The Spy Wore Red Page 2

  “A skiing accident. It’s all there in her file, every surgery. The gory details. Her grandfather was a gold medalist. Q was supposed to follow in his footsteps. At age eighteen she was expected to win gold. Instead she crashed on a slope in Zurich doing sixty miles an hour. She broke damn near every bone in her body.”

  Polax walked up to the monitor—his pet chair on his heels. He angled his head as if searching for something, then ran his hand over the screen, touching Q’s right knee. Slowly he moved his hand upward over the screen, stroking her leg like a man who knew her intimately. Or a man who had lain awake nights contemplating the idea.

  “She has a tattoo that is quite spectacular.” Polax turned and looked at Merrick, then Bjorn, before he sat on his pet chair. As it took off and rounded his desk, he said, “It’s located in an area I call the ‘dead zone.’”

  Bjorn ignored the comment and asked, “These old injuries—do they limit her in any way?”

  “Not in her percentages. But only because I’ve tailored her missions. That’s what it’s all about, you know. Finding your agent’s gift and exploiting it. Right, Merrick? Isn’t that how you became so successful with your rat fighters?”

  The commander of Onyxx only nodded. Adolf Merrick wasn’t known for inane conversation, or explaining his stratagem.

  “If a femme wants to work at Quest,” Polax went on, “she’s got to have something special we can market.”

  “And what is that something special that Agent Lenova has?” It was the first Merrick had spoken since they had cloistered themselves in Polax’s office to examine his agent lineup.

  “Pasha’s durability is extraordinary—my rain-or-shine agent. Desert heat, or arctic cold, Lenova will match you every step of the way. Q’s something special is getting on top quick in the bedroom. Since this mission will be a chilly affair, you’re going to want an endurance player.”

  “It says here Stefn trained for the biathlon.” Bjorn scanned the file for more data.

  “That’s true, but Lenova is the true biathlon queen. She shoots ninety-eight percent,” Polax quoted from memory. “You’re going to need that, going up against Holic Reznik.”

  It had been a month since Bjorn had apprehended Holic in Santorini, Greece. He’d managed to capture the country’s most wanted assassin during a hotel fire that had sent him and Holic off a crumbling balcony into a burning ballroom full of screaming people trying to escape the chaos.

  Three days ago he’d learned that Holic had successfully slipped through the National Security Agency’s fingers and escaped his well-guarded prison cell. When he’d heard the news he’d been so angry he walked out of Merrick’s office.

  Normally he was a good-tempered guy. Reasonable, even during upsetting times. And smart enough to know that Merrick wouldn’t listen to him if he was shouting and throwing furniture.

  He’d spent an hour walking off his rage, then he’d returned to Merrick’s office to discuss what action the Agency intended to take now that Reznik was once again a free man.

  Seated in front of his commander’s desk, he’d asked, “Has the Agency issued a new objective?”

  “They have, and your name was mentioned for the assignment. It’s yours, if you want it. But there are conditions, and additions.”

  “I’m not a field agent any longer.”

  “Reinstatement would be a simple formality. You’ve studied Holic Reznik’s habits, know him better than anyone. That makes you the most qualified for this mission. I want you on the job, Bjorn. That is, if you’ll take it.”

  It was true, he and Holic had a history. Bjorn had profiled the man nicknamed ‘the butcher’ as well as faced him in the field.

  He listened while Merrick detailed the situation. Holic had been seriously injured falling thirty feet off that hotel balcony at Cupata. Because of Holic’s many injuries, the Agency believed he would return to his homeland of Austria to heal and grow strong again.

  They hadn’t been able to pinpoint where he would go exactly, but they felt confident it would be someplace familiar to him. Someplace remote and isolated. Someplace hard to reach.

  “We know that before the Chameleon died, he contracted Reznik and hired him to eliminate a list of his enemies. He was promised millions and—”

  “Eva Creon as his mistress to sweeten the deal,” Bjorn interjected. “Yes, I know.”

