Dangerous to Hold (26 page)

As the balalaika poured its liquid, silvery notes into the night, Alex felt a gathering sense of purpose.

She had to hold off the wolf from Balminsk.

She had to keep her disintegrating host together.

For a few more days. A week at most. Just until the man she'd sent for arrived and told her whether she could barter death for life.

Drawing in a deep, resolute breath, Alex turned and strode back to the tent. When she entered, Ivana and the other women threw her tentative looks. Katerina came forward with a peace offering and a determined smile.

Alex accepted the steaming mug of tea. “Thank you, Katrushka. Now we must talk. All of us.”

 

In the tent he shared with Dimitri and the others, Nate declined another glass of vodka and weaved his way through the scattered cots toward his own. After the long day and even longer evening, he was ready to pull off his boots and crawl into his bedroll.

One scuffed boot hit the faded carpet covering the earthen floor with a dull thud. Nate was tugging off the other when
the sound of music drifted over the murmur of the other men. Resting his forearms across a bent leg, Nate tilted his head to catch the faint, distant tune.

Whoever was plucking at that sweet-sounding guitar could sure make it sing. The haunting notes seemed to capture the vastness of the steppes. Their loneliness. Their mystery.

When the song ended, Nate shook his head at his fancifulness and slipped his automatic under the folded sheepskin that served as a pillow. As he emptied his pockets, an old Case pocketknife with a worn handle clattered down beside a handful of oddly shaped coins.

Nate fingered the handle, imagining how surprised Wily Willie would be to know that the knife he'd won in a poker game all those years ago and given to Nate as a belated birthday gift now housed one of the world's most sophisticated metal detectors. So sophisticated that it would register the wire used to solder transistors to circuit boards. More specifically, the solder used on the circuits in the small black box that cycled the arming codes for 18 nuclear warheads. The wizards in OMEGA's special devices unit had rigged the pocketknife to vibrate silently if it was within twenty yards of the decoder Nate sought.

Hefting the knife in one hand, he scowled down at it. He wished the blasted thing had begun to vibrate in the women's tent tonight. Somehow his need to find the decoder had escalated subtly in the past ten hours. That black box was a major factor in the lines etched beside Alexandra's golden eyes, Nate was convinced.

Now that he'd caught a glimpse of those glorious eyes free of worry and sparkling with laughter, he couldn't seem to shake the need to keep them that way.

“Y
ou wanted to speak with me,
ataman.
”

“Yes, Dimitri. Will you take tea?”

When the gray beard bobbed in assent, Alex picked up a hammered tin mug and half filled it with steaming green tea from the samovar that was always kept heated just outside the women's tent. Adding thick, creamy milk from a small pitcher, and four heaping teaspoons of coarse sugar, Alex handed the mug to Dimitri. He cradled it in arthritic hands for a moment, letting the soothing heat counteract the chill of the early-morning air.

“Did the sentries note any unusual activity last night?” she asked when he'd taken a sip of the rich, warming brew.

Amusement flickered in his cloudy eyes. “Other than the attack on the honey pot?”

“Other than that.”

He peered at her through the steam spiraling from the mug. “There were no riders, if that's what you ask. No new tracks.”

“That relieves me, Dimitri.”

“Me, also,
ataman.
”

“Nevertheless, I wish you to choose four of our best men to ride with me this afternoon,” she instructed. “I would check our borders.”

“It is done.”

There were many aspects of life on the steppes that made Alex grit her teeth. The lack of privacy. The constant wind. The impermanence of a way of life built around grazing herds. This unquestioning obedience from subordinates, however, was one facet that definitely appealed to her. If only the dedicated but temperamental genius responsible for translating her designs into market-test garments was as cooperative as Dimitri, Alex thought wryly. She'd be spared the dramatic scenes that punctuated the last frantic weeks before a new line debuted. There'd be no bolts of fabric thrown across fitting rooms, no mannequins in tears, no strident demands to know just what in God's name Alex had been thinking of when she draped a bodice in such an impossible line!

Perhaps when she flew back to the States, she could convince Dimitri to come with her and impose some order on the chaos of her small but flourishing firm…assuming she had a firm left after she'd dumped the latest batch of designs in her assistant's hands and taken off as she had.

Deliberately Alex forced all thought of her other world from her mind. She wouldn't be flying anywhere, not for a while. Not until Karistan's future was assured. Which brought her to the point of her conversation with her lieutenant.

“There is another matter I would speak to you about,” she said.

Weak early-morning sunlight glinted on the gold hoop in Dimitri's left ear as he cocked his head, waiting for her to continue.

“This man, Sloan, and the gift he brings. I've…I've given both much thought.”

“That does not surprise me.”

At her quick look, Dimitri shrugged. “Gregor saw you with him last night.”

