"You think they are looking for us?"

  "Who else?"

  He watched the taillights disappear in his mirror.

  "When will we turn?" she asked.

  The phone with the GPS lay next to him. He glanced at it.

  "In about two klicks."

  "Klicks?"

  "Kilometers."

  The lights on the van were dim. The dirt road he wanted was little more than an overgrown track, and he almost missed the turn. He turned off the pavement and shifted down to a lower gear.

  "How far are we from the border?" .

  "Something over a hundred kilometers. It's going to take a while. Too bad we don't have a radio."

  "We can sing to pass the time," she said.

  He looked at her, surprised.

  "Every cop in Russia is looking for us, and you want to sing?"

  "Why not?"

  He laughed.

  "You don't want to hear me sing. Besides, I don't know any songs."

  "Then I will sing a song. It is a very popular song here, very old."

  "What's it about?"

  "It is about a girl who is in love, but her father forbids her from seeing him."

  "Sounds familiar."

  "It is sad, but very beautiful."

  She began to sing. Her voice was clear.

  Thorne listened and thought about her. She knew what was waiting if they were caught. She would be tortured. When her captors were convinced she had nothing left to tell them, she would find herself kneeling on the stones of some hidden courtyard, waiting for a bullet to the back of her head. Yet here she was, singing.

  Their lovemaking had been beyond intense, more than physical. They had connected. It was as if they had always been lovers. It wasn't about the sex. The sex was only part of it. He had never felt like that with anyone. Not Ashley, not Jenna. Not anyone. It was an unfamiliar feeling, and he wanted to hold onto it.

  Thinking of Jenna brought a stab of guilt. He cared for Jenna, a lot. He had no obligation toward her, they hadn't made any commitments to each other. Even so, it felt like a betrayal. He pushed the feeling of guilt aside. He'd had a lot of practice with pushing aside things he didn't want to feel.

  They had been driving for several hours over the rutted track. The headlights were getting dim. The needle on the gas gauge was close to empty.

  "It is getting hard to see the road," Anya said.

  "The battery is failing. We're losing the lights."

  Not long after that, the lights faded out. He stopped and let the engine idle. It would keep running unless he turned it off. It was impossible to see what lay ahead in the black of the night.

  "This isn't good."

  "I will walk in front of the truck," Anya said. "You can follow me."

  "You think you can see where you're going?"

  "I don't know. Let me try."

  She got out and went to the front. He could just make out her shape.

  "I can make out the road," she called. "Can you see me okay?"

  "Yes. But don't get too far ahead."

  "I will begin walking now."

  She took a hesitant step, then another. He peered through the darkness at her shape and put his foot on the clutch. The gears ground together and the truck started creeping along the track. Within minutes, his eyes were watering from the strain of trying to see in the dark. He squinted and gripped the wheel, one foot touching the brake, the other ready to go for the clutch. A burning ache started across his shoulders.

  Anya gave a sudden cry and disappeared. He slammed on the brakes, shifted into neutral, pulled on the emergency brake and jumped out of the cab.

  "Anya. Where are you?"

  "Here."

  Her voice came from somewhere in front of him.

  "Be careful," she called. "The road is washed away. Help me get out."

  He found her, grabbed her hands, and pulled her out. She steadied herself with a hand on his shoulder. Close up, the washout was a deep, dark slash across the road.

  "Are you all right?"

  "I twisted my ankle a little."

  The truck engine sputtered, coughed, and died.

  "Can you walk?"

  Anya put weight on her ankle. She winced, took a few steps.

  "I will be okay."

  "The truck is dead," Thorne said. "It wouldn't get past this, anyway. It's too deep."

  "So, we walk?"

  "We walk."

  "How far is it to the border?"

  "Not too far. Ten or fifteen klicks."

  He looked at the sky. The clouds were breaking up. A few stars were visible.

  "It will be dawn in a couple of hours."

  "Then we had better start," she said.

