Spilled Blood by Michael R. Davidson

Author:Michael R. Davidson [Davidson, Michael R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780578587455
Publisher: MRD Enterprises, Inc.
Published: 2019-11-30T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 18

There was no time to spare, so two P.M. that afternoon found Strachey parked a block away from the Pushkin aka Davis house in a rented Lincoln Navigator, black, of course. There were two approaches, and he had chosen the one that brought him down a hill on a winding street to an intersection a short distance from the house. The white Honda Accord with the bike rack described by Krystal was in the carport, and the street in front of the house was empty. There was little traffic in this quiet neighborhood. It being Summer break, there were children playing in some of the yards and a few women were walking dogs. A light rain had fallen earlier, cooling the hot streets and leaving the trees and grass sparkling with drops of water as the sun again claimed hegemony over the sky.

Although only the family car was present Strachey expected the Agency to have posted a watcher with Natasha, maybe someone from the Office of Security. He certainly would have done so, but Agency defector handling practices had never been of particularly high standards. The Brits were probably the best at it among Western services, and he had often advocated emulating them, but as usual the bean counters prevailed. He doubted Natasha was in danger of assassination by Russian agents. Her husband had been the guilty party, and she had been along only for the ride. Having eliminated their prime target, it was unlikely the Russians would lurk around Charlotte waiting for a chance at Natasha. Logic and past practice suggested they would be long gone, perhaps on a plane back to Moscow.

Everything depended on how the watcher, if there was one, reacted to him. He would have either no time or only a limited time to speak with Natasha.

He put the big SUV into gear and rolled down into the street and into the driveway. He’d worn a dark suit, not one of his expensive ones, white shirt, and conservative tie, as well as a pair of non-prescription glasses with thick, black rims. A face appeared at a window as he stepped out of the SUV and walked along the sidewalk to the front door. There was no sound from inside the house. The front entrance was comprised of a combination glass and screened storm door and a wooden door facing a low set of brick steps. He rang the bell.

The door was opened almost immediately, and he recognized Natasha from Krystal’s description. “Yes?” she said.

Strachey’s Russian was rusty, but he’d practiced a few phrases he hoped would put Natasha at ease. “Mrs. Pushkin,” he said with what he hoped was a reassuring smile, “I’m a friend of Mr. DeLorenzo, and I’d like to have a few words with you.” It was a calculated risk that she knew DeLorenzo, but the man was from the Russia House, and he was in town.

Natasha Pushkin blinked, confused. “Tony sent you?” she asked.

“He briefed me on your case.” Strachey was tiptoeing through a minefield and had to choose his words carefully.

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