The Spy Wore Red. Wendy Rosnau
any time?”
She never blinked—not a single eyelash fluttered—even though she knew that her question would require two separate answers.
He glanced back at monitor three. Merrick and Polax had joined the other two women, and Polax was asking Casmir Balasi where Q was.
Her answer was, out getting coffee.
Bjorn turned back to face her.
“It looks like you forgot the coffee.” He wondered how much of his conversation with Merrick she’d overheard.
“I heard enough,” she said, as if she had telepathic capabilities to go along with her long legs, sweet ass and memorable treasure chest.
“You’re a liar, Agent Odell. Either that, or you sold your shipping company in Denmark for more excitement playing spy games. Somehow I doubt that, though.”
“You would be right.”
“How long have you been working for Onyxx?”
“Long enough. You? How long with EURO-Quest?”
“Long enough to know that if you’re with Merrick you’re a rat fighter. A real tough guy, da?”
Her tone, as well as her quick on-and-off smile, mocked him. Speaking of tough, Bjorn thought, she had developed a crust of her own. And more curves.
She had to be close to thirty now, but the years had only made her more beautiful.
“Do you have an interest in this mission, or did you draw the short straw, Agent Odell?”
“I agreed to the mission.”
“So there was a choice? Which means you have a personal stake?”
Bjorn didn’t answer.
“Who’s the lucky pigeon?”
“The target is Holic Reznik.”
She offered no expression on hearing the name. “I read the transcript that came in on his capture in Greece. Were you there?”
“I was there,” Bjorn admitted, seeing no reason to elaborate on the subject, or the part he played in Holic’s capture.
“So now you’re hunting my fellow countryman again.”
Bjorn’s ears perked up. “Countryman. I thought you were born in Switzerland, not Austria.”
“I was, but I moved to Austria to live with my grandfather at the age of eight. At the time Kovar’s home was in Langenfeld. Do you know where Langenfeld is in relation to Holic’s home in Otz?”
“Yes.”
“That’s where Holic Reznik was born.”
“Holic is listed as an orphan. His birthplace has never been confirmed.”
She shrugged. “He knows much about Otz.”
“We know he lived there for a time.”
“Do you know where exactly?”
That was the question every agency hunting Holic wanted to find out, but no one knew the exact location of Holic’s hideout in the Otzal Alpine.
“I’ll take your silence as a no. That’s too bad. I could find that cabin in the dark, drunk.”
Bjorn studied her face, then her stance. He saw nothing alarming. Nothing to make him think she wasn’t telling the truth. Still, he asked, “What kind of game are you playing, Nadja? If you know so much about Holic, why isn’t that listed in your file?”
“Because no one’s ever requested the information.”
“I’ll ask again. What’s your game?”
“My game is simple. I want to be on that plane bound for Austria. What do you say? Why not grant me my heart’s desire, Lars…uh, Bjorn? Let’s say…for old times’ sake.”
She wanted to go with him. To be his partner. Why? What wasn’t she telling him?
“I’ve already made my choice.”
“The wrong choice.”
“Whether you think so or not. It’s my call.”
“In the end it will be your call. To your commander to tell him you’ve changed your mind.”
“But I haven’t.”
“Only a fool would leave behind the map to Holic Reznik’s mountain hideout, and I have it.” She tapped the side of her head. “It’s in here. Let’s see…he’s been on the run for two days. That should place him very close to his destination. He’s no doubt made a phone call already and asked to be picked up.”
“Holic trusts no one.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. He trusts someone, and that someone will see to it that he’s tucked into a warm bed very soon. He’ll be waited on, hand-fed, and within a week he’ll be back to his old self.”
“Not likely. His hand was seriously injured in Cupata. If Quest has information that can advance this mission, then Polax should forfeit it.”
“He can’t give up what he doesn’t know he has. Like I said, I’ve never shared this with anyone, until now.”
“But you’d share more with me if I chose you for the mission?”
“Grateful is what I would be, and grateful people can be generous.”
“And will you be?”
“Yes.”
“Why do you want on the mission so badly?”
“I’ve got a small personal matter in Innsbruck that I need to take care of. It won’t take long—a few hours is all.”
“Personal shit has no business on a mission.”
“I agree, but this can’t be helped. It won’t interfere with my work.”
“Back to Holic, how well do you know him? The truth.”
“He spent time at Groffen.”
“Groffen?”
“My grandfather’s ski lodge. You must not be much of a skier if you haven’t heard of Groffen. It’s powder paradise. Everyone dreams of skiing Groffen.”
“And Holic was there skiing? When?”
“He spent two winters at the lodge out of the four missing in his file.”
Bjorn went over the data on Holic that he’d stored in his memory bank. The assassin was an orphan, believed to have lived, at least for a time, in the Otzal Alpine. His file was full of holes, however, and if he remembered correctly—which he always did—the amount of time Nadja said he was missing fit.
“I suppose you’ve kept abreast of Holic’s exploits?”
“Of course. He’s listed on the top ten most wanted in the spy world. A legend to some, the devil’s son to many.”
“And to his wife,” Bjorn mused out loud. “I wonder how she feels about his murdering ways.”
“I don’t know. You would have to ask her.”
“And while I’m at it, I should ask her how she feels about her husband’s appetite for variety in the bedroom.”
She was too cool when she said, “Whatever you think relevant.”
“What kind of woman marries a man with no remorse or morals?”
“One who loves him, I suppose.”
“Or perhaps one who has been kept in the dark all these years. But then that would make her unbelievably stupid or very smart. Holic is a wealthy man. His