  “Since that part of the contract fell through when Holic was captured, and then since his recent escape, we’re not sure what he intends to do with the kill-file or how many of our agents have been targeted. The truth is Holic Reznik could start picking off our operatives at any time. So you see how important this is. If you should decide to take the assignment, your mission will be to infiltrate Austria, uncover Holic’s hideout, seize the kill-file, then assassinate the assassin—with one catch.”

  “One catch?”

  “The Agency wants to partner you with a female operative from EURO-Quest.”

  Bjorn liked the new objective, except the part about a partner. Still, Holic was the most reliable killing machine on all seven continents. He had to be stopped.

  When Bjorn resurfaced from his private musing, Polax was still tossing out reasons why Pasha Lenova was his choice for the mission. He listened to the Quest commander while watching Nadja Stefn slip her tall black boots back on her pretty feet.

  When Merrick cleared his throat, he glanced at his boss. “You say something?”

  “I asked you which one you’ve decided on. You know Reznik better than anyone—which one of these women would be your biggest asset?”

  “The one with the sweetest ass,” Bjorn said, knowing that next to his obsession with killing, Holic’s second favorite pastime was enjoying beautiful women.

  “The question you’ve got to ask yourself, Bjorn, is which one of these beauties do you want to share your days and nights with for the next few weeks?” Merrick said. “I don’t care who or why, as long as she can do the job. So do you fancy the rain-or-shine brunette, the angel-faced actress or the bedroom playmate with the candy-cane legs and cotton-candy ass?”

  “My recommendation—” Polax began.

  “We know.” Bjorn turned his piercing blue eyes on the Quest commander. “Your choice is Lenova. You’ve made that clear. A little too clear.”

  Polax climbed out of his chair and puffed out his chest. “As I said before, my job is to match the mission with the best possible agent. For this one you need an all-around sexy ball-buster who chews ice cubes in place of gum, and that would be Lenova. Quest is still working on earning its stripes in the spy world. This agency can only survive if money changes hands. For that to happen, my femmes need to shine on every mission. With Pasha Lenova at your side in Austria, a win is inevitable for both of us.”

  “What you’re forgetting is, it’s not your choice,” Bjorn reminded. “It’s my call.”

  He glanced back at the monitor. The elevator had stopped and Q’s skirt was no longer hiked clean to her amazing ass. He watched the doors open, watched her greet the two men waiting for her. She handed her red cape to the shorter man. Then, like a resilient cat who had just landed on her feet, she started down the corridor. Her briefcase in one hand, and her jacket draped over the other so that the missing button and the wrinkle across her thigh were hidden from view.

  The only evidence that something was amiss was one lone silk stocking left on the elevator floor.

  Chapter 2

  Bjorn was left alone in the office with his choice of water or gin to keep him company while Merrick followed Polax out into the hall to take a walk. When the door closed, he reached for the gin, ignoring the early hour.

  He hitched his ass back on the desk, sipped the gin and spent the next twenty minutes cooling his heels, watching and waiting, and keeping his ears on what was being said inside the sterile boardroom between the curvy femmes.

  He was conscious of his eyes going back to Nadja more often than the others. That was understandable—he liked natural blo
ndes with long legs and cleavage.

  Quest’s bedroom assassin had the winning three. There was no reason to argue that point, nor would he. Q’s body type, her voice and the way she moved had already been logged into his subconscious.

  A profiler’s best friend was his database memory, and he had one. Onyxx had, however, refined his talent. They had polished his telephoto memory and added instant-recall capabilities.

  Like Q, he was at the top of his game, although he was willing to bet she was enjoying her work far more than he was his.

  It was a god-given gift, Merrick had told him—Bjorn’s so-called database genius. But there were times when it didn’t feel that way. With his talent came the price of remembering everything—good or bad—and never forgetting any of it. Not his youth, his first mission, every man he’d killed, or every woman he’d slept with. It was all there, every bit of it crystal clear.

  As clear as the past five minutes.

