The Secret of Excalibur_A Novel

  “Oh yeah?” said Nina suspiciously. Despite the Russian’s seeming friendliness, everything about him made her want to cringe away.

  “Yes, you went and told the U.S. government rather than keeping the secret for yourself. Just think how much money you could have made from selling all that treasure!”

  “It wasn’t about money,” she said icily.

  “Everything is about money, in the end.” He took out the cigar and jabbed it at Mitchell’s briefcase. “Like how much your friend here is willing to pay me to help you. So, what are you? CIA? DIA?”

  “DARPA, actually,” Mitchell told him.

  Prikovsky’s face twisted into a gargoylelike expression of disbelief. “Really? I would have put money on you being in intelligence. I can usually spot my own kind.”

  “Your kind live under slimy rocks, Pavel,” said Chase. Prikovsky didn’t seem offended; if anything, he appeared amused. “You want to do business, or what?”

  “Oh, I always want to do business.” He clicked his fingers and said a single word in Russian, at which the two blondes turned on their high heels and left the room, closing the door behind them. “You said you wanted to talk about Leonid Vaskovich.”

  “That’s right. He’s having a party tonight, at his mansion. I want to be there.”

  “And you think I can get you an audience with one of Russia’s richest men?” Prikovsky asked in exaggerated surprise. Chase just stared at him. “Ha, of course I can!” he boasted after a moment. “My girls, they will be there tonight, and plenty of others too. When anyone in Moscow wants to party—anyone who matters, anyway—they come to me. Pavel Prikovsky always has whatever they need! I can get you an invitation, no problem.”

  “I don’t mean as a guest,” Chase said. “I want to get in without anyone knowing about it.”

  Prikovsky instantly became wary. “Okay, now that is not so easy.”

  “I know the layout of the building and the security system,” said Mitchell. “I’ve been there. All we need is for someone to shut down the cameras long enough for Eddie to cross the grounds. Thirty seconds, tops.”

  “My girls are not spies,” Prikovsky protested.

  “I can tell them what to do through an earpiece—”

  “No, no! Do you have any idea what would happen to them if they were caught? Vaskovich is a hard enough man, but his lieutenant, Kruglov, is a psychopath! He would kill them!”

  “Yeah, we’ve met Kruglov,” said Chase. “And I wouldn’t mind meeting him again. One on one.”

  “Then go to the front gate and ask for him! But I won’t put my girls at risk. It’s too dangerous—and not just for them. Do you know what would happen to me if they found out I had helped you?”

  Chase gave him a cold smile. “Nothing you don’t deserve.”

  This time, Prikovsky was not amused. “I agreed to see you out of, shall we say, professional courtesy, Chase. But this is not something I will help you with, however much money your friend has.”

  “Then send me,” said Nina.

  Chase wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly. “What?”

  “I’ll go,” she said, Mitchell and Prikovsky regarding her with surprise. “This whole thing’s my fault—if I hadn’t been suspicious of Jack in London, we wouldn’t even be here.”

  “No,” said Chase firmly. “No fucking way.”

  “Eddie, I don’t want to do it, but it’s the only way to get you inside. Unless Jack knows another way to shut down the security system.” Mitchell shook his head. “I could go in with Pavel’s other … girls, pretend to be one of them. Once I’m inside, Jack can guide me to where I need to go, and then I’ll just hide until he’s ready to pick us up in the chopper.”

  “You are using a helicopter?” Prikovsky exclaimed. “Expensive, dangerous, a high risk of disaster—I can tell this is an American operation!”

  Chase ignored him. “Are you out of your fucking mind? I’m not gonna let you do it.”

  “We don’t have any choice,” Nina insisted. “If there isn’t somebody on the inside, you won’t be able to get in without being seen—and you’ll be killed.”

  “Better me than you.”

  “No. No, Eddie, it’s not. You don’t want to see me get hurt? Well, I don’t want to see you get hurt.” She took his hands in hers, looking into his eyes. “Eddie, we’re getting married, we’re going to be doing everything together—which means we share the risks. Either we both do this, or neither of us does. And if we don’t do it, Vaskovich wins, and all the people who’ve died trying to stop him will have died for nothing. I know you won’t let that happen. Well, I won’t either.”

