Disclaimer: As usual, I do not own any of these characters. And Nic: you have a good eye for the Russian. I did indeed borrow many aspects of him from xXx!

Chapter 7

Driven by the horror I'd seen inside, I bolted through steel doors, leaped the last couple of steps down to the asphalt, ran across the yard past forklifts and wooden pallets. I fled through the gates, into the street.

Blocks passed; I slowed, looked behind me. My foot caught on the pavement and I tripped, went down, caught myself with my hands. A sharp snap echoed in the silent streets; I'd broken a heel. I picked myself up, let my eyes scan the street. It was empty. The buildings and streets and lights gave me no clue, no direction; I was lost. With no other option, I decided that I should go straight ahead.

I ditched the shoes and pushed myself off the pavement, relieved I hadn't turned my ankle. I kept running. Three blocks later I turned a corner onto a wider street and slowed, convinced I wasn't being followed. There was no sign of the Hummer. I kept to the shadows, though, not knowing know what Aleksei and Peter might be driving.

I didn't know where I was going. I didn't have a plan; didn't even have my purse. This street was definitely better traveled than the one I'd come from, but I didn't know where it would lead me. I knew Prague had a subway system, and I hoped to find a station, or even a city bus. I couldn't pay the fare, but it was the best idea I could come up with, and I'd figure that part out later.

What I found instead was a taxi, two blocks back and coming my way. It cruised down the four lane street and slowed for a red light that turned green. I ran out into the street shrieking, frantic arms windmilling. The taxi squealed to an abrupt stop.

The cabbie cranked his window down. I babbled something about an emergency, about needing the police.

"Get in, please. I will take you to police," he replied in heavily accented English.

In retrospect, I should have known better. At the time it seemed my only option. I jumped gratefully into the back of the taxi and listened as the cab driver radioed in to the dispatcher.

God, it had felt good to run! Finally, I'd burst out of the mind numbing torpor I'd walked around in ever since I woke up aboard the jet. I had reasoned, sensibly, that the logical thing was to play along with Jackson and hope for the best. The logic hadn't changed, but I couldn't do that anymore. I stared through the window and dared hope the nightmare was over.

Six blocks later, the car stopped at a light that wasn't red and Peter and Aleksei stepped into the back seat with me.

-----------------------

None of us spoke on that short drive back to the warehouse and I came out of the taxi angry and defiant. Peter not ungently took one arm; Aleksei, flanking me on the other side, grabbed the other one.

"That isn't necessary." I wanted to shake them off violently; wanted to scream at them. Instead I kept my voice calm, rational. "I'm not going anywhere. I think we all know that."

"Release her " This came from the shadows. Leather boots marked a slow, stalking rhythm on the pavement. Looking sublimely serene, Rade Vaschenko walked into the light.

He slapped me. Hard. On both cheeks.

"I expected it of you, Lisa," he said. "I would have been disappointed if you had not tried it. But I cannot tolerate it."

My face on fire and my eyes stinging with tears, I said, "You set me up, didn't you? You knew I'd run."

I'd figured that part out in the taxi, on the way back here.

"Yes, of course. You needed to run, get it out of your system, see how useless it is. Now get in the truck, please. You and I have much to discuss."

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Rade's American mood seemed to have given way to European once more. The classic rock of earlier was replaced by Beethoven, and the sonata's fierce first movement matched my own smoldering fury. Rade drove the freeways skirting Prague's suburbs skillfully and with great speed. He seemed in no hurry to return to the chateâu.

When he finally did speak, it was to say, "You will not go home. You know this, yes?"

I closed my eyes; tried to push his words away. Then said, "I won't give up hope. I can't."

"Mr. Rippner cannot afford to let you live. He wishes to reclaim his previous position of honor and authority. To do so he must clean up all debris from his fantastic mistake. But you are right. There is always hope and I offer you that hope. I offer you chance to stay here with me."

The Pathetique's first movement crested, finished with a decisive crash of notes and gave way to the deep, abiding, sadness of the second.

"Why?"

"For pleasure." Caught briefly behind cars blocking two lanes of traffic, Rade soared up nearly onto the bumper of one, rode it until the car in the other lane dropped back, then whizzed over, deftly avoiding by inches, it seemed, the bumper of the second car. "And for business. We would make good team, you and I. Russian and American. East and West. I will train you, teach you."

"You want to teach me to do the things you do?" My voice sounded as dead as I would likely be before long.

"Is not so hard. You have values, yes. So you told me. And so I see, too, by your distaste tonight for certain aspects of my work. Those aspects you need not involve yourself in. I run business. You have business skills – management skills. Together we make very successful business."

"I cannot – I will not – be a part of your world, Rade. You are asking me to go against everything I believe in."

"Belief systems change with circumstances. Yours will change. You have no choice, unless you prefer to die. And so I ask you. You would rather die than share my bed?"

"And Katya?" I sought to deflect the question.

"I am fond of Katya," he said. "She has been good companion to me for long time now. Straight from Russia, Katya, no family, and no hope of surviving life on the streets. She had heroin habit; she slept on street. She was waitress in one of my clubs. Nespavos, you remember? I took her home, got rid of drugs, sent her to school. Katya is smart girl. And loyal. Katya will not go against my wishes."

I pictured Katya as I last saw her, taking Jackson home, resigned. "Is this part of the deal you and Jackson are negotiating? Jackson is selling me like a slave?"