  His greatest challenge at Onyxx had been keeping all the data organized so he could remain focused. And right now he needed to do just that. He didn’t want any old memories messing up this assignment, or his goal. And that goal was to put a bullet through Holic Reznik’s black heart—after he recovered the kill-file, of course.

  So the question was, which femme did he choose to assist him? Based on the facts, the task should be simple.

  Polax was right, an endurance mission required an endurance player. But not when they were going after a man with a fetish for beautiful women. And it was a known fact that Holic was partial to cleavage and tangle-me-up-in-a-knot long legs.

  When Merrick and Polax returned, it was Bjorn who took a walk with Merrick. They rode the elevator up to the main level, and as they stepped out and headed for the art gallery, Merrick said, “You want the bedroom beauty, yes?”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “The look on your face when she stepped into the elevator.”

  “I like blondes.”

  “Casmir Balasi is a blonde.”

  “Then I should have said I like blondes and cleavage,” Bjorn amended. “Balasi is too petite for my taste.”

  “I got the feeling there was more to it than that. For a moment I thought you recognized Stefn.”

  “Every man recognizes the woman in his dreams. She’s got looks, a helluva body and a mind.”

  “And she’s good in bed,” Merrick added. “So what’s the problem? If Polax’s candy queen appeals to you, then pick her. The nights in Austria are going to be damn chilly and I know how you hate cold weather.”

  Bjorn glanced at his boss. “Advocating I use a Quest agent as a bed warmer, Merrick?”

  “If that’s the only way you can keep an eye on her every move, yes. The goal is to get our hands on Holic’s kill-file. Whatever you have to do to achieve that goal is acceptable.”

  “What’s Quest’s interest in Reznik?”

  “The same as ours. They’re worried that some of their agents have been sanctioned. That’s why it’s so damn urgent that we get that file. Who knows who’s all on it?”

  “If this is so urgent, my first thought is we’re two days off the pace. We know Holic flew to Austria, so stopping off in Prague to pick up—”

  “—your partner—”

  “—only puts me further behind.”

  “I know that, but the Agency—”

  “Is kissing Quest’s ass for some reason,” Bjorn said. “I sure would like to know why that is.”

  “I’m not at liberty to discuss that. They just feel this will be advantageous for a future mission.”

  The “they” Merrick was referring to were the top brass in the upstairs office at Onyxx. The big boys who made the final decisions—right or wrong, smart or stupid.

  “These spy games are never black and white, Bjorn. The Agency is still upset that the Chameleon’s death hasn’t slowed down the anarchy, and they’re feeling pressured to turn things around quickly.”

  “Will we ever get rid of the Chameleon?” Bjorn mused out loud. “He’s dead, and yet he lives.”

  “It’s certainly the truth. We have the son of a bitch’s corpse under lock and key in the Agency morgue and still we don’t know shit about who he is…was.”

  “No confirmation yet?”

  “No. And I’m told it’s going to be a while. We know the body underwent multiple plastic surgeries. His goal was to clone Paavo Creon. Our experts have even timelined those surgeries. But some things still don’t add up. We just have to be patient.”

  Bjorn glanced at Merrick, noting the conviction in his commander’s voice. If anyone deserved peace of mind where the Chameleon was concerned, it was Adolf Merrick. The Chameleon had killed Merrick’s wife years ago. He’d strapped C-4 to her curvy body and sent her to hell while Merrick had watched it unfold on the computer screen in his office.

  Bjorn suspected his commander still blamed himself for his wife’s death, and it was that blame that continued to drive him where the Chameleon was concerned. Even though his longtime enemy had been killed weeks ago, he wanted the man’s entire international operation wiped out.

  “Then you believe everything Eva Creon said?” Bjorn asked.

  “Yes, I do. She said the Chameleon admitted to her that he had purposely stolen her father’s face. He admitted to cloning Paavo Creon’s likeness surgically, and slipping into his life for the sole purpose of revenge.”

  “A lot of trouble to go through for a little revenge.”

