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Dragov returned to the hotel at 11:00 p.m. Still there was no sign of Kathy. He lay on his bed in the darkened room and stared up at the ceiling. Normally, at this time, he could force himself to relax, to think clearly about his next move, but as he lay there his mind was raging, partly with concern for Kathy and partly with jealousy. He had emptied himself of all emotion after the death of his wife and child, so these feelings were alien to him. He hadn't had a chance to give of himself for more than two years and now he cursed his stupidity for letting Kathy get close enough to hurt him. He was weak, he raged to himself, weak and foolish. If he became deeply involved with her he would make a mistake, be caught unawares: he was living too dangerously to risk that.
Kathy made her way nervously to the bedroom. Dragov was cold, silent, inwardly furious. She climbed quietly into bed beside him without switching on the light. She cuddled up to him, pushing her boobs into his chest, her legs across him, but he stayed unresponsive. He lay so still that she thought if he moved his bones would break. She forgot all about Tom Dade's warnings, pleased that their roles were reversed, that he was jealous, that she had made him show hurt for a change: hurt was close to love. She moved next to him, teasing him drowsily with her body.
Suddenly his still form uncoiled with a surge of power and speed, his hands seized her wrists and she almost cried out in pain. Then he was on top of her, pinning her down so that she was helpless. She felt, even through the darkness, his eyes burning into hers, she felt his barely suppressed rage like a blast of white heat and for a moment she was afraid that he would kill her, use the great strength in his body to snap her neck like a twig. He said nothing but in that moment she understood the extent of his power and ruthlessness, that now she had become part of him she must never cross or betray him.
He lowered his head and kissed her, still angry but no longer wanting to hurt her. Kathy felt his grip relax. She put her arms around him, pulling hi m down on her, their embrace growing deeper and deeper, their passion surging through all the anger and hurt. Her heart sang because she knew for the first time that he cared and she loved him.430Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGYRcaYQ9go
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Kathy woke up and reached for Dragov, but his side of the bed was empty. From behind the closed bathroom door, she heard him putting himself through his violent exercise routine. She was beginning to loathe his rigid sense of self-discipline. When he came out he was back to his old withdrawn, dangerous, unreachable self and she knew that last night had only been a small victory. She swung her feet over the edge of the bed.
"Tom Dade was trying to grill me for information," she began carefully.
Dragov was silent, his dark eyes watching her.
"He asked about Zoltan," Kathy continued hesitantly.
"What did he ask you?"
"He wanted to know where Zoltan was holed up in proximity to your hotel. I told him I didn't know." Kathy looked up. "You told me about Reed-Henry, but what's Tom Dade doing in this?" she asked.
Dragov didn't answer. He picked up the radio from the bedside table. "Zoltan," he said.
"Yeah," a husky voice replied.
"Some people looking for you?"
"Who?"
"Police."
"Do they have a lead on me yet?"
Dragov looked at Kathy and she shook her head emphatically.
"No," Dragov said. "But move on to the next safe house anyway. I'll do the same in a day or two."
"O.K."
"Is there anyone else we should be watching out for, besides the cops?" Kathy enquired.
"Why do you ask?"
"There was a man in one of the seats during the movie. Tom Dade made sure I'd notice him as if he wanted to gauge my creation."
"Did he give you a name?"
"I think he called him, let's see.....Karakov! That's it! The name was Karakov!" She trembled. "He was a very ugly, evil-looking man. Do you know him?"
Dragov nodded, wondering how much she knew "Karakov is not someone to underestimate. He's deeply involved with the Shadow Syndicate, a dangerous organization that operates in the shadows, dealing with espionage and illicit activities."
Dragov had been growing concerned about the absence of Karakov's flunkies on the streets. Why weren't they checking his movements? Accepted, they had made a deal, but Karakov had pulled his people far too back to be credible; the Anglo-Bulgarian was acting out of character in taking such chances unless he had something stronger to bargain with. A warning note began sounding in Dragov's mind.
"Why should Tom Dade and Reed-Henry be ready to help you?" Kathy asked, perplexed.
Dragov shrugged. "I don't know, all I can tell you is that without the CIA's help, we couldn't begin to rescue Ms. Barton."
Kathy ponders, "Why would the CIA need to resort to such elaborate plans to free her? Why not just leverage their government authority to secure her release? Unless... there's something more to it, something they can't openly address."
"The CIA can't openly address it because of the strategically vital assets Lord Barton controls," Dragov explained. "He holds the power to cut America off from them, which could be catastrophic. There's also the East/West situation. Lord Barton might even sell out to the Russians in protest of his daughter's commitment."
"Isn't there a chance Lord Barton might do that anyway, even if Mischa is rescued?"
