Chapter 2
It took forever for the elevator door to open, and Amanda was glad it was empty when she stepped inside. Wet, cold, and worried, she leaned back against the wall and counted the floors. The door slid open at three, and she trudged down the hall.
It shouldn't be this hard to spend time with your husband. A quick shower and a change of clothes would adjust her attitude, and whining wasn't productive, but Amanda allowed herself to wallow in her misery. She was exhausted. Her energy faded with each doorway she passed, and she concentrated on counting the steps to her room.
The door to her left flew open, and she whirled in surprise. When her gaze locked on the gun, her breath caught in her throat. A vise-like grip enveloped her wrist, and she was yanked off her feet and propelled into the room.
The door slammed shut behind her, and darkness descended.
I'm not afraid of the dark. I'm not. "Could you turn on the light? Please?"
Amanda gulped deep breaths and leaned against a wall, taking small comfort from the solid surface behind her. Squinting into the darkness, she waited for the owner of the iron grip to make another move. How could she fight him if she couldn't see?
His throaty chuckle sent chills up her spine. "Pardon me. I couldn't resist a touch of the melodramatic." The light flicked on, and she blinked in the sudden glare, pressing even harder against the cold, unforgiving wall.
It couldn't be. Impossible.
The Glock didn't waver as its owner motioned her to a scarf-draped chair, a suave smile creasing his face but never reaching his hard eyes. "Sit, little Scarecrow. We meet again, just as I promised. We have much to talk about, you and I."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Lee fought down the anger that threatened to consume his holiday and rested his hands on the counter. The phone, with its annoying red lights, flashed a warning. Well, there was no help for it; it was time to see what the old buzzard wanted. Since the line wasn't secure, how vital could it really be?
"Stetson here."
"Well, well, well. The crow finally comes home to roost. Avoiding me, Scarecrow? You should know better."
"I'm on vacation, as you should know, since it was approved through your office." Lee's fingers clenched around the receiver. "What do you want?"
"Cut to the chase, eh? I like that. Very well, a Russian bird of your acquaintance is flying the coop, and I need him in the net before the day is over. He's in your neck of the woods, so I've taken the liberty of guiding him your way. You need only to bag him and hold him for retrieval. His handlers should arrive in less than twenty-four hours."
"You've sent him here? A Russian--"
"Open lines don't mix with open lips, Scarecrow, you know that. I'm sure you and the little missus can keep him entertained."
Smyth's tone changed.
"Our little canary asked specifically for you. There is too much at stake here for your whims to take precedence. You will pick him up, and you will keep him safe. Understood?
Lee's shoulders slumped in defeat. "How will I know him?"
"Oh, you'll know him, I suspect. You will be contacted when our people arrive."
He held the receiver to his ear for several seconds, listening to the dial tone, then placed it back in the cradle. Russian agents didn't defect every day, and this one was obviously a prime catch, or Smyth wouldn't have dealt with it personally. Somehow, that didn't make him feel any better.
How was he going to tell Amanda? Funny how life's little worries changed. A week ago, his well-ordered suburban life had felt like a burden.
Now, it was looking pretty good.
Suddenly Lee was tired. Waiting for the elevator door to open seemed like a monumental task. How was he going to tell Amanda? What could he say? "Sorry, sweetheart, vacation's over--back to work?" The doors opened, and he stepped inside. He slumped against the rear wall and concentrated on the sound of the gears. Maybe the elevator would stall before it reached the third floor.
No such luck, and as he walked down the long hallway, he considered and discarded explanation after explanation, each sounding as cold and wooden as the last. Oh, she would understand--she always did. Amanda had an infinite capacity to absorb change. She'd put a good face on it and spend the rest of the trip cheering him up.
That prospect didn't lighten his step.
Room 314 loomed in the distance, and Lee hesitated. Time to face the music. Gathering what was left of his composure, he swung the door open. "Honey, I'm home."
No laughter greeted him, and a sliver of worry stabbed his heart. Foolish of course--she was probably in the bathroom. A quick look showed him all he needed to know. Each item was just as they'd left it--the clothes still neatly folded on the bed, a damp towel draped across the shower door, her suitcase was undisturbed.
Amanda wasn't here. Somehow, between the lobby and their room, she'd disappeared. Every instinct was screaming as he dove for the phone, and only one thought pushed through the panic.
He'd kill Dr. Smyth if anyone harmed even one hair on Amanda's head. Slowly. Painfully.
Damn the man.
It took only minutes. Secure phone line or not, he'd gotten his answer. Such a simple matter--agent missing, presumed captured. Only it wasn't simple when your wife was the agent and backup was an eternity away. He slammed the telephone against the table and struggled to focus. Finding Amanda had to take precedence over killing Dr. Smyth. For the moment.
