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Of course he did. He wasn’t suggesting he didn’t. The point was that he wanted her to accept his help, which meant he was asking her to trust him enough to do so. He still knew she’d weigh each point of information on a need-to-know basis. Didn’t he?
“Put your mother’s life on the line, and then tell me, would you trust me to help you?”
—:—
Raketa walked down the hallway of the small house, looking for a room where she could be alone. For the time being, she had no way to get off this island, just like she’d had to wait for any opportunity to get off the other one. Once this, whatever it was, was over, she’d never set foot on another island again, particularly one where the only access on or off was by boat or plane.
She lay on the bed, trying to come up with anything that would get UR to let her go. Initially, she believed that K19, with the CIA’s backing, would have a strong enough position that they’d be able to negotiate a deal in exchange for them letting her go on their own. Obviously that wasn’t happening.
There had to be something UR wanted more than they wanted her dead, but what? What could she deliver that would allow them to save face over her “defection”? That’s what this was about. There wasn’t anything she had on them that would hurt their organization. Obviously UR, the CIA, MI6, and every other intelligence organization in the world executed assassinations when they were deemed necessary. Most, no one ever knew about, outside of the assassin and the person giving them the assignment.
Recently there had been press about former Russian agents living in the UK being poisoned. That was the fault of whoever had been hired to assassinate those agents. If they’d done their job correctly, the deaths would’ve looked far more accidental. Sure, there’d be plenty, particularly in MI6 who would’ve known the deaths were assassinations, but proving it to the point that it made the international news circuits would’ve been impossible.
—:—
“Orlov found Raketa,” Gunner told Doc.
“I heard. We’re sending Striker to the island now. Who else do you want?”
“I’ll tell you who I don’t want—Striker.”
“I know you don’t, but listen. If anyone can come up with something on UR, it’s him.”
“Where’s Shiv?”
“You may have forgotten that MI6 doesn’t report to me.”
“Are you telling me you don’t know his twenty?”
“Sorry. Rough night last night. Laird is teething, or going through something else that makes babies turn into screaming banshees.”
“Uh, sorry to, uh, hear that.” What the hell? Did he really have to hear about Doc’s baby? All he wanted to know was where Shiv was. Maybe he should just hang up and call him.
“He’s here. Hang on.”
Gunner ran his hand through his hair, pulling at the roots as he did. What happened to the group of badass special ops guys he’d known and worked with for the last few years of his life? Had they all turned into baby-making pussies?
“Gunner.”
“Hey, Shiv. Sorry about being such a prick before.”
“Enough said. I was giving you a rough time when that’s the last thing you needed.”
“Appreciate it.”
“I’m sure Pimm told you Orlov found Raketa.”
“Who the hell do you think authorized the chopper?”
“Seriously, Shiv? I just apologized.”
“Sorry, I was here last night too. I should’ve left at three in the morning when the little wanker woke me up for the twentieth time. What can I do for you, Gunner?”
“I want Orlov called off, which means I need something big to negotiate with.”
Shiver didn’t respond, which worried him.
“No,” he finally said.
