Strangers When We Meet Page 5

  The savage urge eased during the long drive back to the base. Some. Dodge made sure to keep his distance while he and his fellow escorts got their charges fed and back to their quarters.

  He left Larissa with a brief good-night and made his way across the darkened parking lot. His first task would be to pop a beer, he decided. His second, to call OMEGA and see whether Blade had dug up any additional information on Barlow.

  That was the plan, anyway. Right up until three men in dark suits emerged from the shadows outside his door and blocked his way.

  Chapter 4

  Dodge’s reaction to the sudden appearance of three plain-clothed figures blocking his path was as instinctive as it was instantaneous. His muscles bunched, his adrenaline spiked and his senses recorded instantly the age, weight, height and degree of threat emanating from each even before one man detached himself from the others.

  “Major Hamilton?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Sorry to show up on your doorstep unannounced like this.”

  Dodge knew him now. Paul Handerhand, the OSI agent he’d contacted last night to report Major Petrovna’s odd reaction.

  “Operations told us you and the rest of the team had returned from Alpha-7,” Handerhand advised. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

  “We who?”

  “Mind if we go inside for the introductions?”

  Nodding, Dodge keyed the door and ushered the three men inside. The older of the two was obviously in charge. He wore an air of authority that sat well with his iron-gray hair and neatly trimmed mustache. Reaching into his suit pocket, he pulled out a black leather ID case.

  “I’m Lieutenant Colonel Mike DeWitt, Chief of OSI Counterintelligence for Air Force Global Strike Command. This is Special Agent Ralph Eastbrook, from 20th Air Force.”

  So Handerhand had called in the big guns. That meant Dodge was now dealing with two additional levels in the chain of command. It also meant his call last night had stirred up a whole bunch of interest within the OSI.

  Intros over, DeWitt took the lead. “The folks in Washington were sketchy on your background, Hamilton, but assured me you know your way around highly sensitive cases like this one.”

  “I’ve worked a few high-stakes cases,” Dodge acknowledged.

  “Then you’ll understand why we want to talk to you about Hank Barlow.” Extracting a microtape recorder, he centered it on the coffee table and hit Record. “Please relate the specific details of the incident that triggered your phone call. What exactly did Barlow say to Major Petrovna?”

  “He didn’t say anything to her. To either of us, for that matter. He was just passing by, talking to another man.”

  “About what?”

  “The time it would take to develop some specs, I think. I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “But you heard his voice?”

  “I heard a voice. It was low and gravelly. Like the speaker had something caught in his throat.”

  “And Major Petrovna reacted to that voice?”

  “She did.”

  “How?”

  Dodge hid his annoyance at being asked to reiterate what he’d told Handerhand last night. “She stopped dead in her tracks and turned six shades of pale. When I asked her if she was okay, she spun around and demanded to know if I’d heard him, the man who ‘spoke like a dog.’ I told her I had.”

  “What did she say then?”

  “She wanted to know who he was.”

  “And you told her…?”

  “I said he was probably a contractor, since the men who passed us were wearing visitor badges.”

  “But you didn’t give her his name?”

  “I didn’t know his name at the time.”

  “What did Major Petrovna say then?”

  “Not much. Just that she thought she’d heard a voice like that once before, but she’d made a mistake.”

  “You didn’t press her for an explanation?”

  “I tried. She said again she’d mistaken the matter and marched down the hall to Colonel Yarboro’s office.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it. Why? What have you got?”

  With a glance at the other two men, DeWitt leaned forward and punched the off button. The recorder whirred into silence.

  “Henry Philip Barlow is president and CEO of E-Systems, an engineering firm that designs components for commercial satellite-signal translators. Until recently, E-Systems has concentrated its efforts in the civilian sector. With considerable success, I might add. The company’s stock soared three years ago when Barlow introduced a new, relatively inexpensive signal translator for GPS data.”