  She could tell he was angry—but also that he was considering her words. Mitchell seemed about to add something, but she gave him an almost imperceptible shake of the head. This was a decision only Chase could make.

  Finally, he looked at Prikovsky. “If we did this—if we did it—could you get her in?”

  “Yes, I can get her in,” said the Russian. “It is getting her out that will be hard!”

  “What about you, Jack? Can you get her to where she needs to go?” Mitchell nodded. “And then get her out again?”

  This time, his head remained still. “I can’t give you any guarantees, Eddie. But Nina’s right—it’s the only way to get—” he glanced at Prikovsky—“the item back before Vaskovich takes it to his facility.”

  “And there’s no way we could get it back from there?”

  “No. It’s an old submarine base—but it’s still in a closed military zone, and Vaskovich has very good connections with the Russian military. The only option would be to send in a SEAL team by submarine, and if they got caught, the way relations are between the U.S. and Russia at the moment …”

  “Shit,” muttered Chase. He looked at Nina. “I don’t want you to do this.”

  “I don’t either, but I’m going to have to. Because there’s nobody else who can.”

  “Then I’m going to have to let you, aren’t I?” He let out a long, unhappy sigh. “Buggeration and fuckery.”

  “I know,” said Nina, squeezing his hands.

  “If she is caught, I will tell Vaskovich that I knew nothing of this,” Prikovsky said quickly. “Or that you held me at gunpoint and threatened to kill me. He would believe that, I’m sure. And by the way,” he added to Mitchell, “I would like my money up front. All of it.”

  “How much do you want?” Mitchell asked.

  “I just told you—all of it! Everything you have brought—in your case and in your truck. In fact, I will have the truck as well! Tell your driver to take a taxi.”

  Mitchell appeared surprisingly unconcerned about Prikovsky’s demands, placing the briefcase on his desk and opening it to reveal crisp stacks of hundred-dollar bills. The quick glance Nina got before Prikovsky turned the case around to riffle through its con tents suggested there was probably the better part of half a million dollars within.

  Half a million dollars—of American taxpayers’ money. Being given to a man who seemed little more than a glorified pimp. Then there were all the other resources the mission had so far consumed … and the lives it had taken. “It better be worth it,” she said quietly, only Chase hearing her.

  Prikovsky snapped the case closed, his smile suggesting he was more than satisfied with its contents. “Well, then. We still have a few hours before the girls go to the party, so there is time to get you ready, Dr. Wilde.”

  “Get me ready?” she echoed.

  “You do not seriously think you would be able to get in looking like that, do you?” He looked disdainfully at her heavy coat, jeans, and Reeboks. “My girls all look amazing, like models—like supermodels! You will have to look the same.”

  “Oh,” Nina said. “Y’know, that might be a problem. I’m not really the supermodel type.”

  Prikovsky grinned—or leered, though it was hard to tell with the cigar clenched between his teeth. “No need to worry. Some makeup, the right clothes … Mario is incredib
le.”

  “Mario?” hooted Chase. “There’s a proper Russian name.”

  “He styles all my girls,” Prikovsky told him as he put the briefcase into a safe. “We’ll go and see him now.” He grinned again. “In my shiny new truck!”

  • • •

  “Shut up,” said Nina, before Chase even had a chance to open his mouth.

  It opened anyway—mostly in amazement. “Bloody hell,” he finally managed to say. “You look … whoa. Pavel was right—Mario really is incredible!”

  Nina had spent the better part of two hours in an opulent salon, her hair being washed and styled, makeup applied to her face. She was not the only woman there—over a dozen others were also lined up before the huge illuminated mirrors, being worked upon and fussed over by two women apiece. Mario—who despite his name was about as Italian as Joseph Stalin—scurried back and forth along the line, brushing and plucking and tweezing and glossing, fixing every last detail of each makeover.

  And though the overall look was a long way removed from anything Nina would have chosen herself, she was forced to admit it was indeed one hell of a makeover. She had spent a good portion of the time in a reclined position; when she finally sat upright, she experienced a bizarre moment of disassociation, as though someone else were looking back at her from the mirror. Someone who happened to be a model … though she wasn’t prepared to go as far as supermodel. Mario wasn’t that good.

