The Spy With The Silver Lining. Wendy Rosnau
the intelligence world, and to her.
“For us to come out of this bungle with our heads high, we’re going to have to get creative. We want his operation destroyed. Until that happens you’ll be vacationing in hell.”
“Hell?”
“Sorry. I should have said heaven. Snake heaven, that is. I’ll keep you up to date on the situation on a need-to-know basis. For now you don’t need to know anything, except what time your flight leaves.”
“Snake heaven.”
“You really are listening. Good.”
Casmir knew Quest’s policy when it came to offering information—only active agents involved in the mission were briefed on the when, where and how.
She didn’t want back in the hot seat, but it was a foolish move to keep her out of the loop altogether. She’d been the only agent to get inside Yurii’s tight circle. She knew his habits. Knew things that hadn’t made it into his file.
She’d gotten close enough to know that he slept on his back, not his belly. Knew what he did first when he got out of bed in the morning, and it wasn’t make a trip to the bathroom. Knew what quenched his thirst above all else, and why he had his shoes custom made, and it wasn’t the same reason she did.
She couldn’t shake that feeling that she always got when the cards in the deck had been switched and she was playing poker, holding a sucker’s hand.
She said, “Now that Yurii’s been burned, it won’t be easy getting close to him. He has plenty of men to do his legwork. Their loyalty is beyond question. And he has Filip.”
“Yes, the brother. Thank you for bringing him to my attention.” He scribbled the name on a piece of paper. “So that’s it, we’re on top of the situation, with every confidence that we have the right bait to make Yurii bite.”
If they were on top of the situation, Yurii would never have escaped his iron cell in the first place, Casmir thought.
Polax looked up and gave her a satisfied smile. “You’re on vacation starting now.”
“But I—”
“There’s no need to concern yourself further. I’m confident this time things are going to go our way. Get comfortable in your new home and take up a hobby. Knitting, perhaps, or maybe cooking. Can you boil water yet?”
She would like to boil him, and the look she gave him said so.
“You won’t be returning to Quest until Petrov’s command center has been destroyed and the final paperwork is on my desk. My advice is to put your feet up and enjoy the time off.”
“I don’t see why—”
“Your argument will be a waste of your time and mine.”
Casmir scalded him with her best bitch look. The problem was by now Polax had become immune to it. But she kept it going.
She’d been given the name royal bitch, which she embraced. She’d had a good teacher. Her mother had written the rule book on bitchdom, and Casmir had read every word.
A weak woman was as vulnerable as a three-legged dog on a fox hunt, Mama had always said. A strong woman knows how to get what she wants. When to add a cup of sugar, or a drop of arsenic.
A confident woman is wrinkle free, walks like she owns the sidewalk and isn’t afraid to kick a little ass when the shoe fits. And if the ass is big, wear boots—preferably a pair you can run in should your aim be an inch or two off and the brute doesn’t go down.
Polax was speaking again. Casmir made eye contact, her eyes snapping like a bitch on fire.
He dismissed the look. “We never know what tomorrow will bring in the intelligence business, Balasi. Four days ago you were the actress. A busy little spy doing what you do best, playing games with a winning hand. But now your cards have been turned over and Petrov knows you outplayed him. Until we have him back, you’re—”
“A prisoner with an asshole jailer.”
“A jailer who has a reputation that gives new meaning to the word survival. I’m confident Fourtier will be able to protect you should your sunny disposition irritate the neighbors and start them hissing.”
Very funny, Casmir thought. If a reptile crossed her path, she was going to shoot it in the head with Yurii’s dependable Gyurza. She still had his gun, with a round of ammo guaranteed to turn Fourtier’s neighbors into leather shoes, complete with matching handbags.
“Your plane is waiting, and so is your mother. I’m sure Ruza will recover from her injuries in a few days.”
“Injuries. But you said—”
“The minor bump on the head and black eye haven’t slowed her down much.”
“Mama has a black eye?”
“In a few days she’ll look as beautiful as ever. Now get going.”
“But—”
“Your flight leaves—” Polax checked his watch “—in fifty minutes. Move your amazing ass, Balasi. I’ll be in touch.”
Pierce entered Merrick’s office at Onyxx in Washington expecting a pat on the back, and his vacation request confirmed. He and Jacy had managed to wrap up the kill-file mission and defuse a time bomb.
All was good, and now it was time for a little fun in the sun. He deserved it. He was anxious.
“Sit down, Pierce. That was a helluva job you did for us in Montana. Jacy’s back working for us. Polax is happy that Prisca has joined his team of female spies. And we have the original kill-file in our possession.”
“And Holic Reznik?”
“Holic is never going to see the light of day. His prison cell at Clume is now his permanent home.”
“And the Chameleon?”
“We’ve alerted the appropriate organizations directly involved in his intended mayhem. Of course, we still want him, but for now lives have been spared. You and Jacy can be damn proud of that. The agency is grateful.”
All in a day, Pierce thought. Now let’s settle on a date when I leave for my requested time off. He probably wouldn’t get a month like he’d asked for, but surely two weeks. He could live with that.
“Sorry to have to tell you this, but your request for vacation time has been denied.”
Pierce had just sat down. He looked across the desk at his commander in disbelief. He hadn’t had time off in over a year. Not unless they were counting his recovery time from taking those two bullets for Bjorn in Austria months ago. Rehab had been no picnic, but he’d gotten used to the routine. He had more bullet holes in him than all his teammates put together. Still, a little rehab hardly qualified as a vacation.
“You’re denying my request? Why?”
“Polax called and he’s got a problem.”
“Since when are his problems our problems? Or should I say, mine?”
“When they parallel our interests. He’s uncovered a critical piece of information, and that information could put us back on the trail of the Chameleon. Ever hear of a man named Yurii Petrov?”
“The Russian mobster, oui, I’ve heard of him. He’s doing time in a Czech prison.”
“Was. He escaped a week ago.”
“How the hell did that happen?”
“I don’t have all the details. What I do know is that since he’s been in prison his operation has still been running smoothly. We know he’s the prime source for laundering the Chameleon’s money. Last week someone pulled off a billion-dollar weapons deal with the Russians. We believe it was the Chameleon.”
Pierce