3/6
A brisk wind whipped through Frankie's hair as she and Kilmer disembarked from the plane. Grabbing her fly-aways she tucked them into a pony tail and looped it back under itself. Kilmer paused in his descent down the stairs when he realized she wasn't directly behind him. With a quick shake of her head, she indicated she would join him in a minute. She had barely set her feet on the tarmac when one of the Russian officers launched into his introduction.
In heavily accented English, he stated, "Agents, welcome to Moscow. Due to the situation, I will dispense with the formalities." At their twin looks of concern, he continued, "I regret to inform you that the prison in which we were holding Mister Brilnikov was bombed just before your plane landed."
Frankie glanced toward Kilmer, reading his irritation. "Was he killed?"
The Russian shook his head. "We do not yet know. Our forensic teams are, how do you through the wreckage now. We will take you there immediately."
Kilmer wrapped his communicator around his ear and started toward the car leaving Frankie to gather more information from the officials. "Jelani, we've hit a snag. The prison was bombed. No word on Brilnikov. I need you to find out if anyone has claimed responsibility. And track all the airports. If he's alive, I want to know where he is."
"On it," Jelani replied, his fingers dancing across the keyboard in front of him. He said a quick prayer in hopes of finding his boss good news, but knew it went unanswered as his screen came up blank.
"Kilmer," he replied, ignoring the background noise of the car the SAC and XO were riding in. Apparently the Russians weren't as big on a quiet ride as Americans.
"Give me good news," his boss replied, the edge in his voice letting him know that, while Kilmer wouldn't hold him personally responsible, he would expect answers at some point.
"Nothing popped. No responsibility, no hit on his name on any passenger manifests, nothing. Anders is running his picture against the cameras in the Moscow airports, but he's not expecting anything."
Kilmer barely stifled his curse. The one lead they had on the recent threat might well have died in the attack. Balling his fist, he pounded the seat.
Frankie placed a calming hand over his fist. It wouldn't aid the cooperation of the locals if Kilmer lost it. Shooting him a warning glance, she questioned the officials for the remainder of the ride.
As the car neared the prison, it slowed, the path blocked by fire trucks and ambulances in addition to police officials cordoning off the area. It took ten frustratingly-long minutes for the car to be waved through. Kilmer jumped out before the engine stopped running.
He grabbed a nearby fireman and asked, "Have you recovered any bodies?"
The fireman shook his head. By his reaction it was obvious he didn't speak English. Frankie appeared a moment later and repeated the question in Russian.
The man replied at length then turned away.
"Kilmer, he said that the bodies of four prisoners and two security guards were found. Fourteen other prisoners were wounded. None of them was Brilnikov."
"Then he's still alive."
Frankie offered him a wan smile. "Looks that way." She pressed her hand against her earpiece and asked, "Anders, how are you coming on the picture IDs?"
"So far nothing, but if he's wearing a wig and sunglasses, we won't know him from Corey Hart."
Kilmer shot a perplexed glance to Frankie, who responded, "I wear my sunglasses at night..."
The SAC snorted and shook his head at the questionable musical tastes of Anders and Frankie. "Alright, keep after it. There's nothing more to do here, so we're heading back to the airport. Have Mo and Mia link in as soon as they know anything on the CG."
With one last glance toward the gutted building, Kilmer cursed. If there was one thing he hated, it was a wasted trip. And a fifteen hour wasted trip took the cake.
Cape Canaveral Air Force Base
Crew Quarters
Late that night, the phone in one of the crew quarters rang. Dimitri Kashkov rose from his seat before a package of graphite and Semtex and picked it up. He offered no greeting. None was needed.
"Praise be to Allah," stated the voice at the other end. "I have escaped the hand of the Infidels and will soon join you."
"Praise, indeed, my friend," Kashkov replied. "When I see you again, I will greet you with your women."
His friend laughed. "Allah is good, but if he is wise, they will all be blonde."
Kashkov smiled then replaced the phone on the hook. He closed his eyes and began to pray. If he planned to meet Allah the next day, it would be better to have a purer soul.
The Vault
Fort Meade
Frankie and Kilmer hit the doors to The Vault with a little more energy and seemingly less information than they'd had when they'd left just over 30 hours ago. A mid-air conference with Mia and Mo had determined that a canister of
Phosgene was signed out by one of the Institute's high-ranking scientists. As of three hours ago, the Charlie brothers were infiltrating his house to search the premises and bring him in for questioning.