  GPS? Dodge tensed. In his mind’s eye, he could see the wind whipping tendrils of Larissa Petrovna’s silvery-blond hair while she and her team received the signals that verified the coordinates of Alpha-7. Was there some connection between the unit the major had held in her hand and Hank Barlow?

  “Barlow’s company is now expanding its defense-sector work,” DeWitt continued. “E-Systems has teamed with two other major subcontractors in a consortium. They plan to bid on the next phase of the National Missile Defense System, which is why Barlow was here a few days ago. Naturally, we’re concerned when a chance encounter with a man who might help develop our nation’s future defensive systems causes such a marked reaction in a Russian officer.”

  “Naturally.”

  “Barlow’s made a number of trips to Moscow over the past ten years, primarily on business, most recently as part of a U.S. delegation to look at ways to reduce the trade deficit.” Hunching forward, DeWitt planted his elbows on his knees. His eyes were dead serious under his gunmetal-gray brows. “It’s entirely possible Major Petrovna met Hank Barlow on one of these trips. We want to know when and where.”

  So did Dodge. “Why don’t you just ask Barlow whether he knows the major?”

  “We will if necessary, but I prefer not to tip our hand at this point. One of our agents did pay Barlow a visit at his corporate offices in Denver this morning. Ostensibly, he was there to verify Barlow’s travel dates as part of a routine update to his security clearance.”

  “Did your agent find anything interesting?”

  “Nothing related to Major Petrovna or the Russians’ visit to F. E. Warren. We’re checking with the Defense Intelligence Agency and CIA to see if they’ve collected any data on Barlow. In the meantime, we’d like you to work your end a little more.”

  Dodge hiked a brow. “Work my end how?”

  “We want you to get a little more friendly with Petrovna than escorts are usually allowed to do. Spend some off-duty time with her, show her the sights. Gain her trust if possible, and find out why she reacted the way she did to his presence.”

  A wry grin tugged at his lips. Nothing like being given a free pass to do exactly what he’d been thinking about doing during the long drive back to the base.

  “She’s tough to get close to,” he warned, “but I’ll do my best.”

  “From the scuttlebutt circulating down at the 37th helo squadron,” DeWitt said drily, “your best is apparently pretty damn good when it comes to women.”

  When Dodge merely shrugged, the three men rose.

  “Get back to Special Agent Handerhand with any information you extract from the major,” DeWitt instructed. “I don’t have to tell you that this matter is extremely sensitive.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  The more Dodge thought about it, the more he liked the idea of getting Larissa away from the base. And he couldn’t think of any better place to take her than the Double H.

  The problem was finding time to do it. Like the missile-launch crews, maintenance worked around the clock, seven days a week. But their schedule depended on a number of variables, not the least of which was the necessity to keep a full complement of missiles on strategic alert. That meant the Russian inspectors adjusted their work hours to that of the 90th Missile Wing’s operation.

  They didn’t get a break in the inspe
ction schedule until three days later. Dodge used the well-deserved hiatus to make his move.

  “We’re down until Tuesday,” he reminded the major when he escorted her to her quarters.

  “I know this. It will give me time to update my reports.”

  “Update them tomorrow night, after we get back.”

  “Back?” She swung around, frowning. “From where?”

  “I thought we would drop in on a working ranch. Give you a chance to see an American cowboy in his natural habitat.”

  “I have no time for such things.”

  “Make time. I’ll pick you up at oh-nine-hundred.”

  “Major Hamilton!”

  “Nine,” he reiterated as the door whooshed shut behind him.

  Lara blew out a frustrated breath. Talking to him was like talking to these wild Wyoming winds. She tried most earnestly to maintain a proper distance, to remind herself—and him!—that they must observe strict protocol.