  It wasn’t the heavy, smoky-eyed makeup or scarlet false nails or ultramoussed hairstyle that aroused her ire, though. It was the outfit Prikovsky had provided for her—which, as she’d expected, provoked a wide-eyed response when she was presented to Chase and the other men.

  “I look like a goddamn hooker,” she moaned. The sleeveless black rubber minidress was, she’d been assured, the product of some extremely expensive and exclusive designer in London—but that didn’t alter the fact that it was also extremely tight and revealing. She had the horrible feeling that if she moved her knees more than a fraction of an inch apart, the entire skirt would twang up over her hips like an overstretched elastic band.

  “You’re supposed to be a hooker,” Chase pointed out.

  “Hey!” said Prikovsky. “My girls are not hookers. They are …” He thought about it. “Escorts? No, courtesans. The courtesans of Pavel Prikovsky, that sounds better. Like the title of a great Russian novel.”

  “Or that crappy American novel, The Immodesty of Nina Wilde,” Nina grumbled. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”

  “No, no,” said Chase, smirking, “I’m all for it now. You are going to dress like that after we’re married, right?”

  “That’s it, I’m outta here.” Nina turned and tried to teeter back into the salon on her high heels, but found her way blocked by Mario, who clapped approvingly and ushered her into the lounge once more. He reached up, trying to remove her pendant, but she forcefully shook her head. He tutted, then spoke in Russian to Prikovsky, who laughed. Mario then bowed and returned to the salon.

  “What did he say?” Nina demanded.

  “He thinks your necklace looks cheap,” said Prikovsky. Nina shot an offended look after the stylist. “But he is very pleased with how you turned out, considering how little time he had to work with you. Oh, and also considering your age.”

  “My age?” she shrieked. “I’m only thirty!”

  Prikovsky shrugged. “Most of my girls are only twenty-two, twenty-three! You should be proud. You look … unrecognizable.”

  “And that’s a good thing?”

  “In this case, yeah,” said Mitchell, who had been watching with quiet amusement. “Honestly, if I hadn’t seen you go in, I wouldn’t have recognized you when you stepped out of there. So hopefully no one else will either.” He stood, taking a box from a pocket. “Time to mike you up.”

  “What’s that?” Nina asked, eyeing the object in the box. It looked like a small golden bullet.

  “Earpiece. You ever watch that show 24? Just like Jack Bauer uses. It’s two-way—you’ll be able to hear me and Eddie, and we’ll be able to hear you and what’s going on around you. All you have to do is whisper.”

  Chase stood for a closer look as Mitchell carefully slipped the bug into Nina’s left ear. “What’s the range?”

  “Only about two hundred yards. But that doesn’t matter because you’ll have the relay so I can hear, and once you get to the outer wall you’ll be in range.” The device in place, he stepped back, quickly running an admiring eye over Nina’s glossy curves.

  “I saw that!” she snapped.

  “Get used to it,” Prikovsky told her. “You will get a lot more attention than that tonight.” He frowned as a thought struck him. “Do you speak Russian?”

  “Nyet.”

  “Hmm. Still, not a problem. The girls are not there for conversation.” Nina could barely suppress a disgusted shudder. “Okay, you’re an American student here to learn Russian—and you’re doing this because you need money to buy a dictionary. Ha!” He drew back a hand as if about to slap her on the butt, but stopped short on seeing Chase’s stony glare.

  “All right,” said Mitchell, adopting a commanding tone. “I’ll be waiting in the chopper. It’ll take me four minutes to reach the mansion from my takeoff point, so once you secure the item, that’s how long you’ll have to get to the extraction point. There’s a balcony on the west side—it’s not big enough to land on, but there’s enough clearance for me to hover next to it so you can climb aboard. If you don’t raise the alarm, we should be able to get clear before anyone realizes what’s going on.”

  “And if we do raise the alarm?” asked Nina.