"Kilmer," the Chinese-American began as the SAC and XO descended the stairs to the bullpen. "We got word back from the CIA that the scientist is an AQ sympathizer. He claims he stole the CG a little over three weeks ago knowing it wouldn't be missed until it was too late. Apparently, he gave it to a contact within the Chechen army and it was shipped out of Russia. He doesn't know where."
"Anders, where are we on locating Brilnikov?"
"Still searching, Frankie, but we have had another blog entry. It came across about 20 minutes ago, 'Allah's wrath will soon pour out over the Infidels' frivolity and superficiality. Praise be Allah.'"
"So it's safe to say Brilnikov got here just before we did." Kilmer dropped his bag at the foot of the stairs and headed over to the conference table. Flipping though a sheaf of papers, he asked, "Jelani is there any indication yet as to the target? Or what happened to that missile?"
"Nothing has popped up on Echelon, but we're still searching."
"Do it fast, because if Brilnikov is in possession of the CG, the missile or both, there's no telling how many casualties he'll leave."
The Vault
Fort Meade
Kilmer sank into the chair behind his desk and scrubbed his face with his hands. Glancing up to Frankie, who leaned against the desk, he asked, "When this is all over, why don't we have dinner and just be humans for one night?"
"I don't think that's a good idea," she answered as she stood and wrapped her arms around herself. She turned her gaze to the windows, seeing the past rather than the present. "The last time you wanted to have dinner you ended up skipping out on me and calling me from Seattle while I was waiting for you at the restaurant."
Kilmer pursed his lips at her response. "How many times have I told you I know what a jerk I was?"
"It doesn't matter the number, Kilmer." Frankie flashed him a sad smile and shook her head. "You'll do it again, given half the chance. I know you and I know my gut."
"That's not me anymore." Tired of her dependence on her ever-loving gut where they were concerned, John rose and walked around the desk facing her head-on. "I'm not that ass anymore and Frankie, in your heart, you know it! Why can't you just admit that in this situation, your gut is wrong? Are you so determined to be right that you'll give up what still exists between us? Or are you just afraid to let yourself love me as much as I love you?"
Kilmer took a breath as he ran a hand through his close-cropped hair. Shaking his head, he turned away from her and leaned against the desk. He glanced up to watch her reflection in the darkened windows and saw it: the lone tear that slipped down her cheek. "What's wrong with being wrong, baby?" he murmured as he watched the tear trace its path. "Especially when it turns out to be right."
He wanted desperately to turn around, to take her in his arms, to kiss her cheek dry, but he knew she would see it as patronizing. So, instead he tightened his grip on the edge of his desk knuckles whitening with the effort.
A knock sounded at the door and Kilmer barely leashed his impulse to tell whomever it was to go away. Jelani peeked in. "Sorry to interrupt," he began, glancing from Kilmer to Frankie and back. He had heard the SAC's tirade, could repeat it word for word if asked regardless of the sound-proofing. He had debated about leaving them to hash it out, but the information wouldn't keep and apparently they had waited months to have this discussion. "Our Chechen friend was spotted at a marina south of Orlando carrying a large equipment bag. Mo and Mia are en route."
Frankie grasped the interruption with both hands. Tilting her head back to stave off the appearance of more tears, she asked, "What took him to Orlando?"
"The shuttle Atlantis is due to lift off later this afternoon with a combined crew of astronauts and cosmonauts."
Kilmer pursed his lips then nodded. "Good work, alert the coast guard and get us out there. I want to be wheels up in 10 minutes at the latest."
"You got it, boss," Jelani said as he disappeared.
Kilmer stifled a curse. "So, I guess we table this discussion."
"Looks like it," Frankie answered as she wiped the back of her hand across her cheek.
Kilmer moved toward the door, but paused as he reached her side. Sliding his thumb along the inside of her wrist and down her palm, he felt her shiver of recognition. It had been her favorite caress. He tangled his fingers with hers and heard her short intake of breath.
He was so tired of the memories that haunted him, tired of being beside her every day then going home to an empty apartment at night. He wanted more than the memories. He wanted her.
"John," she breathed in an effort to return them to sanity, to end the sweet torture of the seemingly simple caress.
"I know, but we will talk about this later." He released her hand and grabbed his always-packed overnight bag from beside the door. With a glance back to her, he opened the door and left.
Frankie heaved a watery sigh. Forcing her jumbled emotions to the furthest part of her heart, she focused her thoughts on the task at hand.
...to be continued...