  Yet every time she thought she’d hammered the point home, Hamilton would disconcert her. As when he’d turned up her collar. Or insisted on walking her across the darkened parking lot, as though she were no older than Katya. Or smiled at her in the way that crinkled the skin at the corners of his eyes and…

  No! She could not allow herself to think such thoughts. She could not. She was here on a mission vital to both her country and his. More to the point, she would leave in a few weeks.

  And yet…

  Gathering intelligence was a secondary but critical component of her mission. Like the Americans who had inspected Russia’s nuclear arsenal under previous iterations of START, Lara and the others on her team were charged with collecting as much information as they could. Not only about the missiles themselves, but also the personnel who operated, maintained and guarded them.

  She could not go to this ranch with Hamilton with out clearing the trip with Bugarin, however. She grimaced at the prospect. Later, she decided. She would inform him later. Right now she wanted nothing more than a hot shower and six or seven hours of sleep uninterrupted by the nightmares that had haunted her since she’d arrived at this base.

  Dodge had already factored the FSB officer into his thinking. When he called Sam to let him know he was bringing a guest up to the Double H, he also advised that the visit may generate a file on a certain Samuel Hamilton.

  “I’ve been on worse lists,” his cousin drawled. “Who’s the visitor?”

  “Major Petrovna, one of the Russian inspectors.”

  “I’ll put out the welcome mat. What time should I look for you?”

  “I’m picking her up at nine. We should be there by ten, ten-thirty.”

  “Her?”

  “Her,” Dodge repeated. “But don’t get any ideas. The major can ice you with a single glance.”

  “Well, then, I’ll just have to turn up the heat.”

  Dodge didn’t find Sam’s laconic comment particularly amusing. He’d witnessed firsthand his cousin’s skill at cutting a female out of the herd.

  “Keep your hands off the thermostat. If there’s any heating to be done, I’ll take care of it.”

  “Hmm. That the way it is, is it?”

  “No. Yes. Hell, I don’t know. Just dial down your so-called charm.”

  “I’m not making any promises. See you tomorrow.”

  Dodge’s next call was to OMEGA for an update on Barlow. Blade’s digging had turned up some interesting info. Apparently, the man had taken a flyaway baseball bat to the throat during a little-league game as a kid and had to have his voice box reconstructed. He also had a penchant for women.

  “Been divorced twice,” Blade reported. “Current wife is a twenty-six-year-old blonde, but he’s keeping a mistress on the side. He also uses the services of high-priced call girls when traveling. Very-high-priced call girls.”

  “Did he employ any working girls in Moscow?”

  “If he did, we can’t find a record of it. We’ll keep digging. How’s it going on your end?”

  “Slow, but I’m taking Major Petrovna up to the Double H tomorrow morning. If I can’t get her to loosen up there, I’ll hand in my badge.”

  “I might worry about that, if we wore badges.”

  OMEGA’s field-dress unit had outfitted Dodge for missions that required him to play everything from a millionaire jet-setter to a shaved-headed ex-con out for blood. This mission, thank God, had let him slide into more comfortable skin.

  He left his air-force uniform hanging in the closet, opting instead for a blue-and-gray flannel shirt, sheep skin vest and a black Stetson, creased exactly the way he liked it.

  He crossed the parking lot, still unsure whether Larissa would agree to go with him, but when he rapped on her door she surprised him with the grudging admission that she would like to see some of the countryside he promised.

  Like Dodge, she’d dressed comfortably in slacks and her black turtleneck. She’d also released her hair from its habitual tight twist. It flowed over her shoulders like a curtain of pale silk and got Dodge to thinking all kinds of things he damn well shouldn’t be thinking.

  She said little during the trip. He didn’t push her. He’d have plenty of time once they hit the Double H to pump her for information about Barlow. While she gazed out the window at the rolling countryside, he took full advantage of Wyoming’s 75-mph speed limit.

  Even at that speed, he should have avoided the dusty black SUV that zoomed out of an interstate rest stop. He caught sight of it speeding down the access lane and cut over, but the SUV came on too fast. Its right left fender clipped the Jeep’s right bumper and sent it into a spin.

