There was this pounding.
There was this pounding, and it wouldn't stop.
At first Brenda thought it was her heart. But after she guessed that, guessed wrong, the thing kept pounding.
Maybe the pulse of Maura's lips against hers, she thought next, half-conscious, experimentally tilting her mouth forward, again, thrillingly, meeting Maura's still, thrillingly, soft skin brushing against her own.
But no, that wasn't it either, since she was awake now, groaning slightly against Maura's mouth, but the pounding continued.
The door, she realized in the same second that she was hauling herself out of bed, stumbling to the peephole.
Katie. Only a little worried. All right.
She blinked. Peered again, more intently.
And Dr. Morales. Smirking. Oh lord.
She flipped the deadbolt open.
"What," she grumbled, only half-aware of Maura sliding out of bed, crossing quietly behind her, running her warm hand lightly over the curve of Brenda's waist.
Katie looked slightly scandalized at the sight of them, equally soft and tousled on the other side of the door. Dr. Morales, curse him, beamed.
"They're coming back," Katie stammered as she watched Brenda reach up absently, sleepily to brush her fingers over Maura's, settled on her hip.
"It's 8:30," Dr. Morales added pointedly. "Seems like you both got a good night's sleep."
"Shut up," Brenda mumbled, as Maura worked up as much of a blush as she could.
"When are they coming?" she said, admirably clearing the sleep from her face, her voice.
"Right now," Katie said. "I got on my bike the second we heard the boat on the water, so they're probably a couple of minutes away from the dock by now."
"All right," Maura breathed, her body seeming to stiffen into consciousness. She disappeared back into the apartment.
"No talkin' to or about Dr. Avery yet," Brenda managed to drop in before the door started to close. "We should keep him in our back pocket."
Katie and Dr. Morales glanced at each other, shared an eyeroll. "Obviously, Brenda," Fernando sighed.
"All right then," she'd grumbled. "We'll—uh, I'll be downstairs in a few minutes."
"You and Doctor Isles," Fernando teased as Katie yanked on his arm, but not especially urgently.
Brenda tried to mediate between the frown and the grin that were fighting for dominance on her face, eventually settling for a set line. "Me and Doctor Isles both got a much-needed good night's rest, Doctor Morales," she hissed, before shutting the door in his face once again.
It only took a few minutes for them to get dressed, Maura silently helping Brenda pull her thick wool sweater over her bad arm. Only a few extra seconds for Brenda to grab lightly at Maura's hand, give her a sweet, supplicating look, for Maura to lean in and kiss her again, softly, there in the light of day.
"Maura, I—" Brenda had started, then caught herself. "We've got this," she finished.
"Yes," Maura had replied, perhaps too fervently, but she had heard, was responding to, the words Brenda hadn't said, Brenda could tell. Had answered the unasked question with the tone of her voice. Her warm gaze. The soft brush of her hand against Brenda's as they left the little apartment together, the thin gray morning light streaming in.
They stood there on the dock, in what Brenda couldn't help but notice appreciatively was a textbook formation. Felt that little shiver of gratitude again as she glanced at Pierre, who nodded almost imperceptibly.
They were arranged there, Pierre and Liz and Matthieu and Andrea in a small diamond closer to the shore side of the dock. Five or six others, masked by buildings and greenery, yards out on their perimeter. Brenda, her hand glued to her pistol a few paces down the dock, and then Maura, slight but fierce in her long wool jacket, the slim M22 rifle she'd carefully pulled from behind her wine rack slung expertly around her shoulders.
Brenda didn't like how far away she was from Maura, even though it was only a few feet; didn't like at all how far the rest of them were from her, but the little motorboat was sputtering into the harbor, this time with only the first mate, Piotr, and the other two crewmen they'd seen before on board.
"Good morning, Miss Johnson," Piotr said, standing up but not exiting the boat.
"Good morning," she replied, her voice flat.
"Captain Volkov regrets he could not join us this morning, but our message is a simple one."
Brenda felt her blood, her breath, freeze inside her body.
"And it is?'
"First, we would like to know the status of our wounded comrade," the mate said, and Brenda could hear his barely-restrained loathing.
"They want to know about their man," she translated for Maura.
Maura frowned, and then her jaw set in a hard line. "He's dead," she called, and it was clear from the sailors' reactions no translation was needed.
They'd found his body before they'd rushed out to the marina, his face soft and relaxed. "He died peacefully, without pain," Dr. Morales had said. "A stroke, I think. With the morphine, it's unlikely that he even knew what was happening."
Maura had nodded stiffly, had stalked out of the room.
The first mate smirked briefly, his face quickly assuming a disingenuous frown. "Dead," he repeated. "How unfortunate."
Brenda watched the other two men closely, could feel Maura doing the same. The one who had sat immobile in the clinic, who hadn't so much as moved, let his face flicker into a brief smirk as well upon hearing the news, but the other—the one who had so rudely demanded the bathroom but, Brenda realized suddenly, whose demand had caused her to stand across from the open door to Maura's office, where the radio had sat, dark and dead—that man's brow furrowed. A faint shadow crossed his face. He made the slightest eye contact.