"I don't know."
Kathy looked into Dragov's face and was sure he was telling her the truth.
"I don't know," he repeated.
Reed-Henry's motives were something else he had been considering for some time.
"These men represent the authority here; I have no choice but to accept whatever help they give me."
"I don't trust Reed-Henry," Kathy said. "He comes across as a nice guy but he's cunning, like a fox, and he can't be doing this for nothing, he will want some kind of payment."
"I know."
"And Karakov?"
Dragov shrugged as if a great weight were on his shoulders. "The same."
"Well, if we all want Mischa Barton, then whose side are you on?" Kathy asked.
He realized that he was being harsh with her, that Kathy was seeking reassurance that he couldn't give. "Kathy," he said more gently, "the time will come when you may have to judge me for my actions. I can't hope for your understanding until I explain some of the pressures I'm under, and I can't do that right now. Don't ask me any more questions, I can't answer them and I don't want you to expect more of me than I can give. I'm only just one step ahead of the field. I have Zoltan to watch my back but they can hurt me through you. Now can you understand why you have to go back to L.A.?"
He reached out and touched her hair, lifting it off her face. Kathy nodded, realizing that she made him vulnerable.
"When would you like me to leave?" she asked, trying hard to believe in him.
"Soon," he said....."Meanwhile, I want to keep you close to me, for protection," he added, not wanting her to think he was jealous.
Dragov had been very tense as he spoke to her, choosing his words carefully. Now he relaxed and smiled.
"Do you like race cars?"
"I don't know," Kathy answered, trying to match his mood, smiling uncertainly back at him. "I guess I've only seen them on television."
"Well, they're not exactly race cars," Dragov said. "They're ugly, dirty stock cars. Anyway, tonight I want you to meet an old friend of mine."430Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkdFIicNlyN
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After dark Dragov took Kathy into the southern suburbs of Harborview to a crudely built stock-car circuit. They arrived before the start of the first race and found Etienne Dubois in the pits, working on his car. He was a small, slim man with brown hair. His face was badly scarred on one side and his left hand was missing: he used a steel claw instead. Etienne was delighted to see them and embraced Dragov warmly.
"I've been expecting you," he said. "Why didn't you get in touch with me again after you phoned?"
"I was under surveillance," Dragov replied. "I didn't want to lead them to you."
Etienne's attention had turned to Kathy. Traces of the Orient showed in his big dark eyes. He regarded her approvingly.
"I don't know how Dragov found you," he said, taking in their relationship immediately. "But I'm glad he did."
He turned away with the cocky, self-assured air that small men sometimes adopt to make up for their lack of size. "Etienne had a shot at becoming France's top race-car driver," Dragov began. "But he chose to join the Foreign Legion instead." He paused briefly before continuing. "During his service in the Legion, he suffered an injury while on a mission in Algeria. It was a routine operation gone awry. As a result, he was put out of any chance to pursue first-class racing after his Legion contract was up."
"Hey," Etienne was shouting, looking around him. "Where's my son? I talk a lot about you," he said to Dragov. "You know, of the old days, the boy remembers a little. Hey, Pascal, come here."
A skinny eight-year-old made his way timidly around from the back of the car. He took a few more steps under his father's indignant urging and then stopped, overcome by shyness, unable to go any further. Dragov reached out before the boy could protest and swung him lightly into the air.
"Hey, Pascal," he said. "I remember you small and now you are big like your father. Do you do the driving?"
"Not yet," the boy said proudly, his shyness fading fast. He indicated his father. "He won't let me."
"He's my mechanic," Etienne said, his proud love of his son shining in his eyes. "We're a great team."
The hooter sounded.
"Listen, Pascal will look after you, I have to get ready for the race."
"Where's Amélie.?" Dragov enquired.
"She doesn't come here, it worries her to watch me driving.
Etienne pulled a yellow silk scarf out of his pocket and wound it around his neck. Then he climbed in through the window of his car, started the engine, and set off towards the grid. They saw the yellow scarf fluttering through the open window as they walked with Pascal to the stands.
"Amelie, his wife, gave him that scarf for good luck," Dragov told Kathy," soon after he drove his first race. He wore it all through the war in Algeria whenever the Legion went into action."
For a moment Dragov saw the rough bush country of Africa, specifically the Democratic Republic of the Congo, gleaming in the sunlight. The job involved providing security for a mining operation in a remote region plagued by insurgent activity. Zoltan and Eitenne were still alive, but sadly, one of their comrades, a former SAS operative named Ian, died during a skirmish with rebel forces. It was a harrowing experience that left a lasting impact on Dragov and Etienne, shaping their views on loyalty and the harsh realities of their profession. Kathy saw the sadness in his face for a moment before he could hide it. She wanted to ask him more about Etienne and how he came by his injuries but then she remembered the boy, Pascal, was there.
