November Echo by James Houston Turner

Author:James Houston Turner
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: action thrillers, spy heroes, spy thrillers, international thrillers, action heroes, KGB
Publisher: James Houston Turner
Published: 2013-10-25T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 19

“Colonel, we need to talk,” said Bixler when Talanov brought Noya and Gorev back into the living room and told them to sit down. The gash on Noya’s head had been neatly sutured and was now covered with flesh-colored tape.

Talanov returned the medical bag to Pilgrim and nodded his thanks.

“So, Ice Man has new friends,” remarked Odin sarcastically.

“Can my daughter lie down?” asked Gorev, pointing to one of two matching sofas positioned against the wall beneath a framed print of some perky red flowers. “She needs rest, and the floor is hard.”

The sofa was a three-seater of tufted brown leather with polished, two-tone wooden armrests. It didn’t look all that comfortable but would certainly be better than the floor.

“Go ahead,” Talanov replied, handing Pilgrim her medical bag with a nod of appreciation.

On the floor in front of the other couch were Alejandro and Carmen. Alejandro had his arm around Carmen, who was staring at the floor, shivering. Pilgrim was sitting next to them, her arms folded across her lap, looking weary. To Gorev’s right were Bixler and Franco.

Gorev patted a small decorative pillow into position and helped Noya lie down. He then sat on the floor.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” said Franco, raising his hand. “I’ve held it as long as I can.”

Talanov motioned Franco to his feet and told Odin to go with him.

“I think I can manage on my own,” Franco said.

“I would not want you getting lost,” Odin replied.

Franco hurried down the hall walking almost cross-legged, with Odin close behind.

“No funny business, either,” mumbled Franco, glancing over his shoulder at the beefy KGB agent, who growled something in Russian and gave him a token shove, a reminder about who was in charge.

“Okay, talk,” said Talanov to Bixler, who was sitting cross-legged in front of the fireplace.

Bixler climbed to her feet.

“I can hear you just fine from where you are,” Talanov said, motioning her back down.

“Come on, man, my legs are asleep,” Bixler replied, stretching and rolling her shoulders. She glanced down the hall after Odin, then skirted the glass-topped coffee table and approached Talanov. On the coffee table was a brightly colored ceramic platter. “Call me paranoid if you want,” she said in a low voice, “but after hearing what Gorev said in the kitchen – that anthrax was his specialty – and after seeing Gorev hand her those ampoules – I believe your mental-case girlfriend is going to set off a dirty bomb in a crowded café. You saw the way her goon handled that backpack, like it was a baby, which means it had explosives inside and he didn’t want to set it off.”

Everybody looked at Talanov. A vacuum of silence had filled the room and Talanov could see the fear in everyone’s eyes.

On the surface, an anthrax bomb made no sense. Sofia’s goal was to create a diversion, which an ordinary explosion would do. The police would be drawn to the scene, thus clearing the street in front of the safe house.

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