“You only have the standard magazines?” Karl asked.
“Afraid so,” Bill said. “Everything is standard.”
“What about the rounds?”
Bill smiled and dug into his bag. “A little support here. Two boxes of twenty-five, hundred and fifteen grain, Hornady FTX Critical Defense rounds.”
“That should do,” Karl said. “What else do you have?”
The attache dumped the rest of the contents on the bed. There was a small double-edged tactical knife with a three-inch out the front switch blade, and a tactical pen.
The envelope that came out was water proof.
“Be careful with the contents of the envelope,” Bill said. “The paper is water-soluble. Read it after I leave and flush it down the toilet.”
Karl shook his head. “Why the hell did you guys use this kind of paper in a tropical climate?”
Bill raised his hands. “They don’t trust me with these decisions. I’m just a hired grunt.” Then he took out his phone and texted someone. Without looking up at Karl, he said, “I have one more gift for you. You’re gonna really thank me for this one.”
There was another knock on the door. Bill raised a finger, saying he’d get the door.
A woman came in wearing a yellow flowered sun dress and sandals, pulling a large carry-on bag. When she brushed her fingers through her hair, Karl finally realized who it was.
“Maya?” Karl asked. He was suddenly floored and confused.
Bill said, “Looks like you two have some shit to work out. My job is done here.” The army officer left the two of them alone in the hotel room.
His entire reality ran through his mind. The last time he had seen Maya Volkova was in Murmansk.
“What the hell is going on?” Karl asked in Russian.
“I speak English quite well,” she said. This was the first time he had heard her speak English, and she had a minor hint of Russian accent. Very sexy. But still confusing.
“I don’t understand,” he said.
“I’m the reason you came to Murmansk in the first place,” she explained. “I was there already keeping track of the Russian northern fleet.”
“That’s where you would always go when I couldn’t find you?” he asked.
“Most of the time. I wanted to tell you, but was told not to break cover.”
“You’re an Agency officer?”
She pointed at the envelope on the bed. “You must read that.”
Karl picked up the envelope and ripped it open, retrieving two pieces of paper. The first page ordered Karl to work with Maya Volkova, although he would be in charge, since she was a recruited agent and not an official Agency officer. The second page gave a quick background on Maya, from her upbringing in St. Petersburg until age 12, through her childhood in Marquette, Michigan, and then to her recruitment as an agent of the CIA at age 20 in her senior year of college at Michigan State.
He quickly memorized everything the Agency had on her before going into the bathroom and throwing the pages in the toilet. They were nearly dissolved by the time he hit the flush lever.
When Karl came back out into the bedroom area, Maya was sitting on a chair with her legs crossed.
“You fucked me,” Karl said. “Was that part of your job?”
“No. I was told just to keep track of you to make sure you were alright. Nothing more.”
“I thought we had something nice,” he said. “Now I find out you just played my ass.”
“It wasn’t like that, Karl.”
He gave her a double-take. “Karl?”
“I was just briefed on your real first name. Do you prefer Niko? Or perhaps Nicolai Markin?”
The Agency trusted her enough to give her his real name and his new identity. That had to mean something. But could he ever truly trust her again? Could he continue to despise what she had done? After all, he had also lived a lie in Murmansk, pretending to be a Spanish college grad student while he immersed himself in Russian culture and language.
She came to him as she had in the past, rubbing the back of her hand along his jaw line. “I’m sorry. If it’s any consolation, I was the one who recommended that you had completed your immersion. You are a native speaker. You can blend completely into Russian society.”
Good to know, he thought. But it would take more than kind words to soothe the sting of betrayal she had inflicted upon him.
The Agency, in their infinite wisdom, had tied his success with this woman he thought he knew. “Is your name really Maya?” he asked.
“Yes. Maya Volkova. As I said, I was already in place in Murmansk when they decided to send you there. And to set the record straight, I actually thought you were from Spain. Bravo for that ruse.”
So, they had both been used by the Agency. His mind tracked to Maya’s background, and Karl had an interesting thought. “What do they have on you?”
“What do you mean?” Her eyes shifted away from his gaze.
“You know what I mean,” he said sternly.
A tear formed at the corner of her right eye and streaked down her high cheek bone. She wiped away the moisture and said, “I did some things in my youth that I’m not proud of.”
For now, he let her slide. But he would get more information eventually. He needed to know her motivation. Nobody worked as an agent for the CIA without a good reason.
The two of them slept that evening in the same large bed, not even touching at any time during the night.
15
The flight from Toronto had gotten into the island a little later than expected in the afternoon, making Sergei Zubov a bit agitated. Wearing a suit in this heat was not a good idea, but it fit his cover as a Russian oil executive. He glanced at his young associate, Polina Kotova, who wore a form-fitted blue dress showing off every curve in her luscious body as she watched the carousel whir past with dozens of bags. Her red hair, a bit disheveled now from nearly twenty-four hours of travel from Moscow, flowed down past her strong shoulders. The humid sea air seemed to be winning the battle, puffing her thick locks to a new level. He had no idea how she could wear those high heels for so long, but they did help accentuate her fine legs and butt. Polina’s body was her best weapon, and she knew better than anyone Sergei had ever worked with how to use it to her advantage. Yet, she had also refused his advances more times than he wanted to remember. Enough so that he had stopped trying almost a year ago. Now, Polina was playing the part of his personal assistant with the oil company.
He watched his young associate bend over to pick her small bag from the carousel and nearly every male head shifted to take a look. Yeah, she knew exactly what she was doing.
Polina walked over to Sergei, whose bag was one of the first to come around the carousel, and smiled at him. “Are we ready?” They had decided to speak English for now. At least in public.
They rented a car and drove to their hotel on the north side of the island in the Palm Beach area.
Maya was still not sure how Karl felt about her. She had tried not to say something stupid in the past twenty hours that they had been together, but she felt like she was walking on eggshells around him. He wouldn’t even touch her. Yet, they had been so close in Murmansk. Had made love almost daily during the last month they were together in Russia. She understood how he would feel betrayed. It wasn’t like the Agency had been one hundred percent upfront with their information on Karl, either.
They were in a holding pattern now. So, she made the most of it, saying she would meet Karl poolside that afternoon. Although it was the heat of the day, the clouds above gave them a little relief for periods of time.