  She held onto his arm and they began walking toward Estonia and safety.

  Chapter 74

  Nobody was smiling in Kramer's office. Bradford had been in custody for over a day. He'd refused to say anything.

  "He's not talking," Carlson said. "The only thing he's said is that he wants a lawyer."

  "Have you explained to him that he's being charged under the Patriot Act?" Kramer asked. "He must know he's forfeited his right to an attorney."

  "Yes. I told him he was asking for a one-way ticket to Guantánamo or Romania. It didn't make any difference. He sat there and smirked."

  "That little shit. I can't believe he's got that much guts," Davidson said.

  "I don't think he understands, Director," Jenna said. "He may think rendition is an idle threat."

  "He's about to find out that it isn't," Kramer said. "Lewis, arrange for him to be taken to the facility run by our Romanian friends."

  "Are you sure?"

  "We have to find out how much damage he's done. Give him one more chance to come clean. If he refuses, get him on a plane today. Keep me posted on the interrogation."

  "How far can they go?" Carlson asked.

  "As far as is necessary. They're authorized to use extreme measures. Make sure Bradford knows what's in store for him if he refuses to cooperate. It might shake him loose."

  Jenna started to object, then realized it would do no good. By questioning Kramer's decision, she'd accomplish nothing. This wasn't a battle she could win.

  "I'll take care of it as soon as we're done with this meeting," Carlson said.

  "If the media gets wind of this, it will create a real problem," Davidson said.

  "Then we'd better make sure they don't find out. It took years for the Agency to recover after the last time we had a mole. We need to keep a lid on this."

  "How did this happen?" Jenna said. "Why didn't we see something was wrong? We missed all the signs."

  "Not all of them," Davidson said. "We figured out there was a mole, didn't we?"

  "When we started looking, we never looked at Bradford. If you hadn't forgotten your keys and gone back to your office, we still wouldn't know who it was."

  "We didn't have any reason to suspect him," Carlson said. "He's never given any indications he was disloyal. Hell, his clearance is as high as mine."

  "Jenna, I want you digging into his life," Kramer said. "See if you can find something that tells us why he turned. See if there's anything we can use to put pressure on him."

  "I'll start with his finances. If he was being paid, there's a record somewhere."

  "Look for a woman," Carlson said. "Maybe he's got some little honey on the side."

  "Of course you would think of that," Jenna said.

  "He's right, Jenna," Kramer said. "The opposition might have used a woman to get to him. Honey traps are as old as espionage. You can find them in the Bible."

  "Don't worry, this man will have no secrets by the time I'm done looking at him."

  "We can assume the recent string of failed operations is due to Bradford," Kramer said. "The question is, who was running him?"

  "Based on the ops that went wrong, I'm leaning toward the Russians," Carlson said.

  "I agree," Jenna said. "It's also possible he's responsible for what happened with OPERA."

  Davidson snorted.

  "You may not like Thorne," Jenna said, "but maybe you should wait until we've managed to extract them before you dismiss her story out of hand."

  "I'll believe it when I see it," Davidson said.

  "Where is Thorne now?" Kramer asked.

  "The last time I talked to him, he was at an old safe house of ours near Novgorod. I told him to get to Estonia for extraction," Carlson said. "I haven't heard from him since."

  "Do we have real time satellite coverage of the location?"

  "It depends on the time," Jenna said. She looked at her watch. "Yes. We should have a satellite over the area now."

  "Bring it up on the monitor."

  "I'll do it," Jenna said.

  She got up and went to a big screen monitor mounted on the wall of Kramer's office. A panel beneath controlled the display. From this room, whoever sat in the director's chair at Langley could access any one of dozens of satellites in orbit around the globe. Jenna called up the menu and selected a satellite over Western Russia. She entered the coordinates for the safe house. The image came up on the screen. In Russia, it was early morning. The sun had cracked the horizon.

  "Who the hell are those guys?" Carlson said.

