Not that any further communication was needed.
Earlier, in the shadow of the bridge behind him, Tucker had identified the target. He had pointed two forked fingers at Radic and gave a simple command:TRACK. Tucker then qualified this order by bringing those fingers to his lips:COVERTLY.
Afterward, Kane had burst away, vanishing into the misty darkness. Tucker trusted the dog to follow this instruction and improvise as needed. A microchip embedded between Kane’s shoulders allowed Tucker to track his partner, and in turn, keep tabs on Radic’s position.
As Tucker continued down the alley, the radio in his ear chirped with a query from Kowalski. “Where do you think that bastard’s going?”
“Not a clue. Could be a wild goose chase. If this doesn’t lead anywhere, we’ll head to Moscow in the morning.”
“To join Gray and the others?”
“To drop you off. I’ve done all I can.”
“But—”
“I’m not part of Sigma,” Tucker reminded him. “At least not formally. I only agreed to come here because of my local connections—and we’ve pretty much exhausted those to find Radic. If Sigma is moving in other players, I’m removing myself from the board.”
“What about Valya Mikhailov?”
“Screw that. I don’t know the woman. She’s your problem.” Tucker fingered the puckered scar on his cheek. “And I’ve got enough problems of my own. Kane, too.”
A year ago, his four-legged partner had nearly lost one of those limbs. Kane still walked with a slight limp in the morning, though the tough dog warmed out of it most days.
Still, he pictured Kane’s shining eyes when the dog had headed off in pursuit of Radic. This was what the shepherd had been trained for, took pride in. Tucker knew this. It was why he had agreed to come to Russia. After the long rehabilitation, Kane needed to be out in the field.
And as much as I hate to admit it, I need it, too.
It wasn’t a matter of Tucker being an adrenaline junkie, of longing for the whiz of bullets past an ear or missing the cordite smell of a firefight. His last sojourn afield had left him broken and shaken. Like Kane, he had busted up a leg, wore a boot splint for months. He had reason enough to lay low, to find a quieter life—and he might have made that choice.
But back in South Africa, he remembered standing at the porch rail of the lodge where he had been recuperating. Below him, Kane had sat on his haunches at the edge of the grassy savannah, his ears pricked. The dog would occasionally glance back, his eyes shining brightly.
Tucker had understood.
Handlers had a phrase to describe their relationship with their dogs: it runs down the lead. Over time, the two learned to read the other, requiring no communication. Their bond ran up and down the leashthat tied them together. And that was certainly true of him and Kane. The pair were bound tighter than any leash, each capable of reading the other, a connection that went beyond any spoken word or hand signal.
In that moment back in Africa, Tucker knew what Kane was telling him.
Let’s go already.
The two were not meant to be rooted down. A wanderlust had been growing over their long recuperation. Tucker had always felt the most alive with open roads ahead of him, paths stretching toward unknown horizons.
Kane, too.
So, when Crowe had called and asked for his help, he had agreed. Plus, there was another reason why—
“Something’s happening,” Kowalski radioed with a note of urgency.
“Heard,” Tucker responded.
He focused back on the glowing street map and the blip of his target. Radic had been approaching the edge of a sprawling park that bordered the river. The landmark was the fifty-acre Botanical Garden of Peter the Great, where medicinal herbs and plants had been grown and cultivated during the eighteenth century. It was the crown jewel of Apothecary Island and Russia’s oldest botanical institution.
Radic left the main thoroughfare, abandoning the river behind him. He took a side street that edged the gardens.
Tucker slowed.
Where are you going now?
Across the top of Tucker’s screen, he watched Kane close in on that same corner. The view swept from the riverside park and across the blacktop of the street. At this early hour, there was no traffic. Kane reached the corner and stopped. The view lowered as Kane assessed the situation.
