Chapter 1
"You always have to be a hero, don't you?" It seemed gut-wrenchingly unfair that, at the most inopportune of moments, Sarai Curtiss's accusations could split Roman's mind like lightning, cutting right to fears that lurked in the darkest corners of his heart. And his raw and bleeding bare feet churning up the pavement only drilled that question into his soul.
No, he didn't have to be a hero - just the guy who got it right, who went the distance, especially when it had to do with world peace and international freedom. And nabbing a six-foot two, sweaty Russian smuggler named Gregori Smirnov.
At least, Roman hoped the guy he was chasing was Gregori. The man, dressed in typical Russian-on-holiday attire - a striped dress shirt, cut-off Bermudas, dark socks and tennis shoes, and carrying a backpack, had taken one look at Roman, innocently slurping the ear off a Mickey Mouse ice-cream on a stick, and bolted through the crowd.
Now, wasn't that interesting?
Roman had no choice but to ditch the ice cream and his flip-flops, take off in hot pursuit, and pray he wasn't going to take down a day-trader from Jersey.
Still, it wasn't every day he, a Russian FSB Captain who hunted mafia smugglers for a living spotted what looked like one of Russia 's most wanted strolling out of the Wonders of China exhibit at Disney's Epcot Center . He wasn't about to lose the little rat in the beer halls of Germany , the pagodas of Japan , even the pines of Canada.
Except, Roman had a sick feeling in his gut that Slimeball Smirnov was heading for the American exhibit.
Deep inside, Russians possessed a keen sense of irony.
Roman dodged a family of four pushing a rented double stroller and barely missed being speared by a replica of the Eiffel tower. Verbal descriptions littered his wake as he zagged through the crowd, leaped a planter, and nearly took out a slushy stand. "Perestan Smirnov!"
Gregori didn't even slow.
Roman shot a look behind him. Yes, thank you , his pal David was on his tail. Except, the vacationing Delta Force Captain didn't look happy. In fact, if Roman didn't know better, he would have thought David might be ticked at him.
He'd explain later.
Like, how five months ago, Roman had gone fist-to-fist with Smirnov on his home turf, Khabarovsk , Far East Russia .
Smirnov had dragged Roman through the icy Amur River like kombola bait. And, after Roman wrestled the pirate on the bottom of a fishing skiff, Smirnov had jumped ship, leaving behind his baggage –a silver canister. A heavy silver canister. Twenty kilos, without a doubt. As Roman screwed off the lid, warnings buzzed.
Warnings that seeded the nightmares that tangled his brain in the wee hours of the night. Nightmares fertilized by Roman's day job hunting his countrymen –the ones who made a living parceling out Russia 's only remaining commodities, namely weapons, for cold western Bucksov , or Euros.
For a second, as Roman stared inside the container, time had stopped. Saliva pooled in his throat, and his hands felt clammy.
Paste. Or what looked like it. Odorless. Silvery white.
Probably radioactive, even in minimal doses.
Twenty-five kilos of Highly Enriched Uranium. The fuel for a nuclear bomb. Another Russian commodity for sale.
He'd put the lid back onto the canister, feeling painfully light headed.
Since then, Roman had dedicated his life to not only finding Slimy Smirnov, but unearthing his source. Roman had a sick feeling he'd find answers buried deep inside the Former Soviet Union, namely at one of the untended, decommissioned reactors. But the source wasn't the biggest problem.
It was the supplier. And how did said supplier get his mitts on the nearly 800 kilos of still lethal HEU stockpiled in the FSU?
However, for the last week, Roman had left it all happily, blissfully, behind as he vacationed in Orlando with his Moscow University pal - David Curtiss. They both knew their friendship wasn't easily stomached by the powers that be, and they'd had to submit to more than thorough scrutiny. Still, it was worth the at-a-distance surveillance and guarded conversations to hang out with a guy who still felt like a brother at arms. And, the fact that David shared, no mentored , Roman's Christian walk, made the vacation more than relaxing.
Roman might even call it rejuvenating. A guy who spent most of his time tracking mafia barons and weapons pirates needed a dose of eternal perspective to keep him on task. And, after praying about his current to-do list, it seemed divinely appointed that he might spot his nemesis from across the ocean right under his nose. Too bad Roman was dressed in flip-flops, cargo shorts and a muscle shirt. And, no weapon save the neon necklace he'd purchased for the laser light show that evening.
Thankfully, Disney had some of the best security in the world.
As Roman dodged another yuppie couple, and leaped over the leash tethering their children to their wrists, he could hear said security gathering momentum behind him. He'd consider them backup. As long as they remembered he was one of the good guys.
Don't lose Smirnov.
He saw the guy whiz into the American exhibit –a replica of an old town courthouse.
Tochna! How he hated when he was right. Sorta.
Roman sped into the courtyard, nearly took out a woman with a tray of milkshakes and hotdogs, and flew into the building.
Cool air. It raised gooseflesh on his skin as he stared in horror at the packed lines leading up to the food counter. The smell of French fries and the buzz of excited children echoed off the white tile. Roman's panic filled his chest as he scanned the lines.