“Yes, well, I… That is, Katerina and the other women…”

“Yes,
ataman?
”

Alex squared her shoulders. She alone could take responsibility for this decision.

“I've decided we should accept the president's gift.”

 

Nate chewed slowly, savoring the coarse bread covered with creamy, pungent cheese. As breakfasts went, this one was filling and tasty, but he would've traded just about anything he owned at that moment for a cup of black coffee. Controlling an instinctive grimace, he washed the bread down with a swallow of heavily sweetened tea.

Beside him, Peter the Great argued amiably with a sunken, hollow-cheeked man who looked like he'd last seen action in the Crimean War. While they bantered back and forth, Nate stole a quick look at his watch.

Two hours until his first scheduled contact with Maggie. She should be in Balminsk right about now. He was anxious to hear her assessment of the situation there, to see if it tallied with the bits of information he'd gleaned about its vitriolic, reactionary leader from the Karistanis.

He'd have to give his one-armed guardian the slip for a few moments to contact Maggie. Peter the Great hadn't relaxed his vigilance, but Nate knew his way around well enough now to put some tents between himself and the aged warrior when he was ready to.

At a sudden stirring among the men, he glanced over his shoulder and spied Alexandra crossing the open space in the center of camp. The sight of her caused his fingers to curl around the tin mug. He'd spent more hours last night than he wanted to admit imagining her long, slender body in that satin bra and not a whole lot more. But even his most vivid mental images didn't convey the vitality and sheer, stunning presence of the woman who walked toward him.

In her black boots and those baggy britches that shaped themselves to her hips with every shift in the contrary wind, she would have caught Nate's eye even if she wasn't wearing
a belted tunic in the brightest shade of red he'd ever seen. Rows of gold frog fastenings marched down its front, reminding him of an eighteenth-century hussar's uniform. More gold embroidery embellished the cuffs, giving the illusion of an officer's rank.

Come to think of it, he decided with an inner grin, it wasn't an illusion.

Like a general at the head of her troops, Alex led a contingent of the camp's women. She was flanked on either side by Katerina, bright-eyed and pink-cheeked in the crisp air, and a pale, honey-haired widow Nate had heard referred to as Ivana. More women streamed along behind her, as well as a gathering trail of curious camp residents. Dimitri followed more slowly, his lined face impassive.

Tossing the rest of his tea to the ground, Nate set the tin mug aside and rose. Ole Red must have done more damage to the women's tent last night than he'd estimated to generate a turnout like this. Wondering just what he'd have to do to smooth over Karistani-American relations, he hooked his thumbs in his belt.

He didn't wonder long.

After a polite greeting and the hope that he'd slept well, Alexandra plunged right to the heart of things.

“I've given the matter that brought you to Karistan a great deal of thought.”

“That so?”

“Yes, that's so. I…I have decided to accept the president's offer of a stud.”

Nate wasn't sure exactly why, but the way she announced her decision didn't exactly overwhelm him on Ole Red's behalf. Maybe it was the strange, indecipherable glint in her eyes. Or the curious air that hung over the small crowd, watching and intent. Shrugging, he acknowledged her decision.

“You won't be sorry. He's one of the best in the business.”

The glint in her eyes deepened, darkening them to a bur
nished bronze. “That remains to be seen. There are conditions, however.”

“What kind of conditions?”

“He must prove himself.”

“That shouldn't be difficult. Just turn him loose with the females.”

Katerina gave a smothered laugh. Her dark eyes dancing, she treated the other women to what Nate guessed was an explicit translation of his words, since it drew a round of giggles. Alex quieted them with a wave of one hand.

“I meant that he must prove himself on the steppes. Show he has endurance and heart for this rugged land.”

Nate could understand that. He wouldn't acquire a horse without seeing it put through its paces, either.

“Fair enough.”

“We ride out this afternoon,” she told him. “The ride will be long and grueling.”

“Ole Red and I will manage to keep up somehow,” he drawled. Relieved that one part of his mission, at least, was under control, Nate allowed himself a grin. “Trust me. Three Bars Red won't disappoint you. Or the fillies, when you put him to stud.”

Drawing in a long, slow breath, Alex met his gaze with a steady one of her own. “I'm not talking about Three Bars Red, Sloan.”

“Evidently I missed something vital in this little conversation. Just who
are
we talking about?”

“You.”

Nate narrowed his eyes. “You want to run that one by me one more time?” he asked slowly, deliberately.

“It's very simple. The president was right, although he didn't know it. Karistan needs new blood. New life. But not…” She wet her lips. “Not just among our horses.”

His first thought was that it was a joke. That Alex and the other women were paying him back, in spades, for the havoc Red had wrought last night.

