Read Online Extreme Faction by Trevor Scott - Free Book Online Page B

was true that Jake would help negotiate any contract if Bio-tech decided to build a business there or convert an existing facility. Maybe that was MacCarty’s true concern. It was also true that Odessa had gotten more dangerous over the years. Tvchenko’s death had proved that, as well as the intelligence briefings Jake had gotten from Tully his first day there. In the old days undesireables were simply whisked away, never to be seen again. Taken to some frozen Siberian resort, no doubt.
    It was ten p.m. now. Jake waited in relative darkness at the base of the Potemkin Steps in the heart of the harbor region. He had always been told that there were one hundred ninety-two steps in all, but he had never found a good reason to count them.
    Out on the street toward the harbor, cars frequently streamed by, their tires squealing on tight turns. Taxis mostly at this hour, carrying drunken sailors from one bar to the next.
    Jake thought about the sleepless night before, where he and Tully O’Neill, the Odessa station chief, had quickly gone to Tvchenko’s apartment, been nearly blown to pieces, and then discovered the tape with the Kurds. He thought about Tvchenko, trying to make sense of his death. Was it simply the GRU cleaning house? Jake didn’t think so. Tvchenko must have been selling information to someone, until, much like a drug deal gone sour, that group decided they were getting a raw deal, or were being set up.
    He regretted not finding Chavva at the Odessa Hotel that afternoon. There was something about her that was both disturbing and exciting. She had a certain naughty quality that transcended normal, rational behavior. He had never gotten her full name, just Chavva, like some movie star or rock singer.
    Hopefully, Tully O’Neill had gone back to the office, made copies of the tape, and sent the original back to Langley by diplomatic pouch for a linguist to analyze.
    Slipping his hand out of his pocket, Jake rubbed the scab in his palm where the cryptic note had been injected just before Tvchenko had crumpled into a convulsive ball. What did it mean? He knew nearly everything about the city of Halabja and its horrid past, but what was Tvchenko trying to tell him?
    And what was he doing here in the dark? After his vain attempt to rest, he had gone down to the front desk in the lobby, where there was a message for him. It had only said, “Be at the bottom of the Potemkin Steps at ten p.m.” Nothing more. Not who had sent it, or for what reason. Since going private, Jake realized he was alone most of the time. Back in his Agency days he would have been backed up with double layers protecting his back and moving in behind anyone approaching the area. But now he was on his own. Sure he could have disregarded the note, but what the hell, full living meant taking chances. And the note had been curious if nothing else.
    He scanned the darkness for any movement, but there was only an occasional drunk sailor off in the distance at the pier. He felt for the Makarov under his arm. It reassured him, even though he had not fired the weapon. Would it work if he needed it? Hopefully Quinn Armstrong would get him a new piece soon.
    In a moment, a large dark car approached slowly down the street and stopped, its lights blinding Jake from twenty feet away. The two back doors opened and two figures appeared—then there was the distinct clicking of automatic weapons chambering rounds.
    Jake reached for the Makarov.
    â€œThat wouldn’t be wise,” came a harsh voice in broken English.
    Jake slid his hand out from inside his coat and thought of dashing toward the harbor and diving into the water. “What do you want?”
    â€œAnswers.”
    â€œWho are you?” It was a stupid question and Jake knew it. But he thought he’d try.
    â€œIt does not matter. This will only take a short while. Assuming we get the right answers.”
    Taking a few steps forward, Jake tried desperately