Death Echo

emidov watched Temuri pace the dock, his very presence driving the techs to work faster. Temuri was a muscular, silent shadow ensuring that no one slacked off or lifted a few expensive electronics for individual profit.
    Watching Temuri was like looking in a mirror.
    Once, we would have worked together, Demidov thought. Now…
    The world had changed. Temuri was on the other side of a deadly divide running through the Russian Federation like an earthquake fault. So far the pushing, shoving, strutting, and killing among former satellite regions had stopped short of outright civil war.
    Demidov’s job was to see that didn’t change.
    Temuri’s job was the opposite.
    Since Blue Water Marine had lost their captain, Temuri was pushing to finish the installation of the same electronics he’d been willing to leave ashore before Tommy died.
    Demidov smiled. Temuri was making the best of a situation he didn’t really control. More than once, Demidov had done the same. It was called surviving in a game whose rules changed without warning or apology.
    Now that the delay his boss had wanted was accomplished, therewas little left in Rosario to interest Demidov. Mentally he went through his pre-departure checklist. It had come down to a simple choice. He could go north now and wait for Blackbird, or he could stay here and watch Blackbird leave. Then he would chase her northward sea passage, but he would be on land. Roads wound around mountains and bays and waddled through towns. The course over water was as the crow—or seagull—flew.
    When presented with the choice of staying or leaving, Grigori Sidorov’s message had been terse.
    Go north.
    Demidov put a lid on the bucket, changed all of his ID to that of a Canadian national who had been stamped through U.S. customs eight days ago, and drove out of the parking lot. He dumped the bucket in a vacant lot, left the van in long-term ferry parking, and effectively vanished.
    Until Sidorov ordered otherwise, he was headed north.

26
    DAY THREE
ROSARIO
1:30 P.M .
    R eady?” Mac asked, squeezing Emma’s shoulder and pulling her closer to his side.
    She slid her left hand into his left back jeans pocket and leaned into him. The radiation patch he had in his jeans poked her finger. “More than.”
    Just a game, Mac told himself.
    Yeah. Right.
    He settled Emma’s lithe body closer against him, and envied the patch she wore inside her bra.
    I’ll enjoy the fringe bennies of our cover, Mac thought. But not too much.
    That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
    Emma rubbed his butt lightly.
    â€œWatch it, woman,” he muttered.
    She tilted her head back and glanced down to where her hand was in his pocket. “Worth watching.”
    Mac set his back teeth.
    She pinched him. “Loosen up, big guy. We’re supposed to be friends, remember?”
    â€œFriends?” he retorted.
    â€œWith benefits.”
    She gave him a look that made his jeans feel tighter. But then, she always made him feel that way.
    â€œYou’re good at this,” he breathed into her ear. “Too good.”
    â€œYou make it easy. The last dude I had to play the benefits game with was twice my age, four times my weight, and had breath like a donkey fart.”
    Mac fought it, but he laughed.
    And relaxed.
    She stood on her tiptoes and breathed in his ear. “Much better. When you smile, it’s easy to see how you hooked up so fast with a woman who doesn’t have donkey breath.”
    Still smiling, Mac punched in the marina gate code, ushered her through, and let the metal gate clang loudly shut behind them. Down on the dock, Lovich and Amanar looked up and waved.
    The third man just stared at them.
    Mac dropped a nibbling kiss on Emma’s bare neck. “Watch Stoneface. He’s murder on two feet.”
    â€œGot it. I’m all big eyes, big smile, and tiny mind.”
    â€œKeep your mouth shut and they just might believe that.”
    Making like Siamese twins, Mac and Emma strolled down the gangway.
    The three men waiting for them were the only people on the dock near the Blackbird who weren’t moving fast. A half-dozen technicians and riggers swarmed over the boat like pirates on a prize. On the flying bridge, two men shoved electronics leads down through the stainless-steel tubes of the radar arch. A flat ten-mile radar antenna and domes for satellite television and telephone were already in place. Inside,