  Vehicles were parked in front of the house where Thorne was supposed to be hiding with OPERA. A helicopter sat in a dirt field nearby. Armed men in uniform moved in and out of the building.

  Jenna zoomed in on a man smoking outside the building. She focused on his insignia.

  "A Colonel, GRU. If Thorne and OPERA were there, they've been arrested."

  The man looked up, almost as if he could sense the satellite watching from far above. Jenna focused on his face.

  "That's not the look of someone who's pleased with himself."

  "Thorne probably left before they got there," Carlson said. "He's got a sixth sense for these things. It's spooky."

  "If those troops are looking for OPERA, she must have something they want. Like the Russian war plan," Jenna said.

  Davidson rolled his eyes. "She killed her boss, remember? They're looking for a murderer."

  "Jenna, can you track Thorne's phone?" Kramer said.

  "He turned the tracking feature off. It makes sense. If I were him, I'd be worried about the mole blowing my cover."

  "We had no certain proof there was a mole before he left," Davidson said.

  "Well, Scott," Lewis said. "He did try to tell us, didn't he? As I recall, you didn't want to hear it."

  "That's not how I remember it, Carlson."

  "The way your memory works, you'd make a good politician."

  "Who the hell do you think you are, talking to me like that?"

  "That's enough," Kramer said. "Lewis, get Bradford on the way to Romania. Jenna, contact Thorne. Find out where he is and what he's doing. Tell them we've caught the mole. Tell him to turn on his damn tracker. Scott, go through everything Bradford could have seen in your safe. See if you can get a handle on operations he's compromised."

  She paused.

  "Any questions? Then get on it."

  Chapter 75

  Colonel Ivanov stood in the yard in front of the house, smoking. He'd spent an uncomfortable night, waiting for word Volkova had been arrested.

  There had been no word.

  He dropped his cigarette and crushed it under his heel. They'd found the stolen car inside the barn. Tire tracks from another vehicle led away from the farmhouse.

  The militia had been alerted to look for a truck or a van instead of the white Lada. It didn't matter what Volkova and her companion were driving. There was nowhere they could go without running into a checkpoint.

  The sun had broken the horizon. The storm from the previous day had moved on. The sky was clear except for a few lingering clouds. Ivanov took off his cap and rubbed his forehead. He looked up at the sky, trying to push away the headache building at the back of his skull. Where were they? By now, they should have been stopped.

  They must have left the highway. But where would they go?

  They'd never make it to Finland. They had to be headed for Estonia. The border was a little over a hundred kilometers from where he stood. There was only one paved road to Estonia, and Ivanov knew they hadn't gone that way. If they had, they would now be in custody. That meant they had left the highway and gone overland, through the fields. They'd have to drive slowly. There might still be time to catch them before they reached the border. If he didn't catch them, he'd be spending whatever was left of his career in the Arctic.

  Petrov came out of the house.

  "We found nothing inside, sir. Only dirty cups. It looks like they made tea."

  "I don't give a shit about their tea."

  "Where do you think they are?"

  Ivanov looked out over the dark earth stretching away into the distance. This was beet country. There weren't many houses and there weren't any roads, only rough tracks for farm equipment and animals.

  Ivanov gestured in the direction of Estonia.

  "Somewhere out there, in those fields. Now that it's light, we'll take the helicopter. Get the pilot."

  Fifteen minutes later they were in the air. All three men wore headsets that blocked out some of the engine noise and allowed them to talk with each other.

  "Follow the highway north," Ivanov said to the pilot. "Keep low. We're looking for where they could have turned off into the fields."

  "Yes, Colonel."

  A few minutes later, Petrov pointed down at the road passing below.

  "There, Colonel. See that?"

  The helicopter was already past the spot.

  "Turn back," Ivanov said.

  The chopper banked and headed back.

  "Down there," Petrov said.

  A muddy track below was wide enough for a truck. It showed fresh tire tracks.