No Smirnov. Roman bee-lined to the far door.
Smirnov could be bellying up for a double cheeseburger, O-rings, and a chocolate shake and Roman wouldn't have a hope of spotting him.
Roman scrambled through the crowd and out into the foyer, gripped his knees and hauled in searing breaths.
He saw David enter the building. His dark gaze caught Roman and he stalked his direction. Uh-oh, this didn't bode well for the rest of their vacation. Or Roman's future tourist visa applications. Roman braced himself as he stood and scanned the tourists. Smirnov had to be in that crowd.
Or Roman saw the end of a tour line disappear into a movie theater. He whirled and scooted into the darkened room.
A 360-degree domed screen, trapped air and a blanket of darkness descended over him. The crowd was hushed, many lined up against walls, most clumped in the middle. Roman walked through them, glancing up at faces, then staring at shoes, socks.
A family of six sat down on the floor right in front of him. He nearly tripped over them, mumbled his apologies, stood and turned slowly as the screen lit up.
"I'm sorry sir, but you can't–"
Roman spotted a far door closing, then heard the click and the soft whoosh of sprung-loaded hinges.
He sprinted toward it, ignored the attendant and caught Smirnov racing along the back hallway.
"Perestan!"
Smirnov glanced over his shoulder. Smirked.
It was the smirk that Roman remembered later as he tackled the guy into the World Showcase Lagoon.
Smirnov surfaced kicking, and landed a blow to Roman's jaw that made his head spin. Two-hundred and fifty pounds of wanna-get-away, Smirnov put up a fight that left Roman just a little glad that David hadn't asked questions and dove in after them.
Smirnov roared as David and Roman hauled him ashore. Roman threw him on the deck, kneed him in the back and twisted his hand back in a submission hold.
David sat down next to him, breathing hard. "I'm assuming you have a really good reason for tackling this tourist. One that isn't going to land us both in lockup for the duration of your vacation. Or worse, deport you in your shorts and bare feet."
Roman tightened his hold on Smirnov and patted him down. "Trust me."
He unearthed a soggy Epcot ticket, a disposable camera and a now out-of-commission Nokia.
"What are you looking for?" David asked as he climbed to his feet and wrung out his tee-shirt. "Did he take your five-day pass?" He looked down at Roman and grinned.
And just like that, Smirnov's smirk filled Roman's mind. The backpack.
A shiver of fear crept down Roman's soggy body. He leaned close to Smirnov, who curled his lip in disgust.
"Where is it?" Roman asked, in Russian.
David's smile vanished. He went very still.
Smirnov laughed.
"Where is it, Smirnov?" Roman asked again, this time adding some umphh to his question by digging Smirnov's jaw into the pavement. David moved closer. Roman wasn't sure for Roman's protection - or Smirnov's.
Back off. Roman might not be wearing his black and gold FSB COBRA patch, but he hadn't forgotten his oaths. Or his purpose.
"Where is what?" David asked quietly.
Roman tightened his grip on Smirnov's hand, and was rewarded with a pain-filled grunt. "You'd better hope that backpack only has souvenirs and a bottle of juice, pal, or I swear, I'll turn you over to the Americans. And I'm telling you, they're taking this war on terror thing seriously."
David stared at him. "What's in the bag, Roma?"
In his mind's eye, right behind the reality of happy families watching the Tapestry of Dreams nightly parade, Roman heard screams, saw charred bodies and fire spitting out the remains of the Universe of Energy building and sparking the fireworks now floating in the center of the Lagoon. He read the headlines - Epcot Bombed, hundreds killed - and the resulting investigation that led right back to the shores of Khabarovsk and a botched arrest, one with his name attached.
For a moment, he felt the spur of bittersweet thankfulness that Sarai Curtiss was safely tucked away on the other side of the planet, in a village on the backside of Russia .
Even if he'd never see her again.
He shook away the thought, frustrated that she so easily slid into his brain. Just because he was wet, angry, and facing the brutal realities of terrorist new millennium tactics didn't mean he had to surrender to the realm of what-ifs.
Sarai wasn't going to be more than a blip on his radar. Ever. Again.
Then again, he wasn't going to delete that blip, either. Ever.
Because, while he didn't always have to be the world's hero, he longed to be Sarai's - a woman who had once changed his world with her smile. And while the reasons he dove headfirst into trouble sometimes seemed fuzzy, he knew he had his eyes fixed on one hope.
That someday God would intersect their paths. And this time, Roman wouldn't let her walk away. Not, at least, until he knew why she wanted him out of her world.
Roman resisted the urge to wipe the smirk off Smirnov's face with his knuckles and swallowed against a wall of frustration. "Cuff him," he said to the round of security guards now huffing their way toward the spectacle. "If you do an Interpol search, you'll find a warrant already posted for his arrest."
He let the Disney guards take Smirnov and turned to David. "Who do we need to call to evacuate Epcot Center ?"
For a sunny day, and despite the tan David had cultivated standing in the Tower of Terror line, he turned a fine shade of chalky white.
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