Page 78 of Gryphon

Holly closed her eyes. How had she been so stupid? “Big enough and heavy enough to fit in an MK 22 ASR rifle with scope and rounds?”

Tad considered for a moment. “Diagonally, with the stock folded and the barrel removed. I’d say yes.”

“A pair of those were missing from inventory in Pápa Air Base in Hungary. I’ll bet General Kurbanov had one of those.”

“Why?”

She shifted her attention from Tad to Mike and waited. She saw him thinking it through, damn but it was amazing to watch him at work. No shooting. No breaching charges. He simply stood there in the middle of the Bunker Bar and thought.

“How long to assemble the rifle?”

“Secure the barrel, load, add some optics and a flash suppressor,” Holly would assume the guy wasn’t Special Operations trained but still… “Under a minute.”

“Why the delay between the two shots?” He knew crap about firearms, yet kept asking the right questions. Mike was so sexy when he did this.

“It’s a bolt-action rifle with a five-round magazine.” Holly demonstrated, swinging up a bolt, pulling it back to eject the spent shell, then ram it home and down to shove the next round from the magazine into the chamber. Finally, time to return a hand to the trigger and aim the weapon. About as long as it had taken her to haul Mike out of the copilot’s seat and drag him down into the aisle on top of her.

“But why would he try to kill us?”

“Because,” the woman at the bar spoke, “you were right about coming to Georgia to stop a war in Sweden. Pavle said that his boss had another asset who Pavle knew nothing about.”

“And who’s Pavle?”

“He,” she offered in a slightly haughty tone, “is the second most important man in the Georgian Intelligence Service. And he’s my fiancé.”

“And who are you?”

She stopped and her shoulders slumped. “Me? I’m Elene. I’m nobody.”

Holly wanted to give her a hard shake and some lecture on being somebody—because Holly remembered that feeling all too well herself from the sixteen years of growing up in her parents’ home. But before she put thought into action, Mike spoke up.

“Then who the hell is Kurbanov? Why would a NATO general conspire with a non-NATO country to kill some flight investigators?”

Nobody appeared ready to answer that one.

62

Miranda always adapted quickly to time zone changes. She liked that Meg did the same. However, neither of them could do it in a single night. And because both of them were still on Swedish time, they were up at five a.m. Iceland time and headed outside the ISASI conference hotel for a morning walk in the December darkness. At this time of year, the sun wouldn’t rise for another six hours.

She wore her heaviest parka and given Meg her knitted dog sweater that fit under her Therapy Dog vest. No one on the team had owned up to the kind gift, not that she’d asked. If the giver wished to remain anonymous, that was okay too. Meg appreciated it on these cold days. It was very nice, matching the dark geometrics of the thick Pendleton blanket on Miranda’s bed.

The multi-story glass atrium of the lobby gave the impression of being outdoors with the night beyond the clear ceiling. She hoped that Meg didn’t think she was out of doors until they were actually outside.

“Ms. Chase, going for a walk?” a man sat in the shadows in one of the lobby chairs.

It was the man from the bar last night; he still wore no nametag. Though neither did she as the conference didn’t begin for another four hours and Meg already knew her name.

“I’m sorry about leaving you to pay for my tea. I will…” she reached into her pocket but all she unearthed was her room key and a small roll of compostable dog-waste bags “…have to pay you back later.”

“It was my pleasure. I’m only sorry that you were too tired to enjoy it.”

Meg looked from her to the door. “Excuse me. Meg is waiting.”

“Might I join you?” He rose to his feet and lifted a black woolen trench coat from where it had been draped over the arm of his chair.

She had her noise-canceling headphones in case he became troublesome. She’d rather be alone but Tante Daniels, her childhood therapist and eventual governess, had taught Miranda enough to suspect that would be rude. Nodding her assent, Miranda headed for the door. The man hurried ahead to hold it open for Meg.

The chill…she reached for the weather meter in her vest, except the vest remained in her room. The chill of…several degrees below freezing, wrapped around them.

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