Ivan winced.
One hand found the wound.
The other released his grip on the gun.
Balance faltered and Ivan dropped backward from the boat into the water, making a large splash that sent waves in every direction.
Cotton dropped his gun inside the boat and propelled himself up and over the side, reentering the skiff. His legs were freezing, but he grabbed the motor and turned the boat toward Ivan, who was thrashing in the brine. He swung around to one side and saw Ivan roll over, face to the water.
Then all movement stopped.
Blood continued to leak from the wound, staining the clear water with red clouds. The body flipped and Ivan floated high, on his back, eyes open, two black orbs boring into the ceiling.
He shut the motor off and caught hold of the other boat.
The plastic packet lay inside.
He relaxed and moved his head gently, trying not to disturb the spots before his eyes, clicking and clacking off one another in all directions, sending his brain spinning from the cold. His legs were stiff and throbbing, but seemed to work.
Ivan lay dead.
Like all the others.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN
Czajkowski lowered the gun.
Sonia rushed over to him. “You okay?”
He nodded. But he wasn’t all that okay. He’d just killed two men. Add them to the list. He’d killed before. Not directly, but every bit as deadly with the Warsaw Protocol.
“It had to be done,” she said to him. “You had no choice.”
He stared at her, his grip on the gun still firm.
“Let’s see if we can find Ivan,” she said.
Before they could leave the chamber they both heard someone approaching from the direction Munoz had come from. Sonia motioned and they shifted to the shadows and waited.
Cotton Malone entered and stopped. One hand held a gun, the other the plastic packet. Two-thirds of his clothes were soaking wet.
They stepped forward.
“I heard the shots and your voices,” Malone said before motioning at the bodies. “Looks like you have this under control.”
“Ivan?” she asked.
Malone nodded. “Floating in the salt brine, which by the way is quite brisk.”
Sonia smiled. “You must be freezing?”
“To say the least.”
Czajkowski pointed at the packet Malone held. “Is that the information?”
“Yep.”
“What are you going to do with it?”
“You get right to it, don’t you? No wining or dining from you. Just wham, bam, thank you ma’am.”
“I don’t have the luxury of time.”
“No. I suppose not. But, to answer your question, I’m still deciding.”
“May I ask your options?”
“Keep it and do my job, giving it to the asshole who calls himself the president of the United States.” Malone paused. “Or not.”
“We could take it from you.”
“You could try.”
He smiled. “I like you, Malone. I liked you the moment I realized you hated Tom Bunch. Who was a liar, by the way.”
The American shrugged. “More just a guy in way over his head. An amateur, playing with professionals, trying to make himself a big deal. Which got him killed.”
“This is now an Agencja Wywiadu operation,” Sonia said. “We’ll take full responsibility for all of the deaths here. Including Ivan.”
“That’s fairly decent of you, considering you both had a part in that slaughter in Slovakia.”
“That wasn’t us,” Sonia said. “We had no idea that was what they intended. We needed you to lead the way to that castle.”
“So your warning in Bruges for us to stay out of their way was just idle chitchat? You knew what they were going to do. Maybe not in so many words. But you could add up the two and two.” Malone faced him. “Did you order Olivier to be eliminated?”
“He did not,” Sonia said. “That was my call.”
“But,” Czajowski said, “it is all my responsibility.”
Malone shook his head. “It’s not yours to take. This one is all on President Warner Fox. He started the whole thing. You just did what you had to do in order to survive. What Fox forced you to do. I just shot two men, and all because of Fox. Tom Bunch’s children are fatherless thanks to the same idiocy. Reinhardt and Munoz here died for the same reasons. Fox owns this one.” Malone motioned at the bodies. “By the way, who bagged these?”
“I did,” Sonia said.
“Then why is the president holding the gun.”
“Because I shot them both.”
Malone gestured with his own weapon. “A little unpresidential, wouldn’t you say?”
“Desperate times, Mr. Malone.”
“Yeah, speaking of that. Here.”
And Malone handed over the packet.
He was shocked. “Why are you doing this?”
“America should not have to blackmail somebody into doing something. Either they want to do it, or they don’t. If they don’t, we should respect that. It’s who we should be.”
“I don’t disagree,” he said.
“My report will be that Ivan found nothing. Neither did I. The information is lost. That will probably bring some American agents snooping around, but since there’s nothing to find, who cares. I assume that the stuff in that packet will be torched.”
He nodded. “President Fox won’t be happy.”
“Which is the cherry on the whipped cream here. Making it all worthwhile.”
He heaved a euphoric sigh of relief, moved by the sweet purity of the moment. He’d been set free, granted a reprieve. Back from the dead.
Like Lazarus.
Now it was truly over.
“Everything that happened here will be stamped top secret by the AW,” Sonia said. “We’ll get the bodies out once the mine is closed for the night. We’ll scrub this place clean like we did Sturney Castle. It will all have a tight lid placed on it. The Russians will be told there was a gunfight and Eli Reinhardt shot their man. I killed Reinhardt and Munoz. No mention will be made of anyone else.”
Czajkowski realized that included not only Malone, but himself. Sonia was handling everything with dispatch and characteristic efficiency, like the agent she was.
“There’s another corpse down on Level IX. One of the guides that Ivan or Reinhardt killed.”
“I hate to hear that,” Czajkowski said.
“Can I get out of here without a lot of hassle?” Malone asked.
Sonia grinned. “We can do that, and get someone to dry your clothes, too.”
“Now, that I would appreciate.”
Czajkowski stepped forward and offered his hand, which Malone shook, hard and firm. “Thank you. For what you did, and for your honor.”
“It was my pleasure, Mr. President.”
* * *
Cotton stepped out into the bright evening, which struck him like a blow, his eyes struggling to focus after the gloom within the mine. Sonia had made good on her promise and had his clothes dried in the mine’s laundry. They were a bit wrinkled, but felt a damn sight better than the previous salty cold. Stephanie waited for him outside.
“Patrycja okay?” he asked.