She could hear a smile in his voice, but his words injected a thread of certainty. This amazing sex was because they were in danger. That’s all it was. Their lives were so different, there was no way they could make this work. And despite his best efforts, they were on the run in a foreign country with a few hundred euros to their names. He seemed fine, but she was starting to believe it was because he was calling on his training, and concentrating on the job at hand. She wasn’t sure how reliable he’d be if he didn’t have a mission on his mind. How…steady. She sighed at herself. She shouldn’t be thinking about this. She should only be thinking about stopping the death and destruction that had dogged her since she set foot in Athens.
“What are we going to do?” she asked.
“You’re going to tell me about that message you were trying to give Doubrov,” he said.
She tried to sit up, get off the bed or something, but he held her tight until she relaxed against him. “I was sworn to secrecy,” she said.
“Sweetheart. I think that ship has sailed. I need to know what you got into so I can help fix it, okay?” He said, his voice rumbling through his chest.
She raised her head and examined his face for something she could trust. He’d been with the military, so she could trust that part of him, but then he’d gone all rogue with the mercenaries. She knew nothing about the company he was with now, but she guessed she needed to trust him with that part of the nightmare, at least. If he let her down, then shame on him.
She took a deep breath. “After Iraq last year, Henrietta and I were debriefed by people in the State Department. Brandon was a low-level guy who took notes and brought tea and coffee. He was nice, serious…solicitous even. He made sure we knew when the different hearings were and made sure we were where we were supposed to be, when we were supposed to be.
“I heard nothing from him since, until he called me last week. He asked to meet me before I caught my flight to Athens. He asked me if I would do one thing to help my country. Of course I said yes.”
David’s mind ran at a hundred miles an hour. Who recruited a civilian to do anything involving the Russian government? His instinct was to beat some sense into the nitwit.
“He gave me the two envelopes and told me to wait for a text to tell me which message to pass to Dr. Doubrov at that cocktail party. And the rest you know. Except I haven’t been able to get in contact with him since the professor was shot.”
David got up and took the notes from his pants pocket. Brandon Peterson. BP. The fucking pen that had been used as an improvised trigger. BP? But why? Why send someone on an errand and then try to make sure the person she was supposed to deliver a message to was killed? The only reason would be an aborted mission. But then why not just call Molly and tell her to flush the notes?
One thing he knew. He wanted to talk to Peterson. He seemed to be the only guy with the answers.
“What are you thinking?” she asked him, placing a light hand on his shoulder.
He told her about the explosives that he and Mal had found, and the monogrammed empty pen casing that they’d found as part of the device. “I need to speak to Brandon Peterson. And I suspect that he’s here in Athens.”
She tucked some hair behind her ear, and suddenly all he wanted was to stay and absorb all the tiny movements she made. The scratching of an itch on the side of her nose, the little sniff she made of her coffee before sipping it, pushing her hair off her face. All the little details that made a memory real. That gave it depth. He closed his eyes against the thought that he was collecting memories. Preparing never to see her again.
“What can I do?” she asked, wrapping a sheet around her. It was the first time she’d hidden herself from him. Could she tell he was thinking about being without her? About only having memories to keep him warm?
“You can tell me what he looks like.”
“I can do better than that if you give me five minutes.” She grabbed the notepad and pen the hotel staff had left by the phone and began to draw.
“You’re an artist too?” He was starting to feel decidedly like a one-trick pony next to her.
She looked up from her sketch. “Not even close. But when you’re an archaeologist you spend your rookie year sketching what people dig up. I had to go from stick-figures to dimensional perspective in a few short months.” She went back to the notepad and smiled as she drew. “Here.”
She’d drawn a distinctive looking man. Which made his job easier. He memorized the face. “What does he wear?” he asked.
“I’ve only seen him a few times, and each time he was in a well-tailored slim-fitting suit.” She closed her eyes as if to visualize him. “A battered brown leather briefcase, like an heirloom or something. It doesn’t match his dark gray suits and white shirts and dark ties. But he always has it with him.”
He lay back on the bed and tried to formulate a plan. Not much of a plan, but he figured if he staked out the embassy, Peterson would show sooner or later.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and bit back a groan. His back was still sore, and frankly his joints weren’t what they used to be. Sometimes he felt like an old man when he got up. All the training and all the explosions during the past fifteen years had taken an unnatural toll on his body. Nothing a run wouldn’t fix…which would be fine if he were on vacation.
“Let’s see what the news says.” He clicked the TV on, pressing the VOLUME button quickly so it wouldn’t disturb the quiet ambiance between them in the small room. He looked back at her. Why couldn’t they just be simple? A couple who’d met at a grocery store, or through friends, or, fuck, even online. Finding someone like Molly was like finding a unicorn in a boot camp latrine.
“Try CNN,” she said. “I was wondering if Victoria might be on. You know how they plug into an affiliate’s news feed. Her channel is small, I think, but she’s on site, so this might be a much bigger story than fracking.”
He found the CNN World station at the end of what seemed like an endless stream of Greek and other European game show channels. His heart sank a little when he realized that the car bomb was in fact obviously the most interesting thing that had happened that day in Europe.
“Turn it up. I can’t hear.” Molly shuffled forward and sat next to him on the edge of the bed.
He obliged.
“This terror attack has sent uneasy ripples through the international diplomatic community. The G20 meetings are supposed to be a major show of cooperation and solidarity, but this year, in Athens, tensions between Russia and the US seem to be escalating in an out-of-control way. Here’s Alex Bernard from the scene of last night’s car bomb attack. What do you know, Alex?”
“Well, Kathy, as you say, tensions are high here. We don’t know much. The Greek authorities are keeping most of the information to themselves. What I will say is that Russian law enforcement have been invited to participate in these investigations.”
“Isn’t that unusual, Alex?” the anchor in the US asked.
“Under normal circumstances it would be strange. But with Greece in debt to the European Union, and with Russia offering, unofficially, to cover their debt, the relationship between the two countries has never been closer. Which is causing uneasy undercurrents with the other EU countries represented here. Also, of course, it was the assassination of the Russian minister earlier this week that started this campaign of terror.”
Molly grabbed his hand and he stroked his thumb over hers. They kept flashing to footage of the exploded SUV.
“Thank you, Alex,” the anchor continued. “And with only just over two weeks to go until the world leaders descend on Athens for the leadership meetings, authorities are looking to wrap up this investigation quickly and bring the terrorists to justice.”