Citadel Of Fear

James raised one hand to the side of his face and mouthed, “We may need another bottle.”

McCarter nodded. “How you doing, Nick?”

Propenko scowled at James. “Nubian has admirable qualities.”

The black Phoenix Force medic nodded demurely, made a move and tapped his timer.

The Russian lifted a grudging chin at McCarter. “I have always admired English.”

“Good to know.”

Propenko scowled down the stairs behind him. “Fish chained me to sink. I do not like Cubans.”

McCarter smiled. “My apologies.”

Propenko grunted. “Gummer is sniper. I have not met rifleman I have not liked.”

Manning called down the skylight from his perch on the roof. “Thanks!”

“And Hawk?” McCarter asked.

“He is too good-looking to be soldier.” Propenko made an extremely bold move with his knight and nearly broke the chess timer as he slammed it down. “Maybe he is not hawk. Maybe he is fruit rabbit.”

Hawkins’s head snapped up from the dining-room table. As the most tech savvy member of Phoenix Force he was doing a preliminary disassembly on the enemy drone. “Hey!”

James raised a diplomatic finger. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

McCarter smiled at Propenko, but he wasn’t fooled. Not for a minute. “Listen, old son, I like you.”

“I am liking you, too, English.”

“So let me tell you how I see it… I think you have a liver the size of a fifty-year-old speed bag with the cracks and scars to match. I think you’re going to be dead in five years, but right now I think you’re still a nasty piece of work, and in your line of work you are at the prime of your powers.

“You’re a right bloody charmer, and not a quarter as sodding drunk as you’re pretending to be. I think you might have it in mind to snap that handcuff after me and my friend there are slightly more relaxed and do something terrible. Then you do the rest of us up a treat and start rooting around for intel. And, I think you’ve done it before.”

The palest, coldest, soberest Russian eyes McCarter had ever seen regarded him unblinkingly. “So?”

“So convince me to keep you around.”

“And if I do not?”

McCarter drew his pistol. Phoenix Force had been forced to toss their weapons into the Baltic when they’d entered into Swedish airspace. Sweden was a neutral country with their own cottage arms industry and, unlike many European nations, was not awash in surplus or black market weapons. The CIA had managed to get them some very archaic armaments that had “disappeared” from a Swedish reserve armory. McCarter pointed something that looked strangely like a German Luger at Propenko’s right leg. “Then I shoot you in the other leg and I still keep you around.”

Propenko sipped wood alcohol.

McCarter pushed. “So?”

The only thing colder and clearer than the Russian’s eyes was his smile. His voice was suddenly cold and clear, as well. “So convince me to let you keep me around with one wounded leg rather than two.”

McCarter gave a grudging noise of admiration. “Who do you work for?”

“That information is confidential.”

“Do you still work for them?”

Propenko gave a very Russian shrug. “I believe the contract terminated when you smashed mission.”

“But you were paid?”

“I was. Half in front. Mission did not succeed. Back half will not be—” he belched “—be forthcoming.”

McCarter allowed himself a smile.

Propenko eyed the bottle of brännvin ruefully. “Swedish fire-piss, I must be getting old.”

“And you won’t help me in my mission against your previous employers?”

“Do I work for you? Do I have contract?” Propenko swirled the wood alcohol in his teacup and pursed his lips judiciously. “Have I been paid?”

Hawkins made a noise. “The balls on this guy…”

Propenko slowly turned his head to regard Hawkins. “Would you like to see them, Fruit Rabbit?”

“If he calls me Fruit Rabbit one more time…”

“Dah. And?”

McCarter brought the conversation back on line. “So your job was to kill us?”

“Sustain your attempted ambush, destroy you and collect information.”

“Collect information?”

“You would be interrogated.”

“By you?”

“By me. But I would start with Fruit Rabbit.”

Hawkins shot to his feet. “That’s it!”

Propenko kept his eyes on McCarter. “All evidence collected since Great Patriotic War says that with English? It is being more effective to make him watch torture of one of his men, then torture English himself.”

“Lovely. Right, then. Listen, I’m in a bit of a hurry. How much?”

“How much what?” Propenko asked.

“To put you on the payroll.”