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“This is why I don’t trust profilers,” he replied. “They know too much about how we all tick. Get out of my head, Justine Smith.”
“Come on,” she said. “Stop goofing around. I know you’re excited at a job well done, but Jack’s still out there facing who knows what. Let’s get back to the city.”
Mo-bot and Sci dropped the double act immediately. They got into the Nissan and Justine drove them back to Manhattan.
CHAPTER 83
THE LAST TIME I had come to Moscow, I had almost been killed by people determined to ensure Russian global supremacy. I looked down at the glittering city beneath the jet with a sense of foreboding. Most people would have run. They would have gone home and hoped the authorities fixed the problem, but I knew no authority could touch someone like Valery Alekseyev. He was far too powerful, and political systems are designed to protect those with power.
He had come up with an intricate plot to make me suffer in revenge for what I’d done in Moscow and Afghanistan, but his ultimate intention was to kill me. He’d come after Justine again, or Sci or Mo-bot. Angel had already tried and failed to kill them with the bombs in New York. Alekseyev would simply send another Angel at me and my friends, and another, and another,until one of them achieved his objective. The only way to truly end this was to neutralize the general giving the orders.
Our descent into Sheremetyevo International Airport was bumpy, with gale-force gusts of wind swirling in the night air. A shudder ran through the plane when we hit the runway. As I looked out the window, the lights of the hangars, emergency-response buildings, and terminals emerged from a moving blur when the aircraft came to a stop.
“Sorry about that,” the captain said, emerging from the cockpit.
“No problem,” I replied. “I used to fly Sea Knights. Those crosswinds were nasty, would have tested any pilot.”
He nodded, opened the door and lowered the airstairs.
I grabbed my bag and headed for the exit. Warm air and the sweet smell of a new city hit me. I saw two guys in short-sleeve shirts and black pants standing beside a black Toyota Landcruiser.
“Mr. Morgan,” the taller of the two said, “I’m Mark Espiner. This is William Powell. Erin Sebold sent us to pick you up.”
“Good to meet you,” I said, shaking their hands.
“Let me help you with that,” Mark said. He took my bag and put it in the trunk.
I climbed onto the tan leather back seat and Mark got behind the wheel. William took the front passenger seat.
“Erin said you’d run into trouble in Beijing,” William said, glancing over his shoulder. “Is that why you’re here?”
Something about the question bothered me. Would Justine have been so careless? Would Erin? I really doubted it. Neither ofthem would have divulged the reason for my visit, and genuine embassy or CIA staff would have known better than to quiz a subject they’d been sent to collect.
“You guys give me a minute?” I said, producing my phone. “I promised my girlfriend I’d call her as soon as I landed.”
I dialed a number, but it wasn’t Justine’s. I called Erin Sebold, who answered after a couple of rings.
“Hello?” she said groggily.
“Hey, honey. I’m down safely,” I replied. “Yeah, Erin sent two guys to meet the plane.”
“I didn’t send two guys,” she said, suddenly alert. “They’re not mine, Jack.”
My stomach lurched.
“Thanks, honey, that’s good to know.”
I heard her try to tell me something else, but I wasn’t listening and hung up. I was reeling. I had to get out of this vehicle before it left the airport, and we were almost at the gate.
“Everything okay?” the man who’d introduced himself as Mark asked.
I nodded. “You know how it is on these long business trips.” I paused. “You know what, guys? I think I forgot my laptop on the plane. You mind if we go back and check?”
The look they exchanged was unmistakable. They were both wondering whether they’d been made.
“You wanna check when we get through the gate?” “Mark” asked. “Take a look in your bag. I can pull over just up ahead.”
He gestured to a layby beyond the gate.