  Chase reached into his leather jacket and drew out a massive silver handgun. “Jack had a little present delivered while you were getting your cuticles done,” he said with definite glee. “Desert Eagle, .50-cal Action Express. Would have preferred a Wildey, but I’m not complaining.”

  Mitchell shook his head. “Big, heavy, limited load, huge recoil …”

  “Works for me. Anyone gets hit by this, they’re done.” His smile disappeared. “And if I see Kruglov …”

  “Let’s hope you don’t need it,” Nina told him, gently pushing the raised weapon back down.

  “Okay,” said Mitchell. “Let’s party.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  The girls left the salon in a small convoy of minivans driven by Prikovsky’s men. Nina was in the last vehicle with three other young women, as carefully made-up and provocatively dressed as she was; none spoke English, but all seemed excited—in a somewhat calculating way—about the evening.

  “Excited” wasn’t the word Nina would have used to describe her feelings, however. “Tense” would have been closer. Or “nauseous.”

  A voice in her left ear. Chase.

  “Nina, if you can hear me, clear your throat.” She did. “Okay, I’m not far behind you.” She glanced back, seeing headlights in the distance. “I’ll call you again soon as I get to the entry point.”

  The lights dropped away. There was a faint crackle as if he had opened the line to speak again, but then it faded to nothing. Out of range.

  She was on her own.

  The minivan came to a stop at a gate with a high wall to each side—the same wall she had seen in the background of the spy photo of Kruglov.

  Vaskovich’s mansion. The dragon’s lair.

  Security guards opened the doors and shone bright flashlights into the faces of each of the van’s occupants in turn. Nina was the last to be checked. A chill swept over her, not solely from the night air. What if they recognized her, if she wasn’t on the guest list, if Prikovsky had betrayed her …

  The light swept down to her legs, paused for a moment—and flicked off. The guard leered, then shut the door. The minivan drove on.

  Vaskovich’s mansion lay directly ahead, at the end of a long drive surrounded by lawns. Nina leaned forward for a better look, impressed despite herself by the brightly lit edifice. It was as huge as she had imagi
ned, but elegant where she had expected nouveau-riche vulgarity, a perfectly restored neoclassical building of the early nineteenth century, tall arched windows blazing with light.

  The vehicles lined up outside more closely matched her preconceptions, however. Expensive, showy and mostly vulgar, a procession of stretch limousines and supercars. Valets drove them around the corner of the mansion after the occupants emerged. Nina imagined that a scratch on any of the vehicles would cost the careless perpetrator more than a docked paycheck.

  The vans pulled up. More security guards in heavy coats lined the front steps, watching them. The girls got out, to be met by a man in a white tuxedo. He quickly spoke to each in turn before pointing to the doors above, reaching Nina last.

  “Uh, I … I don’t speak very good Russian,” she said in response to his instructions.

  He frowned. “You don’t speak Russian? Oy! Pavel is getting lazy; I should send you home. What are you, American?” Nina nodded. He chewed his lip for a moment. “Well, there are some Yankees in there. Easy to find—they’re the ones who can’t hold their drink. Stay with them. What’s your name?”

  “Nina.”

  “Nina, okay. I’m Dmitri; if you need a private room, find me. The top floor is off-limits. Okay, shoo, shoo!”

  Even with a coat over her outfit Nina was still freezing, and she was about to hurry gratefully inside when a blast of noise halted her midstep. She looked up to see a helicopter sweeping over the mansion, swinging around to land on the lawn. But it was no ordinary helicopter; clearly military, black as the night sky and with two sets of rotor blades mounted one above the other on a single shaft, it was one of the most bizarre—and menacing—machines she had ever seen.

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  Dmitri looked annoyed. “That is the new deputy defense minister, Felix Mishkin, showing off and ruining the grass! Go in, go, I will greet him.” He turned to watch the helicopter power down.

  Nina clacked up the stairs on her heels, entering to have her coat taken by another man in a white tux. A few groups of people were talking in the marble lobby, all men—and all taking the time out from their conversations to watch her strut past in her tight, shiny dress. Feeling horribly self-conscious as well as scared, she never the less remembered her role and smiled politely at them before going through the double doors into the next room.