The V8 beat of enormous motors filled the stand with a rumble like life ammunition exploding, popping, banging, and spluttering. Sheets of flame jetted out of exhaust studies that were raised above the roof. Some old racing hand was using Castrol oil and the distinctive race-car smell of two decades ago hung in the air. The commentator was whipping the crowd to fever pitch when the flag went down and the great cars careered away with an ear-splitting roar. Pascal stood between Dragov and Kathy, clinging grimly to their hands as he watched his father's car hurtle around the track. Etienne had started well back on the grid.
"The others won't let him pass!" Kathy shouted indignantly, getting caught up in the excitement of the race. "They won't let him through!"
The cars were cannoning off each other as they tried to find a gap and the crowd screamed for blood. Etienne came up behind a slower car, into the inside corner of the lead car's tail, and gave it a nudge. He backed off fractionally to keep clear while the forward car went wide and missed the corner, then spun out of control against the wire.
"You see that, you see that!" Pascal screamed as his father took the lead and moved ahead. "Only the very top drivers can do that and my dad's the best!"
Kathy winced. The driver of the front car had stood on his brakes. Etienne had slammed into his tail and bounced back, the car behind smashed into him and shunted him on. There was a noise of rumbling engines and twisting metal, then the cars disengaged, with Etienne racing ahead. Nobody could catch him after that and he made it first to the finish line.
The first race ended. Exhaust fumes and dust hung in the glare of the arc lights. Kathy realized that she had been shouting herself hoarse alongside Pascal and she was weak from the excitement and violence of the race. She saw ambulances standing by some overturned cars.
"Don't they hurt themselves when they crash like that?" she asked Dragov anxiously, picturing Etienne's already damaged body being violently tossed around inside the cab.
"No," he assured her. "These men know what to expect and they are well strapped in. There's hardly ever a serious accident."
They followed Pascal back to the pits as the cars came in, decelerating, shooting sheets of flame through the exhaust pipes to please the crowd. Etienne had unstrapped himself and was climbing out through the window by the time they arrived. The doors were welded shut and the windows had been taken out and replaced with wire mesh. The roof was reinforced with roll bars and the suspension had been lowered so the center of gravity of the car lay close to the ground. Etienne's cheek was bleeding from a stone that had found its way through the protective wire. Kathy wet a cloth and sponged away the blood. Etienne was pale, more shaken by the 3-car crash than he cared to admit.
"I'll give you a hand," Dragov offered. "What do you want me to do?"
"Grab a hammer, then," Etienne offered. "This isn't like the Forumla One pits. When you work on a stock-car it's normally with a hammer, straightening it out."
Dragov began working, beating out the fenders.
"What did you think of the are?" Etienne asked.
Kathy looked around at the other cars in the pits, like metal monsters, their drivers pounding them back into shape.
"I'm not sure," she shrugged. "So much noise, so much violence---it's like watching gladiators destroy one another."
Etienne nodded. "That's what the crowd comes for, they like to think they're smelling blood. Most of the accidents are more spectacular than dangerous, as long as you know what you're doing."
His son came up beside him and he rested his arm on the boy's shoulder. "Once I used to drive Formula Ones." It was important to him that she knew that he hadn't always been just a stock-car racer. "It was like riding a thoroughbred," he said. "The harness, the steering wheel, and the fact that it's got four wheels are about Formula One's only similarity with the stock car."
She knew he was telling her that it was like coming down to earth and playing the clown after having been on the high wire. She didn't know what to say and he didn't seem to expect any words; he was just glad that she understood.
The hooter sounded the start of the second race. As cars peeled into safety fences or piled up and turned over Kathy clung to the railing beside Pascal, reminding herself of his words: the accidents were supposed to be more spectacular than dangerous. She also began to understand that Etienne was a very good driver. He won his heats all through the evening At the end of the meeting she realized why there had been so many violent crashes, for the sponsors paid out not only to the fastest drivers but to those who had driven in the most crowd-pleasing manner.
They made their way down to the pits. Etienne had come business with the management, and by the time he came out the lights were going off and most of the crowd had gone. He looked tired but as soon as he saw them he forced a smile.
"Hey," he said, tapping the check in his breast pocket, "it was a good evening, now we must celebrate. Do you have a car? Good, then follow Pascal and me home."
"What about Amelie?" Dragov asked warily.430Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWX09TE1Mwv
"Amelie's expecting you, don't worry, it'll be alright." Etienne looked into Dragov's face. "Come back with me, old friend," he said. "We haven't spent an evening together in a long time." 430Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXkPSzS3Lxm
