ROUTE R26
TRANSNISTRIA UNRECOGNIZED TERRITORY
TALIA AND EDDIE DROVE EAST of Tiraspol in a mid-nineties Opel Astra with a tree-shaped air freshener dangling from the mirror. Its weak pine scent wasn’t fooling anyone. Talia had picked up the rental from Da! Autos the night before, getting soaked to the bone and fleeced by her cabdriver in the process. But she had done it her way, not Tyler’s.
“This is nice.” Eddie poked at a water-stained dip in the fabric above his head. “Way better than the Mercedes.”
“This is a victory.”
“If you say so. Are you okay? You’ve got some . . .” Eddie’s voice faded and he pointed to the region beneath his eyes.
“Bags?”
“Yeah.”
“Thanks.” Talia cranked the wheel hard, turning south between a pair of tobacco fields guarded by the region’s ever-present barbed-wire fences.
After drying her hair, Talia had curled up on her musty sheets with a Dr. Seuss book, a tradition she observed every time she found herself in a strange bed. That happened a lot for foster kids. Usually it helped her sleep—not the story, but the feel of that well-worn copy of The Cat in the Hat. The book hadn’t helped this time. All night, Talia had suffered through cold sweats and nightmare images. She kept those details to herself. “My bed was like a slab of concrete.”
“Mine too. We’ll be out of the motel soon, though, right? We’re making quick progress.”
“Right.” Talia’s answer did not mirror his optimistic tone.
Their quick progress didn’t sit well with her. It should have taken days to set up a meeting with Ivanov’s people. But that morning, when Talia had made her first attempt to establish contact, it seemed as if the receptionist at Avantec had been expecting her call.
“Yes, Ms. Wright of Wright Way Security,” the woman had said in crisp, almost British, English. “Dr. Ivanov will see you at nine thirty. Do you know where to find us?”
All the lines Talia had rehearsed before dialing were suddenly useless. “Uh . . . Yes. I do.”
“Excellent. Please arrive promptly at nine fifteen and present identification at the gate.”
Talia let out an involuntary growl at the memory.
The Avantec research compound stood on a grassy plateau near the Ukrainian border. Eddie glanced over at her as the gatehouse came into view, three-quarters of the way up the hill. “You still think Tyler set up this meeting?”
“Who else.”
“And that makes you angry.”
“Yes.”
“Because . . . he got us exactly what we wanted?”
She glared at him, bringing the Opel to a halt an inch from the wrought-iron gate. “Just make sure you have your Glock. You’re going to need it.”
The guard checked their IDs against a list and waved them onward, and when they crested the hill, Eddie caught his breath. “Whoa. That’s a horse of a different color.”
By their surroundings, Talia and Eddie might have been driving onto the campus of a Silicon Valley tech giant, despite having left one of the poorest cities in Eastern Europe less than an hour before. She steered the Opel along a smooth asphalt lane that curved its way between S-shaped buildings of black-tinted glass.
Eddie admired the manicured lawns and brick paths surrounding the guest lot. “I could work here.” He nodded at a man-made lake between their parking spot and the main building. Water poured from a shining aluminum sculpture at the center—three stylized rockets in flight. “I wonder if Dr. Ivanov is hiring.”
“Don’t count on a big paycheck.” Talia locked the car and the two started up the path. “Labor and materials here cost a tenth of what they do in the States. Ivanov can undercut US companies by half and still—” The next word caught in her throat. A G-Wagon was parked near the entrance, in one of the executive spaces. Talia shook her head. “It can’t be.”
“It is.” Eddie nudged her with an elbow. “He’s heeeerrre.”
“MISS NATALIA!” Tyler leaped up from his place at the sixth-floor conference table. Two men stood with him, one whom Talia recognized as Pavel Ivanov, though he looked younger—and perhaps handsomer—than the man from her file photos. Ivanov and the other remained in place, but Tyler walked the length of the onyx table, arms spread wide as if greeting a favorite niece. He squeezed her arm, propelling her toward the CEO. “Come. Meet Pavel. Pavel, this is Natalia Wright, security expert extraordinaire. Your secrets are safer simply by having her in the room.”
“Ms. Wright.” Ivanov’s low-key, even cold tone was a welcome relief after Tyler’s greeting. He took her hand. “I am afraid my friend has been overselling you all morning. I suspect he is trying to run up your consulting fee.”
Tyler clapped him on the shoulder. “From which I would take only a tiny percentage.”
“Your friend?” Talia asked as Ivanov moved on and greeted Eddie.
Tyler pulled two additional chairs back from the table. “Pavel and I have known each other for more than a year now. He allows me to use Avantec’s private runway, along with some hangar space for my Gulfstream.”
“And Mr. Tyler . . . facilitates . . . my American business dealings.” Ivanov gestured at the leather chairs, indicating they should all sit down. “But I am afraid you’ve wasted a trip, Miss Wright. I already have excellent security, overseen by Mr. Bazin.” His steel-gray eyes shifted to his comrade, a bulky man with the bulge of a sizable weapon beneath his suit jacket.
Talia took the seat Tyler had pulled out for her, swatting his hand as he tried to help her into it. She had to follow his script, but she didn’t have to let him paw at her. “I admire your confidence, Dr. Ivanov. But my associate and I have a track record that speaks for itself.” A false track record created by the Agency boffins, she thought, holding an equally false smile. “If it helps, we’re willing to make an initial assessment free of charge.”
“How kind of you.” Ivanov matched her plastic smile with one of his own. “But your services are not necessary.”
“Oh”—Talia laid her Glock on the table—“I think they are.”
Bazin came out of his chair, body half covering Ivanov’s. At the same time, he leveled a .50-caliber hand cannon at Talia. “Do not move!”
She didn’t flinch. Talia held his gaze for a count of two and then eased her hand away from her weapon. It had been a calculated risk, but with it, Talia had purchased valuable insight. Bazin’s quickness told her he had training, and the rigid position of his rear thumb, straight up on the side of his nickel-plated Desert Eagle, screamed Spetsnaz. Ivanov had the wisdom and resources to hire security from outside the local thuggery—a good sign.
However, working with a former Spetsnaz meant contending with a serious ego. Talia began by tossing out a backhanded compliment. “You have excellent reflexes, Mr. Bazin, but I should never have gotten a gun this close to your boss—not to mention two guns.”
Eddie held up a cautioning hand and laid his own Glock next to Talia’s. He pushed them both to the center of the table. “We slipped these past your gate, your metal detectors, and your lobby guards.” He raised an eyebrow at Ivanov. “How many other holes might we find in Mr. Bazin’s security?”
The Russian held the Desert Eagle steady, seething. “I am within right to shoot.” Apparently his Spetsnaz training did not include English grammar.
“Sit down, Alexi.” Ivanov laid a gentle hand on the bear’s shoulder. “Our new friends were merely making a point.”
“Scoring a point would be more accurate,” Tyler interjected.
“Quite.” Ivanov pushed back from the table. “I think they have earned a tour of the facility, at the very least.” He stood, beckoning for Talia to follow, and together they walked to a window that looked out over a three-story clean room. Men and women in white coveralls tinkered with metal cylinders and pored over machines with flickering digital displays.
Talia understood none of it. “To be honest, Dr. Ivanov, Mr. Tyler mentioned your Defense Department connections, but he never told me precisely what you do here.”
“Rocketry.” Ivanov folded his arms and watched his workers with pride, the way a coach watches a champion Little League team. “Avantec supplies your government with parts for missiles.”