The Agency had sent the defector to this hotel--a Russian wolf among the vacationing sheep. Lee's fingers clenched. Why this agent? Smyth had been cagey on the unsecured line, but it hadn't taken much for the scenario to become clear.
Why, of all the KGB operatives in the country, did it have to be Viktor Zinoniev?
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"You fooled me, little Scarecrow. It's a rare man, or woman, who can do that." Zinoniev inclined his head and touched the brim of his fedora. "When I had you in the palm of my hand, you held to that identity, even in the face of terror. Strength under adversity, as it were."
Amanda licked her dry lips, but kept her eyes focused on his. She refused to look at the gun in his hand. "I'm not--"
"Of course you aren't the Scarecrow. I learned that--to my chagrin--when I filed my reports. Imagine the mirth when my superiors discovered I'd captured a housewife--and almost shipped her to the motherland as the great American agent. That little faux pas nearly destroyed my career."
Pain was etched into the lines on his forehead, but a certain wry humor glinted in his dark eyes. He was hard to read, and Amanda wasn't about to let her guard down. At least, not until he pointed that gun in another direction.
"But, alas, my dear, I recovered my honor and rebuilt my reputation. Until now, that has been enough. I was looking forward to retirement, a quiet life in the countryside, visits with my grandchildren." His gaze dropped to the gun in his hand, and he loosened his grip. "As much as it pains me to say it, I need help. And where else could I seek it, hmmm?"
The muscles in her stomach slowly unclenched. She wasn't going to die? Wow.
Zinoniev flipped the gun through his manicured fingers and held it out, grip first. "I place my life in your hands, little Scarecrow." He smiled as she reached out and plucked the weapon from his hand. He turned his back on her and walked to the bed, settling on the edge of the mattress. "Where is the tall lad? Can you get him? I only have the energy to make my explanations once."
Amanda relaxed, a shuddering breath hissing through her teeth as she turned her back on Zinoniev and dialed her room. He had enjoyed pointing that gun at her just a little too much. She didn't trust him, but the gun in her hand was a comforting weight. Still, she needed Lee. Now. Please let him be there.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was only a minute, but it seemed like she'd been standing by the door for hours, listening for Lee's footsteps in the hall. She held the gun on Zinoniev, who perched on the corner of the bed and watched her, that hint of amusement still ghosting through his eyes.
Humor? What was the humor in this situation? Amanda focused on her "captive" and realized that it was indeed a strange little scene. She wasn't sure exactly who had the upper hand here--the cold-blooded KGB operative who had willingly dropped his gun in her hands, or herself--a surprised wife on a second honeymoon. The fact that she was also a spy just made it even stranger. She fought to keep a grin from tugging at her mouth. No, this wasn't funny.
Well, not much.
Of course, the surroundings only added to the surreal scene. The bright pillows of silk and the layered Persian carpets flowed into the walls, draped with tapestries and billowing scarves. The room looked familiar, and then it hit. This was the room that she and Lee had booked. Well, that explained why it wasn't available. Zinoniev must have some resources he hadn't mentioned yet, including cash for bribes.
Welcome footsteps pelted down the hall, and Amanda spared a quick glance at the doorknob. She'd recognize that out-of-breath panting anywhere. Without turning, she fumbled for the lock with her free hand and then stepped aside as the door burst inward.
"Zinoniev, damn it, where is she?" The force of his entry propelled Lee into the middle of the room.
His target buffed an elegantly manicured fingernail on his lapel, ignoring the gun aimed at his chest, and then aimed the same finger in Amanda's general direction. Lee's gaze remained locked on Zinoniev's, as he reached out his arm to gather her in.
"I'm okay," she said, as she allowed herself to be pulled to his side. Solid and warm and there in the knick of time, as always. Well, perhaps a couple of minutes late. She relaxed into his side, but slid out of his grasp when he would have pressed her behind him.
"What took you so long?" As Zinoniev's voice broke the tension, Amanda and Lee turned to stare at their captive.
Lee's look of bemused indignation was almost worth all the worry. His sharp glance took in the gun in her hand and Zinoniev's position in the room. A slow smile spread across his face, replacing worry with pride.
The smile lasted two seconds.
"A bit slow there, my lad. You really need to be quicker than that. It took you, what, thirty seconds to make it down the hall?" Amanda felt Lee grow several inches as his back snapped ramrod straight. Why was Zinoniev baiting him?
Maybe to keep a little of his dignity. There was a tightness around Zinoniev's mouth, and was that a waver in the cultured facade? He was worried. She was struck again by the absurdity of the situation. Just what was going on here?
"Lee?"
"I think I'll let our friendly neighborhood KGB operative do the explaining." His gun never wavered. "Why the sudden urge to come over to our side? Run out of flunkies like Rostov to do your dirty work?"
For the first time, the superior smirk faded, and Zinoniev looked away.