is on and that they are to proceed with preparations with all speed. Call in the selected force team and have them rendezvous at our point of departure in Vienna. Mikhail..."
"Yes, sir," his executive officer spoke crisply. It was obvious the old wolf was on the track once more, this time for the richest prize in the group's history. Vlahovich had been unsure a few days before, when he had first heard of the arctic plan. It had seemed extreme, a wild long shot. But if it could be made to work, the payoff could be astronomical. Now even the dour Serb began to catch the fever.
"Inform all headquarters sections to load and prepare to move out. I wish to be on the road in..." Kretek paused, and his eyes flicked toward the fireplace and the slim, silent figure standing beside it. The Albanian race had never been known for producing great beauties from among its women, and this little chit wasn't much even at that, but she was here and she was young and she was paid for. "...an hour and a half."
He might as well get his money's worth out of little Gleska before she and the rest of her family perished in their tragic house fire.
Chapter Ten
Seattle-Tacoma International Airport
Fall meant fog in the Pacific Northwest. The landing lights of the jetliners sweeping in to the runways cut like slow comets through the sinking overcast, and the tops of the hotels along the airport strip faded out of existence in the gathering dusk, illuminated windows diffusing into a golden glow within the mist.
As the bubble elevator climbed the exterior of the Doubletree Hotel tower, Jon Smith watched the sharp edges and details fade from the night. He wore knife-creased army greens, and he was alone for the moment. That would change presently. He was en route to link up with the other members of his team, one a stranger and the other not exactly a friend.
He couldn't blame Fred Klein for his personnel selection. The director's choice had been a logical one. He'd worked with Randi Russell before. They had been thrown together on a number of missions, almost as if fate were perversely entangling their life paths. Smith recognized her as a first-class operator: experienced, dedicated, and highly intelligent, with a weirdly diverse set of talents and a useful capacity for total ruthlessness when required.
But she came with a penalty.
The elevator doors split and rumbled apart, and Smith stepped out into the dusty rose-and-bronze-themed entry of the rooftop restaurant and lounge. The hostess looked up from her podium expectantly.
"My name is Smith. I'm here to join the Russell party."
The hostess's brows lifted, and there was a moment's open and curious appraisal. "Yes, sir. Right this way, please."
She led Smith across the low-lit lounge. Silenced by the dark carpeting underfoot, their steps didn't break the murmur of subtle music and soft conversation. And then Smith understood the hostess's flash of curiosity.
Randi had selected a table in the sunken rear corner of the dining room, an isolated setting partially screened from the other patrons by a decorative planter wall. It was a table intended for privacy, suitable for the quiet planning conference to come.
But it would also serve as a very suitable lovers' rendezvous, and Smith was meeting with not just one exceptionally beautiful woman but with two.
Smith smiled wryly to himself. He hoped the hostess would enjoy her menage a trois fantasy. She would have no idea how totally wrong she was.
"Hello, Randi," he said. "I never knew you could fly a helicopter."
She looked up from the table and nodded coolly. "There's a lot about me you don't know, Jon."
The first few seconds were never easy. The old twist in the guts was still there. Although Dr. Sophia Russell had been the older sister, she and Randi had been like twins. With the passage of time, the resemblance had grown almost eerie.
He wondered sometimes what Randi saw when she looked at him. Likely nothing pleasant.
Randi wore black suede tonight, a jacket, skirt, and boots outfit that matched the flare of her good looks and complemented the multitinted gold of her hair. Her dark eyes held his for a fraction of an instant, then darted away. "Lieutenant Colonel Jon Smith, this is Professor Valentina Metrace."
These eyes were gray under a glossy fringe of midnight-colored hair, and they met his, level and interested, with a glint of humor in their depths. The professor was in black as well, black satin