina Alexander. Are you in Detroit?
“Yes.”
“The man who is going to detonate the bombs—I can tell you where he is. You have to pick him up and get the box.”
“Wait.” There was silence, a scuffle, and then a female voice came on. “Helen Darrow speaking. Gabe? Am I to understand you’re with the Skaladeskas?”
“This is Marina. Yes. The man you want, who has the control, is in Windsor. He’s across the river from Detroit, directly across from the RenCen. You have about twenty minutes to apprehend him and for me to give you the code to stop it. If I can get to it.”
“In Windsor? Jesus, God, we hardly have anyone over there—” Darrow’s voice stopped abruptly, and Marina could hear her shouting orders, and the bumps as she moved herself, obviously running.
“Helen! Listen,” she yelled into the phone. “Before we cut out again—he’s got dark hair and he’s wearing a blue shirt with green stripes, and he’s right by the river. I couldn’t see if there was a vehicle—”
The phone bleeped in her ear, and Marina knew it had cut out. She pulled it away and looked to see how many battery lines were left. One.
The next time she called, they had to have the man, and she had to have the code.
She turned to look at Gabe, who had a bad look on his face.
“What is it?”
“We’ve only got one bullet left.”
“Let’s hope we don’t even need that one.”
They were at the door of Command Central. Marina looked at Gabe. He had a grim look on his grayish face; she wondered how much longer he could go on.
It might not be an issue.
He held up his fingers: three, two, one—he slammed his good shoulder into the door.
It didn’t move.
“They’ve secured it somehow. How did they know?” Marina wanted to scream. She remembered that Varden had insisted she go to the toilet. Maybe that had been his way of getting rid of her and Victor so there wouldn’t be any interference.
How was it locked? None of the other doors … ..Marina saw the faint outline of a panel door. Jabbing at it with her poor fingernails, she managed to slide it open and display the now-familiar tongue-tabs.
The only way in was with Aleksandrov DNA.
Perhaps this would be the only time Marina was glad she carried those genes.
She took a tab, stuck it on her tongue to moisten it, then fed it into the slot.
The little machine grabbed it, and Marina waited, clutching Gabe’s wrist, hoping she had enough Aleksandrov that it would recognize her.
Then, miraculously, the door moved.
They were through the entrance before it was more than two feet wide, surprising the group at the computer table.
Gabe brandished the gun. “Freeze. Now move slowly to the right. Marina, get the code.”
As soon as Varden and Roman were out of reaching distance, Marina sprinted into the room and snatched the green plastic sheet from the computer control area. She ran back to Gabe as he stood, holding the gun steadily on the group.
“You’ll never make it in time,” Varden told them. His words were general, but his eyes fastened on Marina. Again, she felt as if he were trying to tell her something … something subtle. He stared at her … was that the slightest of nods? “Nice try though. You’ve got brains and nerve, as well as good looks.” Even now, his voice was mocking. But he’d given the barest incline of his head.
Gabe grabbed Marina’s arm—partly, she thought, to help him stay on his feet, and partly to show their solidarity. “Wish we could stay and join your little victory party, but I don’t think there’s going to be one. I’m going to suggest that you not move for a moment while we make a phone call.”
Marina took the phone and pushed the redial button while Gabe focused the gun on Roman, who, despite his supposed fear of firearms seemed ready to bolt. Which was greater, Marina thought, waiting for the phone to connect: his fear of guns or his fear of failure?
The phone connected and Helen Darrow’s voice blared through. “We’ve got it. Do you have him?” Marina asked.
“Not yet. Ambassador Bridge was too crowded; almost there though. You got the code?”
“Yes. Write this down,” Marina began, starting to translate the code, which was written out in Skaladeska prose. “Green to the left—”
Roman and Varden moved at the same time, splitting, and Gabe fired reflexively at Varden as he shouted, “Run Marina!” He whirled, slamming the gun at Roman’s face when he threw himself toward them.
Marina didn’t need to be told twice, but she yanked Gabe after her and pounded the button to close the door.
They tore down the hallway, and the sound of shouts blared after them.
Gabe wouldn’t make it far; they needed to stop and finish the phone call—how much time did they have left?—they’d never make it safely out of there.
The jumble of thoughts crammed in her head galvanized Marina to run faster, pulling Gabe along after her. Their pursuers couldn’t be far behind.
As they rounded the corner, Victor appeared.
Marina readied herself to push past him, mow him down if she had to … and at the last minute, she changed her mind. Grabbed his arm. He was going to step up this time. “Get us out of here,” she said, close to his face. “Or I will shoot you. I’ve got nothing to lose.”
He blanched, but gave a short nod, his Adam’s apple echoing it.
Gasping for breath, she looked at Gabe. He was fading fast.
Could she trust her father? Even with a gun pointing at him?
She looked at him, knowing she didn’t have any time … .but what did her instincts say? Could she trust the man who’d lied to her for as long as she remembered? The man who’d never put anyone ahead of himself? The man who would have let Gabe die?
She had to.
“Help me with him,” she told Victor, still pointing the gun at him. “How far?”
“It’s not far.” He gave her an enigmatic look. “I did mean to give you the gun.”
“Come on. Get us out of here.”
He looped one thin arm around Gabe, and it was ludicrous to think that he’d be of any help … but between him and Marina, they managed to move the three of them quickly down a passage that blended so well into the wall that Marina would never have found it.
She felt the time ticking away, and she chafed. But they couldn’t stop. The voices and pounding feet were too close behind; getting closer.
They couldn’t stop yet.
Suddenly, they were at a door, and Victor was pulling a tongue-tab from a small panel. He licked it, and fed it into the machine, and the door opened.
Air. Fresh air. The grey light of midnight during an Arctic summer.
She became aware of a screaming alarm; a siren blaring a warning. One look at Victor—for she’d ceased to think of him as Dad—told her he was responsible.
He would not look at her.
Marina pulled Gabe through the door, and found herself on a small hill, covered with tufts of brown-green grass. Four tall pines stood like sentinels over looking the steppes below.
Marina grabbed Gabe’s arm, trying not to think about what time it was back in Detroit, and ran. As if he, too, was spurred on by the fresh air, he picked up speed and kept up with her as they dashed over the uneven ground.