The Warsaw Protocol (Cotton Malone 15)

No reply.

“Sonia,” Ivan called out. “Sonia.”

More silence.

“Come out,” Ivan said. “We must talk, too. You not suppose to be here, and you know that.”

* * *

Cotton heard Ivan’s words.

Not suppose to be here.

What was Sonia doing?

He looked around the stone arch. Five hostile faces stared down at him with silent menace. He glanced at Jonty Olivier who again crouched behind the big-screen TV, near Bunch’s body.

“You killed a deputy national security adviser of the United States,” Cotton called out.

“Who not be missed,” Ivan said. “We have many deputies in Russia. Many more who want job. I’m sure you do, too.”

“It will not go unanswered.”

Ivan laughed. “Your new president not so tough. He thinks himself tough. But he just a liar. Unlike him, you know us, Malone. You would have listened and stayed away. I have no problem with you.”

What had he gotten himself into? Obviously the Russians had been serious back in Bruges, but the carnage around him seemed a bit much even for them. So much risk. Taken against people who had the means and resources to retaliate.

And would.

He was bare ass to the wind, and there was little he could do. Five men stood in the gallery above him, two armed with Uzis, two with pistols. Stinking cordite filled the air, along with the coppery waft of blood.

“Come out, Jonty,” the older man named Eli said. “There’s no need to hide. If we wanted you dead, you would be already.”

“Who are you?” Cotton asked.

“My name is Augustus ‘Eli’ Reinhardt V. I am an acquaintance of Jonty’s, though I doubt he’d claim me any longer.”

Olivier slowly revealed himself.

“Are you working with the Russians?” Cotton asked Reinhardt.

“Of course he is,” Ivan answered. “We stay in front of this from the start. He lead us straight here.”

“You’ll never find those documents,” Olivier blurted out. “They are hidden away. I’m the only one who knows where they are.”

“I would not underestimate me again,” Reinhardt said.

The comment came quick and Cotton read something in the older man’s tone. Confidence. Like a man who knew something. His warning senses cautioned that Reinhardt could represent the greatest threat, even over Ivan. Olivier was surely hoping that what he knew would keep him alive. And perhaps it might. But Olivier was clearly worried, as the pudgy man’s hands shook and a vein on his right temple squirmed with each beat of the heart, like a fat blue worm. He was probably trying to assess things, too. But nothing about this situation made sense.

Two plus two here added up to nine hundred.

Especially considering the wild card.

Where was Sonia?

* * *

Jonty had never experienced the seething conflict of emotions that rushed through him. An unsettling combination of a burgeoning excitement, a chilly dread, and irrational anger. The extent of the horror that surrounded him was beyond words. Never had he imagined such an outcome. His business was hardly ever violent. But this was clearly a different scenario. Thankfully, his hatred of Eli Reinhardt transcended his fear and brought him strength.

“Where is Vic?” he asked.

“Dead,” Eli said. “You’re on your own, Jonty.”

“There was no need to do this. None at all.”

“So you would have turned everything over?” Eli asked. “Just like that. All I had to do was ask?”

“This was my deal, but you couldn’t leave it alone. What was the Pantry? A diversion. Just a way for you to get close?”

“Exactly. And it worked. You were so accommodating. But this is business, Jonty. Nothing more. Though I will say for my associate here, Mr. Munoz, it’s a bit more personal. He truly wants to kill you.”

Jonty could see that was the case. The Bulgarian’s weapon was trained straight at him.

“Sadly for him,” Eli said, “he can’t. That was not part of the deal.”

Which begged the question.

What was?

* * *

Eli watched his adversary stand firm. Impressive, considering Olivier’s dire predicament. The Russians had simply asked that they be led to this location and that weapons be provided so all of the participants could be killed.

Save for Jonty.

He’d not questioned that condition since he was being paid an obscene amount of money. Then fate had smiled upon him and provided the folded piece of paper in his pocket. Was it the key to where the damaging information was hidden? He intended on finding out just as soon as he was away from the castle.

Truth be told, Russians made him nervous. Slavs in general made him nervous. They were an unpredictable lot, whose motivations were most times impossible to decipher. Overall, they were well educated and well read. They loved theater, opera, concerts, and ballet. He’d learned long ago that the power of an individual was not nearly as important as family, friends, and acquaintances. You had to know people to get things done, which was why Russians had lots of friends. What was happening here seemed proof positive of that maxim. Know the right people, you could arrange almost anything. Like crashing a secret auction and killing everyone there.

But Russians were difficult.

Many elements of their character he found unsavory. They had few principles, rejected tradition, and were overly cynical. Flashy, too. Gender still meant something there, the roles of men and women clearly defined. Overall, they were a blunt, serious people. Chain smokers and habitual drinkers. Superstitious to the point of annoyance. But he was an accessory to mass murder, so who was he to judge? He’d hated dealing with them, but had out of necessity since Moscow’s money was as good as everyone else’s.

But none of that answered the most important question.

What now?

* * *

Cotton had been in some tight spots, but this one ranked near the top of the list. He was trapped in the lower arcade. Across the great hall, fifty feet away and ten feet up in the opposite upper gallery, trouble stared down.

Apparently Olivier had been kept alive purposefully.

And he’d managed to dodge the bullets.

“I want to know,” Ivan said, pointing at Olivier. “Are you truly the only one who knows where information is kept?”

“Only me and my associate, who is now dead.” Olivier’s tone had returned to businesslike. “I’m the only route left to it. Kill me, and it’s gone.”

Which surely explained why Olivier was still breathing.

Cotton watched as Reinhardt considered that information, too.

Pitting him against Ivan seemed like the smart play.

But he was interrupted when the doors banged opened and Sonia reentered the hall.

CHAPTER FIFTY

Czajkowski stared out the window at Wawel Castle. He was nursing his second whiskey, propped in the bed, the same one he and Sonia had shared last night. The last thing he’d heard was gunshots through the phone. What was happening? Was Sonia all right? Her reputation was legendary, and her superiors spoke of her in glowing terms. But that didn’t mean trouble could not find her.

He savored another sip, allowing the alcohol to trickle down his throat and burn away the anxiety.

Out the window, the view to the castle was across a busy street, up a rocky slope populated with cafés and restaurants. Crowds occupied the path that encircled Wawel Hill, particularly off to the right at the exit for the Dragon’s Den, where an enormous bronze effigy of the famous dragon stood atop a limestone boulder. Seven-headed, with one that breathed fire thanks to an ingeniously placed natural gas nozzle. It had even been modernized so that a text message from a phone could trigger the fire, which people did hundreds of times each day.

Modern technology.

The bane of his existence.

The entire reason he was in this mess.

The Aegis B

allistic Missile Defense System.

Designed to provide protection against short- to intermediate-range ballistic missiles, and to intercept incoming missiles above the atmosphere, prior to reentry, long before they could do any damage, with a fragmentation warhead. Right now they were deployed on U.S. warships and land-based in Japan and Romania.

But were they reliable?

Nobody knew.

Most times they worked, but most was not all.

Russia hated them, saying they were merely fueling a new arms race based on nonexistent dangers, since Iran had never threatened Europe with missiles. The last time the idea was proposed Russia announced that it would deploy short-range nuclear missiles along its NATO borders. A new Cold War had been predicted. Putin even stated that Russia would withdraw from the Nuclear Forces Treaty of 1987 and that the chance of Poland being subject to attack, in the event of war, was 100 percent.