His second, as he took in the determined lift to Alex's chin,
and Katerina's eager expression, was that Maggie was never going to believe this.

 

As the dilapidated truck she was riding in hit another rut, Maggie braced both hands against the dash. She felt her bottom part company with the hard leather seat, then slam down again. Suppressing a groan, she glared at the driver.

“If you don't slow down,” she warned him in swift, idiomatic Russian, “your mother will soon have a daughter instead of a son.”

Shaking his head in admiration, the brawny driver grinned at her. “How is it that you speak our language with such mastery?”

“I watched the Goodwill Games on TV. Hey, keep at least one eye on the road!”

Whipping the steering wheel around to avoid a pothole the size of the Grand Canyon, the driver sent the truck bouncing over a nest of rocks at the edge of the track. He spun back onto the road without once letting up on the gas pedal.

Maggie grabbed the dash again and hung on, swearing under her breath. After six hours in this doorless, springless vehicle, she felt even worse than she had after the first week of the grueling six-month training course OMEGA put her through.

The head training instructor, a steel-eyed agent whose code name, Jaguar, described both his personality and his method of operation in the field, had brushed aside Maggie's rather vocal comment about sadists. When he finished with her, he'd promised, she could hold her own in everything from hand-to-hand combat to a full-scale assault.

At this moment, she would've opted cheerfully for a full-scale assault. It had to be less dangerous than rattling along at sixty miles an hour down a road that existed only in some long-dead mapmaker's imagination! In a vehicle that had rolled off a World War II assembly line, no less.

Another wild swerve brought the other passenger in the open cab crashing into her side. Maggie held her breath until
Richard Worthington righted himself, with only a single jab of his bony elbow in her ribs.

“Uh, sorry…” he yelled over the clatter of the crates in the truck bed.

“That's okay,” Maggie shouted back. “What's one more bruise here and there?”

He grabbed at the frame to steady himself. “Will you ask the driver to pull over? I need to check the map. We should have passed that town by now, the one just over the Balminsk border.”

“We did pass it, Richard. A half hour ago.”

He stared at her blankly. “I don't remember seeing anything but a few houses and a barn.”

“That was it. On the steppes, two houses and a barn constitute a town.”

“But…but…”

“But what?” she yelled, struggling to keep the exasperation out of her voice. Two days of flying and six hours of driving with Dr. Richard Worthington, brilliant young physicist and klutz extraordinaire, had strained Maggie's patience to the limit.

“But that was where we were supposed to meet our escort.”

“What?”

They bounced upward, then slammed downward, with the precision of synchronized swimmers.

“Uh, we'll have to go back.”

Maggie closed her eyes and counted to ten.

They'd already lost almost half a day's travel time due to confusion among the airport officials when they landed and an extended search for the transit permits that Richard had, somehow, packed with his underwear. At this rate, they wouldn't make Balminsk's capital until late afternoon.

When Maggie opened her eyes again, Richard's earnest, apologetic face filled her dust-smeared lenses. Bracing one hand against the roof, she swiveled in her seat.

“Stop the truck, Vasili.”

“No, no! She goes well. If we stop, she may not start again.”

“We have to turn around and go back.”

The broad-faced driver rolled his eyes toward Richard. “Do not tell me. This one lost another something.”

“All right, I won't tell you. Just stop. We'll have to let the rest of the team know. When they catch up with us,” Maggie added darkly.

Vasili's quick-silver grin flashed. Muttering something about old women in babushkas who should ride only bicycles, he swung the wheel with careless abandon. Maggie felt her kidneys slide sideways, and grabbed Richard's arm before the rest of her followed.

With dust swirling all around them, Vasili braked to a screeching halt and cut the engine. While it hacked and shuddered and wheezed, Richard climbed out of the high cab and turned to help Maggie down.

His hand felt surprisingly firm after the shaky, soul-shattering ride. They stood for a moment in unmoving relief, and then Richard lifted a hand to shade his eyes.

“How far back are the others, do you think?”

“A half hour as the crow flies. Or ten minutes as Vasili drives.”

The smile that made him seem so much younger than his years lightened his face. “I have to admit, I hadn't anticipated quite this much excitement our first day in-country.”

Maggie's irritation with him faded, as it always seemed to do when he turned that shy, hesitant look on her. He thought this was excitement? Well, maybe it was, compared to spending ten or twelve hours a day bent over a high-powered microscope, playing with protons and neutrons.

“I think I can do with a little less of Vasili's brand of thrills,” she answered, smiling.

Rolling her shoulders in a vain attempt to ease the strain of the past few hours, Maggie glanced at her watch. At least this unplanned stop would give her a chance to contact Nate during the time parameters they'd agreed on. She scanned the
rolling countryside for a moment, then nodded toward a low, jagged line of rocks a hundred yards away.