"Do you—" Maura murmured, staring at him.
"I do," Brenda cut in, mirroring her low tone. "You'll make detective any day, Doctor."
First Mate Piotr coughed loudly. Waited until all eyes were back on him.
"Captain Volkov regrets that we have been unable to reach a peaceful resolution," he said, and Brenda felt goosebumps rise on her skin at the cold rasp in his voice. Tried to not betray her sudden fear. "However, he has anticipated this impasse, and has given me authority to announce that we will be sending a peacekeeping team into the town to ensure that the good people of Seabrook do not try to assist our prisoner in attempting to escape from his rightful custody."
He paused. Stared hard at Brenda, who didn't react, not even to the word prisoner.
"Captain Volkov has given you the generous offer of three days to present this man to us. If he is not on our ship by that time, we regret that we cannot predict our further actions."
"They're sending their men in," Brenda said softly, trying to steel herself against Maura's flinch, but failing. "They're giving us three days to give them the scientist."
"What happens after that," Maura whispered, her lips barely moving, not breaking eye contact with the sailor who had grimaced at the news of his comrade's death.
"They don't have to say," Brenda said through gritted teeth. "They know we know already."
Maura looked straight ahead, not shifting her gaze as she nodded.
"Three days," she said.
It took the better part of the first day for the Russian contingent to establish their patrol. They'd taken over the town hall, loading its smooth wooden conference table with guns and ammunition and rough hammocks and bottles of vodka. They'd arranged an eight-hour shift for each of the four pairs of guards who stood at corners around downtown, in front of the clinic, hands on their weapons. Brenda suspected those three shifts would have some personnel crossover, based on the size of the ship and the exhaustion in the men's eyes as they assembled in the little meeting room.
"We need to give them more food," she'd murmured, seeing an opportunity to maybe help turn a few more of the weary, unhappy men their direction. "Here, and we should send more to the ship." Maura had nodded immediately.
"I want that man," she'd breathed. "You know the one. I want him to help you set it up."
Brenda had looked hard into Maura's eyes, seen the understanding there. "Yes," she'd said. "I'll get him."
Brenda had talked briefly with the first mate, who had assumed command in town while Volkov lurked on his ship. It had taken some harsh words, half-threats to get the sailor who had locked eyes with Maura assigned to transport duty. Brenda had insisted he join her with the excuse that she knew his face, that he was already familiar with the town, and Piotr had eventually growled a harsh da.
"I'm sorry about your friend," Brenda had said quietly, without prelude, as the sailor, Lieutenant Lev Kuznetsov, had sullenly joined her. He'd stiffened immediately.
"He was a traitor," Kuznetsov had replied mechanically.
"He was a hero," Brenda whispered. "What was his name?"
The sailor had silently loaded nearly a full cart of supplies before he returned Brenda's look. "Roskov," he whispered back. "Gennady Roskov. A good man. A brave man."
"Don't you want to . . . to avenge him?" Brenda replied after a moment of searching for the word. "Don't you want to stop Captain Volkov? To help Dr. Alexeyev?"
Kuznetsov shuddered briefly. "Volkov is a monster. He and his волк пакет—" it took Brenda a moment to work out that he'd meant wolf pack—"they will endure anything. Anything." The man glanced around, then took a deep breath. "That said, there are more of us, Miss Johnson, than you may think," he said softly. "More of us that see Dr. Alexeyev's work as something that should be shared, not something that should be hidden."
"And don't you think we want that too?" Brenda had murmured. "Don't you think we did everything we could for your friend Mr. Roskov, even before he helped us?"
"Maybe you did," Kuznetsov looked at her, eyes hard, cool. "Yet he is dead. Can you defeat the Ivan Grozny?"
Brenda paused for a moment, biting her lip. Stared at him, his expression blank, but she thought she could still detect some glimmer of hope there.
"With manpower?" she asked, hauling another crate of greenhouse vegetables onto the transport cart. "Yes. With firepower? Yes, perhaps, with your help. We obviously cannot defend against any heavy weapons that may be on the ship." She paused, met his eyes again. He nodded, just slightly. "Your Captain Volkov is outnumbered and outgunned, at least on land, sailor," she said softly, kindly. "We can keep you safe."
"Safe," he shook his head, chuckled. "You cannot keep a dead man safe, Miss Johnson." He laughed again, bitterly. "You understand what I mean."
"You cannot keep a Russian man safe," she replied sourly, the saying rough and ugly on her tongue.
"Precisely." He stacked the last crate onto the transport vehicle. "There is nothing you can do for us, Miss Johnson."
She bit her lip for a moment, thinking hard.
"Perhaps not," she said softly, Kuznetsov's glance darting to hers. "But perhaps there's something you and your friends could do for Dr. Alexeyev. For our town."
There was a long silence.
"We would welcome you," she said softly. "You and your friends. You would have a home here."
"I must get back," he said, finally, though Brenda could see something in his look, a glimpse of something clear and certain, something she didn't want to let go of so abruptly.
