“You said there was a shoot-out. Was Rusty the only casualty or—”
“No. Three Russians are dead. Popov, the uranium supplier you met in the café, and two others.”
“And the remaining canisters? Did Rusty and his team find them?”
“Yes.”
She blew out a breath. “That’s good. At least I hope it’s good. I mean, with the shoot-out and everything, were they still able to secure them? Were they—”
“The canisters are fine,” he assured her. “I have a contact here in Moldova who works for the SIS. He has the canisters and will make sure they are taken care of.”
“He works for the who?”
“The Security and Intelligence Service,” he explained. “The Moldovan equivalent of the CIA. Rusty and the BKI team called him once they located the uranium. Good thing too. He was already on his way to their position in a chopper when they phoned again after Rusty had been shot. If not for him, no way Rusty would have made it to the hospital in time.” At the mention of Rusty and the hospital, the anguish was back in Angel’s voice.
“I knew this plan had too many moving parts.” He grimaced. “If only I had—”
“What about the Ukraine team?” She cut him off because he’d started in on the “what-ifs” and that was a death spiral. “Did they hand over that skinny Al-Qaeda kid to your NATO contact?”
“Him along with the canister of uranium he carried.”
“That’s good news.” She breathed a sigh of relief.
For a while they sat in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. Then Angel abruptly jumped to his feet.
“Wha—”
That’s all she managed before he slapped a palm over her mouth. “Shhh. Quiet.”
She couldn’t see the tension rippling through him. It was too dark. But she could feel it in the air, like when an electrical storm was close. A prickly feeling skittered over her skin. The hairs on her arms lifted.
Crazy person with night-vision goggles!
Ax murderer!
Ghost!
He dropped his hand and immediately grabbed his boxer briefs and jeans. She badly wanted to ask him what was going on, what he’d heard, but she didn’t dare open her mouth. By the time he’d pulled his Henley over his head and sat so he could lace up his boots, she was having herself a mini panic attack. Her heart beat with a wild, erratic rhythm. She could hear her own ragged breaths in the silent, wide-open expanse of the circus ring. If she tensed her shoulders any harder, her scapulae might shatter.
Finally he spoke.
Afterward, she wanted to punch the delete key in her brain and erase his words. Oh, how she missed that time, just a few seconds ago, when he’d been blessedly silent.
“We have company…”
Chapter 28
“I am become death, the destroyer of worlds,” Grafton whispered and leaned back against the bonnet of the luxury sedan.
Insects buzzed loudly. The air was crisp, humid, and heavy with the fecund smells of damp foliage and decaying flesh. A carcass was somewhere nearby. A dead deer or a bloated squirrel or a missing pet that’d run into traffic on the nearby motorway and been hit by a speeding lorry before crawling up here to expire.
Seemed appropriate that the smell of death should hang in the air, for death was Grafton’s goal. Two deaths, in fact.
Beside him, Richie mirrored his stance. Arms folded. Legs crossed at the ankles. Eyes watching the team of men Benton had managed to pull together and fly to Chisinau on a moment’s notice.
Good ol’ Benton. Maybe Grafton should give the rascally little prat a raise.