  “My question is, who is he and why? There are days when I think he’s laughing at me from the grave,” Merrick admitted. “It’s not over yet. Hell, maybe it’ll never be over.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Something Sly McEwen said before he took off to go fishing.” Merrick stopped and looked at Bjorn. “McEwen said I shouldn’t put off my surgery. I should have the operation because I was going to need to be a hundred percent soon. I think he was hinting that when we get the identity on that body, all hell is going to break loose.”

  “You think he knows who it is?”

  Merrick shook his head. “If he does, he’s going to have a helluva a lot of explaining to do when he decides to surface with Eva.” He rubbed his jaw. “I’m tired of this shit. I’ve been playing this game with the Chameleon for fourteen years and I’m ready for it to be over. I want to bury it along with him, and his identity, whoever he turns out to be.”

  “Have you decided to have the surgery?”

  “Not yet, but…” Unconsciously Merrick moved his hand to his left temple. “I haven’t had a headache in a week. Maybe once this assignment is in the bag I can take a month off. But right now I can’t afford to be on my back while you’re in Austria. I’ve decided that I’ll be your controller on this one. While you’re in the field you’ll report directly to me instead of to one of the technicians in the Green Room. Anything you need, I’ll see that you get.”

  Merrick had been diagnosed with a brain tumor and had put off his surgery too long, Bjorn thought. Bjorn had noticed certain things in the past week, the way his boss blinked more and squinted in bright light. The temple massaging.

  It all added up to one thing—the tumor was growing, and putting pressure on the retinal nerves behind his eyes. To tolerate the pain he had started mixing pills and booze. That wasn’t smart, but there would be no convincing Merrick to have the surgery until he was ready.

  They started to walk again. “Ordinarily I’d remind you that personal contact with an associate or suspect is frowned upon at Onyxx,” Merrick said, “but on this mission anything goes as long as we recover the file and Holic Reznik ends up on a slab next to the Chameleon. There is some concern that Holic might contract out the assassinations in that kill-file. That is, if he doesn’t get the use of his hand back. You’ve profiled him. What do you think?”

  “If there’s killing to be done, and he’s capable of doing it, Holic’s going to be the one pulling the trigger. The question is, will his hand be up for it
? Multiple fractures and nerve damage…” Bjorn shrugged. “It doesn’t sound good. If there’s a God upstairs, Holic’s assassination days are over. If not, at least his victims will be up against better odds. Holic’s MO is taking out his victims with one shot.”

  “He could decide to contract the work out.”

  They had been strolling through the museum, and so far neither had looked at a single painting. Bjorn, still matching Merrick’s steps, said, “That would mean he would have to trust someone. From what I know about him, Holic trusts damn few. That’s why he’s been so elusive.”

  “Then if he doesn’t hire someone to pull the trigger, what do you think he’ll do? A useless hand isn’t going to get the job done.”

  “He’ll retire. He’ll find a buyer for the kill-file, sell it for a few billion, then enjoy his money and his myriad of mistresses until he’s too old to find his zipper.”

  Merrick stopped in his tracks. “Sell the file? You think that’s a possibility?”

  “That’s what I’d do. Holic’s life revolves around two things, killing and women. If he can’t do one, then he’ll bury himself in the other. No pun intended. His reputation is flawless, and if that’s all he has left then he’ll want to preserve his legend status. He’s got a big ego.”

  “Then the sooner we locate him the better, before he starts shopping for buyers and the perfect getaway. Which brings us back to the question of the hour. Which lucky lady is going to keep you warm in Austria? It doesn’t matter to me who goes, so make your choice.”

  It would matter, Bjorn thought. If Merrick knew that he and Nadja Stefn had a history and he decided to take her along, there would be a dozen questions. Questions he wasn’t prepared to answer. He’d never mentioned her in his report five years ago when he’d gotten back from Vienna. She’d had no bearing on his mission while he was there, and he’d wanted to forget her.

  But that had been impossible for a man with a telephoto memory and instant-recall capabilities.