"Lev Lvovich Kuznetsov," she called quietly after him as he started to push the supply cart from the marina parking lot to the dock with the waiting motorboat. "I am sorry your friend was killed. It's true that a heavy lead pipe like that is capable of significant damage. It is deeply unfortunate that we will never be able to know who did this terrible thing."
He looked back at her, his expression a mixture of surprise and curiosity. "It wasn't a pipe, Miss Johnson," he said evenly, though she could see his face darken, both with pain and understanding. "Though none of us knows who was responsible for the untimely death of Lieutenant Gennedy Roskov it is clear that it was done with a large straight wrench, ma'am, of which there are several on the ship."
She nodded, trying to keep the sudden pang of sympathy from showing on her face as his voice caught, his disgust with himself breaking through. He had participated in his friend's murder to protect them both, she knew, though she knew her understanding was a cold comfort. "Please be careful, Lev Lvovich," she said again, more softly. "A tool like that could easily damage even the strongest of materials, and nobody would want you to—what's the phrase, steer off course?—when you're so close to completing your mission." She held his gaze, hoping fiercely he understood her meaning.
He stared at her again, still warily, before his expression suddenly shifted. "I understand, Miss Johnson, and I agree. It can be very dangerous to use such tools without being aware of the risks, especially on board a vessel as complex as the Ivan Grozny."
She nodded at him, and he offered a stiff tilt of the head in return as he pushed the large cart of supplies down the long dock to the waiting motorboat with its armed sailors standing guard; unknown men whose loyalties Brenda couldn't divine, no matter how badly she needed to.
The day ended with several sets of taciturn Russian guards planted around the town, including in front of Dr. Avery's workshop, though it seemed that they hadn't yet discovered that the doctor wasn't inside, as Brenda had unequivocally forbidden the men from entering any property. Had nodded back at the armed townspeople who ghosted each pair of sailors, weapons ready. Still, the little town was eerily quiet, everyone locked indoors, waiting.
The first mate, Officer Vasiliev, she'd finally learned from a sneering Kuznetsov, had returned to the ship with the little motorboat. The marina still bristled with Seabrook's own little army, despite Vasiliev's promise that they would not be back until the same time the next morning.
"We look forward to your giving us what we ask, Miss Johnson," he'd hissed before nodding curtly to Kuznetsov, who kept his face carefully blank, to return to the ship.
"I bet you do," she'd muttered.
At her little apartment, Maura, Dr. Morales, and Katie were sitting anxiously in the living room when she pushed open the door, Pierre behind her.
"I didn't know it was a party," she said, a bit annoyed at finding so many people in her space, but glad it was at least all the people she wanted to talk to.
"Sorry," Maura said, a bit chagrined.
"No, it's all right," Brenda said, smiling. "Just the folks I wanted to see."
"Brenda," Fernando said before she could even shrug her coat off, "we have to tell Peter something. He's going a little stir-crazy."
"Tell me about it," Katie muttered. Fernando glanced at her, gave an amused snort.
"I agree," Brenda said, surprising everyone in the room. "I'm thinkin' of somethin' but it's more than a little risky."
Three sets of eyes watched her. She bit her lip.
"I think it's time we prove to Captain Volkov and his little wolf pack that we do have exactly what they want. But that we ain't givin' it to them."
Three sets of brows furrowed. Pierre stood quietly behind her.
"I want," she said, taking a deep breath, "to bring Dr. Avery with us tomorrow."
"What?" Katie cried, as Maura gasped "Brenda, no!" and Fernando simply stared at her, jaw dropped.
"Chef Johnson is right," Pierre said from behind her. "We bring the doctor, so they see him. They know we are serious."
"Serious about what?" Maura cried.
"I want Dr. Alexeyev," Brenda said flatly. "I want proof of life, and proof of safety. So I want them to see Dr. Avery. We show them ours, they show us theirs."
"So you want to use him as bait? To risk his life? For what possible purpose, Brenda? So we can see a man we already know they have?" Her voice was high, strained. Her arms folded tightly over her chest.
"So we can rescue a man we know they have," she said, her voice tight. "We need everyone in the same place at the same time to do it."
Maura frowned at her, eyes fierce and glittering.
"Now I know it ain't ideal," Brenda said quickly. "But Pierre will have him fully covered, and if he's as important as they say, they won't hurt him."
"Brenda, they beat their fellow sailor to death," Maura hissed.
"Because he was a mutineer and they knew it," Brenda shot back. "And because he let them, because he knew he had to. We want to let that sacrifice mean nothin'?"
"That's not what I'm saying, Brenda." Maura's voice was harder than anyone in the room had ever heard it. "But there's a difference between freely making a choice and being used as a pawn."
"Well let's give Dr. Avery that choice, then," Brenda nearly shouted back.
"I accept," a soft voice called from the doorway, startling them all into silence.
Dr. Avery stood there, his mouth set in a firm line. "You said they have Misha," he said, his voice trembling just slightly. "If they have him, I have to help. I have to. I'll do anything you need."
"Doctor—" Maura started, but Peter held up his hand.
"I understand that you're concerned, Dr. Isles, and I thank you for that. But if it really is my choice, as you and Chief Johnson seem to agree that it is—" Maura shot Brenda a dark look—"then I accept."