"Is not part of deal. Mr. Rippner is inflexible on this point. Your life is of no consequence to him, yet he does not wish for you to be with me." I couldn't see his face clearly, but I heard amusement in his voice. "But I will keep you whether Mr. Rippner wishes this or not."

"Mr. Rippner is not gracious in defeat," I said. "He is used to getting his way."

"Put him from your mind. He is not factor in what you and I discuss. Perhaps, Lisa, you would consider that my power is greater than Mr. Rippner's. If you accept my protection, you have nothing to fear from him. And perhaps someday soon you can return to States for visit."

I put it together then; suddenly understood what he was telling me.

"Have you – signed off on your deal with Jackson?" I kept my voice light, my tone casual, and I held my breath.

"You are smart girl, Lisa. You do not disappoint me. So I will answer you in direct manner. Mr. Rippner is still alive. He will stay that way until I get what I want from him."

"And that would be?"

"To sweeten deal, Mr. Rippner has offered to deliver supply of arms. I need them. They will go far to launch small rebellion in former Russian republic. Unfortunately, only Mr. Rippner knows where they are stored at this moment. Tomorrow, though, I transfer payment and I take possession of weapons."

"Wouldn't this affect your um, relationship with Jackson's organization? It doesn't seem to me that they'd honor your contract if you assassinated one of their employees."

"Is part of contract I already have with them. Jackson knows nothing of this."

I felt infinitely weary under the burden of this information. "Why would you trust me enough to tell me this?"

"You see earlier what happens to those who betray me." We'd left the freeways now and were back in the older part of Prague; back on the boulevard with the old fashioned streetlamps. We spoke no more until we were once again inside the grand reception hall of the Italianate chateâu.

"Think carefully on what I have said to you, Lisa." We stood at the foot of one of the twin staircases. "Tomorrow I transfer large amount of money from my bank account to purchase weapons. After receiving confirmation of funds, Mr. Rippner will no longer have reason to keep you alive. With me you have chance at life. Do not wait too long."

He grasped my chin with delicate fingers, threaded his other hand through the back of my hair, forced me to look into his face. Eyes alight and lips curved with private amusement, he had me cornered, like a tabby with a mouse. He traced my lip with his thumb, then dropped his lips to mine. Then: "You will think of this. Sleep on it."

"Yes." It came out a whisper; I struggled to suppress a deep shudder.

I maintained my calm climbing the stairs, but as soon as I was out of sight of Rade, I ran. Ran through the hall to my room, glancing briefly at Jackson's closed door, and shut my own door behind me.

I sank to the floor and gave way to horror, revulsion and fury. I quaked and shook, rocked and shivered. I let the tears flow freely, and wondered how I was going to get out of here. Staying here, playing the game, just wasn't an option anymore. I was done playing the passive fool, the pawn between Jackson and Rade.

First, though, I had to get clean, had to brush my teeth, scrub my face, wash away all traces of this night, of Rade Vaschenko. Then I would plan.

I rose to my feet, crossed the room and pushed open the bathroom door. Before I could switch on a light a hand clamped over my mouth and I was shoved against the bathroom wall.

"Don't say a word," Jackson said.

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He flipped on the light and then the shower. The Armani was gone; he wore jeans and a soft button-front shirt and looked startlingly alert for a man who'd ploughed through countless shots of absinthe just a couple of hours earlier

"He won't be able to hear us over this.," he said. "Rade has security cameras hidden in all the rooms except for the bathrooms. He's recording everything we say and do."

"Shit. SHIT!"

"What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me? What's wrong with me? Well now let's see. What could possibly be wrong with me?"

"Okay, okay." His voice was soothing and snide. "Go ahead, say what you need to say, get it all -What the fuck happened to your face? What did he do to you?"

"I don't want to talk about it, okay? I just want out of here!"

"You never do want to talk about bad things that happen to you, do you, Leese? It's very noble of you, but we really don't have time to do noble right now, so I'm going to ask you again. What happened to you tonight?"

Jackson and Rade had many things in common, but right then I identified another thing. Both of them seemed to think I had the makings of a fine agent of intrigue. And both of them were wrong as I proved just then by violating one of the basic tenets of the spook world – that of circumspection. I don't know why I said it; can't explain or defend it, but what came out of my mouth was, "He's going to kill you, you know."

"Yeah, I knew that. The bastard wants my job. Answer my question, Lisa."

"I'm fine, okay? It's no big deal. I saw a man being tortured, I ran away, they caught me, and Rade slapped me. Oh, and offered me Katya's position. Both of them, actually. Vertical and horizontal." I think by then I was starting to border on giddy hysteria. I found this wildly funny.

Jackson did not. "Did you accept?"

"Fuck you, Jackson. You know what? Why don't you just leave me alone now? Go on back to bed. Your little Russian friend will wonder where you are."

"No reason to be snide, Lisa. A girl does what a girl has to do. I don't hold it against her and neither should you."

I heaved a big sigh, suddenly weary to the bone. Surprisingly, Jackson seemed contrite. "I'm sorry, Leese. I shouldn't have said that."

I used to think Jackson was the worst person I would ever know. Rade Vaschenko changed my views on that. Jackson might only be marginally better, but right then I needed that margin. That's why, when Jackson reached out for me, I went into his arms, let him hold me. Somebody had to do it.

"I'm just so tired, Jackson. And please don't tell me to suck it up."

"I won't, Lisa," he said into my hair. "Not for half an hour or so. But before dawn comes, you and I are getting out of here. You'll need to get it together by then."