  Swearing, Dodge stood on the brakes. All four tires squealed like wounded banshees. The Jeep fishtailed wildly, made two full turns and slammed into a guardrail.

  Chapter 5

  Sam rolled his pickup to a stop in the parking lot of Converse County’s Memorial Hospital Emergency Room. Straight-arming the front door, he made for the desk.

  “I got a call from Major Dodge Hamilton. He said they were bringing him here.”

  “He’s in Cubicle Three,” the intake tech replied, “but…”

  Sam didn’t hang around for the buts. He pushed through another set of doors, followed a circular line of curtains to the third cubicle and rattled the curtain aside.

  “You got here fast,” Dodge commented as the doc treating him rolled back her stool and snapped off her rubber gloves.

  “Fast enough.” Sam took in the blood staining his cousin’s shirt and bandage decorating his cheekbone. “What happened?”

  “Some asshole clipped us coming onto the interstate. Bastard didn’t stop, and by the time I got us out of the ditch, he was long gone.”

  “The son of a bitch better not be from around these parts.”

  The soft violence in Sam’s voice sparked a similar chord in Dodge. He would have a thing or two to say to the SUV’s driver when the police tracked him down.

  “Did you get a look at the vehicle or any of the tag numbers?”

  “I was too busy fighting the wheel.”

  “Your Russian okay?”

  “She seems to be. The doc checked her over and…”

  “I take no hurt.”

  The comment came from the next cubicle. A moment later, the curtain between the two units rolled back. Larissa Petrovna’s cool, assessing blue eyes swept over the stranger.

  “You are Samuel, I think. The cowboy that Major Hamilton wishes me to observe in his natural state.”

  Sam didn’t miss a beat. “I would love to show you my natural state, darlin’, but my cousin here…”

  “That was natural habitat,” Dodge drawled.

  Obviously confused by the exchange, the major shrugged and held out a hand. “I am Larissa Petrovna. Your cousin has told me something of you.”

  Sam stretched out a callused hand and enfolded hers. “He’s told me something of you, too, Major.”

  Either his smile or his firm grip must have appealed to the Russian. He
ad cocked, she almost smiled.

  “We are away from the base, no? Ranks are not necessary. I am called Lara for, uh… How do you say it? The nickname?”

  “Lara it is.”

  Well, hell! Here Dodge had spent a whole bunch of hours with this woman and she hadn’t offered much more than name, rank and serial number. He was beginning to think he’d made a serious mistake bringing his cousin into the picture. Especially when Sam released her hand with a show of obvious reluctance.

  “You’re sure you weren’t hurt?”

  “I was not.”

  “Too bad.” Sam heaved an exaggerated sigh. “I make a helluva nursemaid.”

  Enough was enough. Dodge pushed off the exam table.

  “Looks like we’re good to go here, Hoss,” he said. “Why don’t you bring your truck around while I check us out. Major…” He stopped, shifted, gave her a quick, slashing grin. “Lara, you better come with me. You’ll have to sign release forms.”

  Lara refused to respond to that devilish grin. Or the deliberate use of her name. But a small shiver of delight rippled through her at the sound of it on his tongue.

  How he rolled his words, she thought, as they walked the length of the tiled hall. Just as the one called Sam did. It was like music, the way they spoke. Like a zither played by a master—deep and resonant. The melodious sound could not but please her, although the arrogance that often came when this one spoke annoyed her no little bit.

  The vending machine at the end of the hall elicited another roll of words, these of considerable relief.

  “I don’t know ’bout you, but I sure could use some coffee.”

  “I, too,” Lara admitted.

  She fished for a dollar from the precious supply in her purse. She’d brought only the bare minimum of cash with her. Any extra she earned from this duty she would send home to Katya. But she needed something hot and strong. The accident had shaken her more than she wanted to admit.