Wyatt, though, was still there, recovering from his wounds.
When the American did finally leave, Yuri followed, all the way to Atlanta.
After several days of sleeping in his car, his exhaustion was near the point of driving him insane.
He kept his wits, though, and continued his pursuit of Wyatt. Yuri had a mission to complete.
"Where are you going now?" he said quietly. He found talking to himself helped keep him awake better than just thinking.
A few dozen miles north of Kennesaw, Yuri saw the sedan suddenly move over to the right lane. He checked the green sign noting the name and number of the exit. From the looks of it, his mark was heading to Cartersville.
"Cartersville? What is it you're looking for here?" he said.
His phone rang in the passenger seat. He glanced at the number, picked up the device, and answered it.
He answered the phone with a simple "yes" in Russian.
"What's your status?" the man's voice said through the earpiece.
"Still observing."
"Anything yet?"
"Nothing worth reporting," Yuri said. His superior didn't bug him often, but it was enough to be irritating. If there had been something he needed to relay to the boss, he would have already done it. He decided to risk a proposition.
"You know, sir, it could be that there is nothing to find. I've been over here for several weeks, and there have been no developments. Is it possible we have made a mistake?"
"No. There is no mistake. Just stay on it."
"Perpetually?" It was a legitimate question. Yuri didn't mind doing his duty, but at some point, his superiors needed to call a wild goose chase what it was.
"We will give it forty-eight more hours, Agent Stolov. If the American doesn't find anything by then, abort the mission."
"Yes, sir." He paused for a moment before speaking again. "I almost forgot; there is one thing you need to be aware of."
"I'm listening."
"When we were in New York, Wyatt was abducted by a group of armed men. They looked like Americans."
"Abducted?" The voice sounded angry. "Why didn't you tell me this to begin with?"
Yuri sighed. It was the reaction he'd expected. "I apologize, sir. I've been without sleep for over a day. Also, Wyatt got away. He managed to escape, killing a few of his captors in the process. My question for you is, who are those men, and what do they want with Wyatt?"
A long silence seeped into the phone. Had Yuri not heard the other man breathing on the other end, he would have wondered if they'd lost the connection.
"We'll have to get back to you on that. Were you spotted?"
"No, sir."
"Are you certain? At any point in time did these men or Wyatt see you?"
"I'm certain. I've not been seen or heard. If I was, I wouldn't be speaking to you right now."
The man seemed to accept the answer. "See to it things stay that way. If Wyatt doesn't find anything in the next two days, return home."
"Yes, sir."
The call ended, and Yuri placed the device back in the passenger seat. He shook his head, half to keep awake and half out of irritation.
Why were the higher-ups so interested in this Wyatt guy? They'd been incredibly sparse with the details.
Yuri understood it wasn't his place to question authority. He was also glad he only had to stay on this mission for two more days. His thought was if Wyatt was going to find something, he'd have already found it.
"Two more days, Yuri. You can do anything for two days."
Chapter 8
Drew Porter sat in his SUV, flipping through the news feed on his phone. Tensions were growing between the United States and the Russian Federation. The Russian president, a man named Nikolai Zhirkov, had invaded land on the Black Sea that once belonged to Ukraine. Like getting beat up by a bully in the school yard, there wasn't much the Ukrainians could do to stop the attack.
Some retreated farther into their country. Others stayed put, accepting the way things were with their new overlords.
Porter didn't buy into the stories the media wove for the public. He knew better. He should. After all, he was on the inside making the real news happen, pulling strings from behind shadowy curtains.
He raised his wrist and glanced at the time. The man he was meeting would be arriving any minute. Porter had chosen the place, an old cemetery outside of Washington, just across the border in Virginia. He'd have preferred to meet at night rather than the morning, but as long as he got paid, Porter didn't care.
"I'm glad you didn't keep me waiting," a voice said through the open passenger side window.
Porter wasn't startled. He noticed the older man approaching in the side mirror a second before he spoke.
"I don't like being late," Porter said. "It doesn't reflect well on one's character."
"I agree," the other man said, keeping his face pointing forward.
He was wearing sunglasses and a black trench coat. His ears were pink from the biting winter air. Breaths came out in big clouds before dissipating.
"What happened in New York?" the man asked, never facing Porter directly.
"Wyatt didn't have anything, so we took him out. Just as ordered."
Trench Coat nodded. "Yes, I read the report. But that isn't the whole story, is it?"
Porter clenched his teeth. He hated bureaucrats. They drove him nuts with all their questions. He doubted this particular one had ever spent any time in the field. He knew the man had never served in the military, so that was one strike against his credibility right off the bat.
"Are you referring to the men I lost during the mission?"
"No," the older man shook his head. "In case I need to remind you, I said I read the report."
"Yes, you did say that, sir. So, what else do you want to know?"
The man drew in a long breath and released it through tight lips. The air almost made a whistling sound as it passed through the little hole. "Oh, I don't know. How about the fact that the man you were supposed to kill, and reported as dead, is actually still alive?" He turned to face Porter for the first time.
Though the man's eyes were hidden behind his sunglasses, Porter knew they were narrowed with irritation. What he didn't know was what the guy was talking about.
"Alive? That's impossible. You must have gotten some bad information, sir."
Porter hadn't confirmed Wyatt was dead. In the sudden chaos to get away, there wasn't time. He knew Wyatt took two to the chest. It was highly unlikely he could have survived.
"You know," Trench Coat said, "I thought you might say something like that, which is why I brought you this."
He tossed a black-and-white photo into the passenger seat, close enough for Porter to clearly see the image. He tilted his head to make sure he was seeing correctly before returning his gaze to the older guy.
"Where did you get this?" Porter asked.
"Atlanta. Traffic camera. It was taken last night — in case you were going to ask when, too."
"Last night?"
"That is correct. You mind telling me how in the world Sean Wyatt was shot twice in the chest and managed to show up in Atlanta, healthy as can be, almost a week later? He wasn't wearing a vest, was he?"
Porter shook his head. "No. He definitely was not." He stared in disbelief at the photo.
"So, what are you going to do about it?"
"I'll take care of it," Porter said, trying not to show his frustration. He hated being wrong about something. This was a bad time for him to be wrong. The people he was working for didn't accept failure.