Read Online Radiant Angel by Nelson DeMille - Free Book Online Page B

shrubbery with Tess right beside me. The Dobermans, who were smarter and more alert than their handlers, started barking.
    I found my way through the landscaping and reached the wood-slat fence, which was about eight feet high, and Tess and I started climbing it just as the Dobermans got into the shrubbery. I wished I’d thought to bring five feet of kolbasa with me.
    Anyway, we got over the fence, and the dogs were left sniffing our trail and letting out a few tentative barks.
    The neighboring oceanfront mansion that Matt said he’d used for surveillance looked dark, but some security lighting, probably activated by motion sensors, came on and lit up the area.
    I could hear the dogs barking again on the other side of the fence, and I also heard voices speaking Russian.
    Tess informed me, “There’s a public beach access path to Gin Lane a few houses down.”
    We ran toward the shore at high speed, angling away from Tamorov’s house, then scrambled over a dune and found ourselves on the beach. I looked out at the water, but I couldn’t see the running lights of the amphibious landing craft. I glanced back at Tamorov’s house, about a hundred yards away, and could make out people moving on his tonga-lit deck.
    I didn’t see anyone following us, and no one was on the beach. We turned east, away from Tamorov’s house, and broke into a trot, as though we were just jogging the moonlit beach.
    Tess said, “Past the next house is the beach access to Gin Lane.” She reminded me, “I know this area.”
    She also knew a little about escape and evasion, as though she’d been trained—or maybe she picked it up being married to Grant.
    We reached the access path, which took us between two mansions up to Gin Lane. I saw our vehicles still parked where we’d left them, closer to the Tamorov house, and we doubled back toward them.
    Steve and Matt jumped out of the van with their guns drawn, then recognized us. “What’s happening?”
    “Petrov took off in a boat.”
    “Shit!”
    Steve asked, “You being chased?”
    “No. Give me your phone.”
    He holstered his Glock and gave me his Nextel. I accessed his directory, looking for the number of Scott Kalish, a Suffolk County Police captain with the Marine Bureau who used to be one of my ATTF contacts out here. “You don’t have Scott Kalish.”
    Matt said, “I’ve got him,” and speed-dialed Kalish’s number and handed me his phone.
    Tess suggested, “You need to call the case agent or the duty agent.”
    “No, I need to find that boat now.”
    Scott Kalish answered, and I said, “Scott, this is John Corey.”
    “Hey, John. What’s up?”
    “I need some help.”
    “We’re here to serve and protect.”
    “Good. Look, I’m with the DSG now—”
    “Who?”
    “Diplomatic Surveillance Group.”
    “No kidding?”
    “I’m in Southampton, Gin Lane, following a Russian dip—”
    “I’m home watching Law and Order reruns.”
    “Great. And this dip just gave me the slip.”
    “That sucks.”
    “Right.” I gave Captain Kalish a short briefing of my long day, then said, “The amphibious craft was heading due south from Tamorov’s. White hull, no markings, two-man crew, maybe twenty-five feet, covered cockpit, open deck, inboard motor, making about ten knots.”
    “He could be a couple miles from shore by now.”
    “Right. So let’s get some of your Suffolk County Marine Bureau units and aviation on it now.”
    “Okay… and
who
was onboard?”
    “Colonel Vasily Petrov, SVR Legal Resident, and two of his guys, Pavel Fradkov and an unknown—”
    “I got
that
. Did you say twelve young ladies in bikinis?”
    I rolled my eyes. “Right.”
    “Hey, I’m joining the search.”
    “Scott—”
    “All right, I’ll get on it. What’s the beef?”
    “Just pick up the surveillance. The target has diplomatic immunity—”
    “I know.” He asked, “Any crime committed or suspected?”
    “Well… maybe drugs,” I lied. “Maybe a few of the girls are