we may now never know who that is given your failure to retrieve information on his disappearance from the NSA’s data storage network.”
Cyrus seemed to squirm in his seat on that remark, something that gave Steinham a small measure of satisfaction. He couldn’t really blame Cyrus. He’d given the mercenary tougher jobs and the colonel had come through with an unusually high record of success. Based on that fact alone, Steinham had to admit there was some merit to the military man’s theory they’d been set up. But by who? And what were the chances this incident would eventually be traced back to him despite Cyrus’s assurances the operation couldn’t be linked to DCDI?
Steinham took a swallow of brandy, letting its smooth burn linger in his mouth and throat before he spoke. “But given we don’t have that intelligence, we must now draft an alternate plan to obtaining Dratshev’s whereabouts.”
“You have a suggestion, sir?” Braden asked.
Steinham couldn’t resist tendering a knowing smile. “As a matter of fact, I do. Some connections I have within the military community indicate that the FSB has launched a full investigation into Dratshev’s disappearance. There’s every indication that if they are able to locate him, they will most likely kill him. I believe your particular talents are well suited to preventing that from happening, Colonel Cyrus.”
“You want to send us overseas, then?” Cyrus asked.
“It wouldn’t be my first choice but…yes. I think sending you to Minsk to make contact with my man there would be the most prudent course of action. However, I don’t want you to go personally. I need you here for another operation.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“I’d like to send Major Braden.” Steinham pinned Cyrus’s adjutant with a serious gaze. “This operation will require a bit of stealth and an uncanny ability at improvisation. Outside of you, Major Braden is the only person I’d trust to do that.”
“You’ll forgive me for saying so, sir,” Cyrus replied, “but we had an agreement that my men answer to me and only me. You’re not permitted to give my men orders.”
“Be careful, Colonel Cyrus,” Steinham warned. “I don’t need to be reminded of our agreement. And I’m not attempting to give Major Braden orders. I’m merely suggesting that if he is not put in charge of the mission, I won’t move forward with it. Unfortunately that would force me to turn to other resources perhaps more…flexible.”
Cyrus didn’t say anything, so Steinham decided to let him stew on it awhile. He knew the guy would give in. His contract with Cyrus wasn’t exclusive, after all, and all present knew that fact all too well. If Steinham decided to go another way, that would signal his termination of their contractual relationship.
Steinham and DCDI had developed into an extremely lucrative contract for Cyrus’s group. To lose that contract would likely mean financial ruin.
Steinham let the thought play a bit longer as he downed the last of his brandy. Then he said, “But let’s not rush to any decisions just yet, eh, Colonel? Your team has been invaluable to me and I would not like to sever the ties between us just for the sake of expediency.”
“Nor would I,” Cyrus replied quickly, his face reddening ever so perceptibly.
Good, Steinham thought.
“So do you have a specific plan in mind, sir?” Cyrus asked, probably more in hope of changing the subject than in any real interest in the operation.
“I think sending a very small team to Minsk would be prudent,” Steinham said. “No more than three, at most. You may hand-pick them, of course, provided one of them will be Major Braden. I can then give you details on how to make contact with the CIA agent there. Beyond that, I don’t care about the details of the operation—you may plan them to the last letter. I only ask that you keep me apprised and if you have the opportunity to retrieve Dr. Dratshev you will do so at whatever costs necessary. We cannot afford another failure.”
Cyrus looked at Braden. “Major?”
“Yes, sir, I believe that can be arranged quite easily,” Braden replied.
Cyrus nodded and returned his gaze to Steinham. “It looks like we have a deal, sir. We can be ready to leave within three hours.”
“Excellent,” Steinham said. “You’ve made the right decision, Colonel. You won’t regret it.”
“I hope not,” Cyrus muttered.
Steinham believed the mercenary thought the remark had gone unheard. But Steinham had heard it—and he would certainly remember it.
Beginning his third day of captivity, Oleg Dratshev rose, bathed and dressed in the expensive slacks and shirt provided by his captors. If nothing else, Madari had proved to have excellent taste in clothing, much like Dratshev, so to this point the Russian scientist had found his conditions tolerable.
In fact, he had to admit his “captivity” to this point had been surprisingly comfortable. He’d been free to roam Madari’s estate and surrounding grounds at will, not to mention fed and quartered in the lap of luxury.
As a purist and amateur homeopath—the only social vice being tobacco and the infrequent consumption of quality vodka—Dratshev had found it difficult to shake the effects of the drug they’d used to incapacitate him. His muscles still ached and he still experienced occasional nausea. Most of that had now subsided and Dratshev found it increasingly difficult to pass the time.
Madari obviously understood this well. In fact, Dratshev’s host hadn’t spoken to him since his arrival, apparently content to leave him be until Dratshev reached a more lucid and compliant state of mind. The quiet knock at the door, answered by one of the four large guards assigned to watch the prisoner, signaled Dratshev’s seclusion had finally come to an end.
Dratshev looked at the door from where he’d been seated and just finished the last plate of a massive breakfast served to him an hour earlier.
“Good morning, Dr. Dratshev,” Madari said as he took a seat at the opposite end of the table. “I take it you’re feeling better.”
“I am.”
Madari nodded with an expression of satisfaction. “I would assume the fact I’ve left you to your own devices the past couple days wasn’t lost on you.”
“It was not.” Dratshev downed the last of his lukewarm tea with milk.
“You’ve finished your breakfast, now, and you appear well rested. Good. We may then continue our conversation from the other day.”
Dratshev held up a hand. “While I’m grateful for your hospitality, and I choose that word only to show my deference to your kind treatment of me, I must again politely decline to assist you.”
Madari’s face remained passive. “I’m sorry you’ve chosen to take that position.”
“I’m sure. You undoubtedly have scruples and were careful not to mistreat me.”
“Mistreating you wouldn’t serve a purpose.”
“It wouldn’t,” Dratshev said. “Any more than employing vicious means would prompt me to cooperate with you.”
“One thing you should understand about me up front, Dr. Dratshev, is that I’m not an animal. My refraining from brutish treatment is a conscious choice—the only thing I feel separates us from the animals of today’s society. I’ve seen enough bloodshed and misery to last a couple of lifetimes. There is nothing as detestable to me as senseless violence.”
“Yet you chose to take me by force,” Dratshev said.
“Would you have come with me voluntarily?” Madari smiled and splayed his