The Warsaw Protocol: A Novel(102)

“That is the plan.”

“Maybe I have help, too.”

“I saw Reinhardt and Munoz heading off. I suppose they could find their way here.”

The gun rested in his right hand, his finger on the trigger, his eyes locked on Ivan’s body, watching for any move.

“You say this lake thick with salt?” Ivan asked.

“Pure brine. But clear and pretty, I’ll say that. They keep the brine here, then pump it to the surface and extract the salt.”

Ivan reached down and, with his free hand, gently stroked the water. “Cold. Like Arctic Ocean.”

It seemed a little nuts to be floating a few yards from his enemy, shooting the breeze, while they were both armed, waiting for the other to act. But he was only going to challenge this demon when he was sure of the outcome. Right now, that was in doubt.

Like everything else.

So be patient.



* * *



Eli waited until Sonia and Czajkowski were in the chamber, past him, subdued by the silence, near the chapel on the opposite wall. Then he stepped out of the blackness and nestled the barrel of his gun to the back of Czajkowski’s head.

The president froze.

“Stay still,” he said to his captive.

Sonia whirled, her gun coming level.

“Drop the weapon,” he ordered.

And he clicked the hammer of his gun to emphasize the point. She stared at him, probably trying to decide if she could take a shot before he pulled the trigger.

“I assure you,” he said, “you can’t.”

She seemed to agree and lowered the gun.

“Drop it to the ground and kick it away,” he told her.

She did as instructed.

“Keep your hands where I can see them,” he told her.





CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE


Cotton split his attention between Ivan and the surroundings. They floated in their respective skiffs, about fifty feet apart, the emerald-tinted lake so clear it appeared as if they were drifting on air. Around a huge wall pillar wrapped a walkway with railings, a wooden gallery running along the upper chamber wall. Ivan had been right. He was stalling, hoping Stephanie was able to convince the locals that she needed their assistance. If anyone could make that happen, she could. But there was still the matter of Reinhardt and Munoz who were loose somewhere on this level.

“What we do?” Ivan asked.

A good question.

Retrieving that packet would go a long way toward easing Stephanie’s problems with the White House. Yes, he disagreed with the entire tactic Fox was trying to employ, and he’d deal with that quandary later. What he could not do was allow Ivan to leave the mine with that information. Sure, Moscow wanted the missiles gone. But as with Fox, there was no telling what else they would want from Warsaw. With that degree of blackmail, which several countries had been willing to pay huge sums to possess, anything could be possible.

“You could give me that packet,” he said. “And we’ll call this whole thing over.”

Ivan laughed. “I could say same to you about your gun.”

Portions of the lake were lit, portions were not. Between those two extremes were areas that gravitated from bright to dark, the flat surface like a mirror. In one portion to the right of Ivan’s boat, he caught the reflection of the wooden railing that spanned one side.

And Munoz.

Who was lurking behind where he floated, higher, on the path that extended from one side of the lake to the other, part of the walkways and tunnels that visitors traversed to admire the lakes. Apparently Ivan’s allies had found them faster than his own. Munoz was staying low, using some of the stonework between the railings as a shield. He assumed the man was armed, and the good thing was he’d have to stand up to make a move.

But there was still the matter of Ivan.

Who had no such hindrance.



* * *



Eli pressed the gun close to Czajkowski’s head.

“Where’s Ivan?” Sonia asked.

“Nearby.”

He needed to keep this woman off guard. She was formidable. And dangerous. She’d shot Jonty with no hesitation. She now knew he was working with Ivan, which meant he could have backup.

“I’m getting out of here,” Eli told them.

“Then leave,” Sonia said.

“It is not that simple.”

He wished it were.

What was happening with Munoz?

Where was he?



* * *



Czajkowski thought of that math professor who’d been kicked and prodded across the filthy floor of Mokotów Prison. He always did when he needed strength. That man, in the face of death, had showed nothing but courage.

And he intended to do the same.

“You’re done,” he said to Reinhardt.

“Brave words from a man with a loaded gun to his head.”

“I’ve lived my life with one right there. Every day.”

“Don’t push him,” Sonia said.

But he intended to do just that.



* * *



Cotton sat still in the skiff, not letting on he was aware they had company. Ivan was trying hard not to glance toward the wooden railing, but it was clear that he was aware of Munoz’s presence, too.