  "Follow it," Ivanov said.

  They started along the track, flying a hundred feet above the ground. Thirty minutes later they saw a green van, stopped where a jagged scar cut across the track.

  "That has to be them. They couldn't get across the washout," Petrov said.

  "They're on foot. We'll get them now," Ivanov said.

  He tapped the pilot on his shoulder.

  "Faster."

  They sped toward Estonia.

  Chapter 76

  Anya's ankle was swollen from the fall. She held onto Thorne's shoulder as they walked. He had his arm around her waist, supporting her. The injury had slowed them down. The sun was up. For the last ten minutes they'd been crossing rough ground. Ahead, a forest of birch trees shimmered in the morning light.

  "See those trees?" Thorne said. "That's the border. We're almost there."

  "I hear a helicopter," she said.

  They looked back the way they'd come. In the distance a helicopter was coming in fast, headed straight for them.

  Inside the aircraft, Petrov pointed.

  "There they are!"

  "Buzz them," Ivanov said.

  The pilot brought the helicopter low and flew over the fleeing figures on the ground. Then he hovered over them. The wind from the rotors beat them down, throwing up bits of dirt and rock. Thorne and Anya went flat to the ground.

  "Set us down," Ivanov said. "We'll get out. They'll make for the trees. As soon as we're out, go up again and block them."

  "Yes, sir," the pilot said.

  When the helicopter banked away, Thorne and Anya got up and moved as fast as they could toward the trees, Anya hobbling while Thorne half carried her. Ahead was a white stone marker.

  The border.

  "They are landing," Anya said.

  "That's a mistake."

  Thorne took out Stepanov's pistol. He'd checked the magazine. It was full, with seventeen rounds. He clicked off the safety.

  Anya looked back. Two men got out of the helicopter.

  "It's Ivanov. Petrov, too. Bastards."

  The helicopter lifted off. Ivanov shouted something at them. They couldn't hear him against the sound of the rotors.

  "Keep going," Thorne said.

  The helicopter flew past and turned back toward them. Thorne raised the pistol and aimed at the air intake under the whirling blades. He fired as the aircraft dove toward them. Three rounds glanced off the side of the engine housing in a shower of sparks. Two disappeared into the open maw of the engine.

  The results were immediate and spectacular.

  The turbine came apart in a tortured screech of metal. The housing shattered. The rotor shaft snapped, sending the blades whirling through the air. The helicopter dropped straight down, slammed into the ground, and exploded in a fireball. The shockwave knocked them down. One of the blades scythed into the earth in front of Anya's face and ricocheted away.

  Thorne hauled Anya to her feet. Ivanov and Petrov began shooting. Thorne felt the breeze as a bullet passed close by. He turned and fired several shots. Petrov pitched facedown onto the hard earth. Bright flashes came from Ivanov's pistol.

  Anya cried out and stumbled to the ground. Thorne fired again, the unfamiliar pistol hard in his hand as the slide racked back and forth. He kept firing until the pistol was empty. Ivanov dropped his gun. He clutched his stomach and toppled face forward. He didn't get up.

  Thorne turned to Anya. She lay on her back, breathing fast. Bright blood streamed from a wound under her right breast. Black smoke from the burning helicopter rolled over them, setting him coughing. His eyes stung. He knelt by her.

  She struggled for breath.

  "Michael. It hurts."

  "I know. Don't move."

  Stop the bleeding.

  He pulled off his shirt, folded it, pressed it against the wound. He took her hands and placed them on the makeshift bandage. It was turning red.

  "You have to hold this tight. Press hard. Can you do that?"

  "Yes."

  Her voice was weak. She looked pale. Her eyes fluttered.

  "Anya."

  "Yes."

  "Stay awake. You've got to stay awake. I'm going to pick you up and carry you across the border. It will hurt."

  She didn't answer. He picked her up. She cried out in pain.

  "Press with your hands. Don't let go."