Page 74 of Gryphon

Christmas lay two weeks off. He planned to be long gone by then. Way far away from Holly Harper.

57

Pavle waited at the base of the highest staircase in GIS headquarters. Neither he nor Elene had slept. Instead they’d talked through plots within plots, double crosses, and every other trick he had learned in the GIS—to no avail.

Everything he thought of, so could Chief Kancheli. And once thought of, the counter-move to it was easy enough to see.

Tell the president that Chief K had gone rogue—the president’s family had been murdered by the Russian takeover of the Abkhazia region to the northwest and he would probably be thrilled at arranging a NATO attack on Russia.

Contact the Prime Minister—she and Kancheli had a history longer than the existence of the GIS.

The major general in command of the Georgian Defense Forces—no one would know better how ill-equipped the GDF was to repel a renewed attack. Ukraine had ten times the population and ten times the land area. From occupied Abkhazia and South Ossetia, the Russians could practically hit the three largest Georgian cities with artillery shells. No need for jets, drones, or warships.

Abort the operation—Pavle would be quietly executed and any of a hundred overeager lower ranked staff would step in to finish the job.

Warn NATO—

That one was interesting. Though what hammer could they bring down? Georgia wasn’t a NATO member and they had no direct power. It still seemed the best option. The question then? He couldn’t exactly call the front desk in Brussels and ask for help to stop a war.

Besides, Chief K would have thought of that. Pavle’s phone was bound to be monitored. Worse, for all he knew, Kancheli might have had all of NATO’s phone numbers blocked by the three cell companies and the ten ISPs in the country. It wouldn’t take even that much. The Georgian National Communications Commission only had five members and they controlled everything.

NATO. It was the only viable option he and Elene had come up with. He’d have to find some way to work the NATO angle—after this dreaded meeting with Chief Kancheli.

The chief’s secretary nodded for him to proceed up the stairs. Tamar was a deceptively attractive woman with a model’s flow of brunette hair, a particularly fine face and figure, and a notorious reputation for being utterly vicious. Anyone who spent a lot of time with Chief K would live in a permanent foul mood. Rumors about her ran the gamut, from cold fish all the way to castrating her lovers after their one night with her so that they’d never find pleasure with another. He’d never heard her speak, didn’t even know if she could despite working here for years.

Pavle did know, from the time that he’d dropped a folder to the floor out of pure nerves, that she had an MP5K short barrel submachine gun slotted under her desk close by those lovely long legs. He always treated her with the utmost respect.

He checked his watch, 0800 exactly. Kancheli demanded punctuality.

Two men were in his office when Pavle reached the head of the stairs. They each had coffee and the remains of a Khachapuri. The malty smell of the cheese-and-egg bread boat made him wish he’d been able to eat. He’d skipped breakfast because he didn’t want to barf from pure fear during this meeting.

“Ah, Pavle,” Chief K waved him over. “There is someone I want you to meet. He’s a great admirer of your work.”

He crossed to shake the man’s hand. They traded gamarjobas, good mornings.

“Pavle Rapava, my top analyst. Major General Sandor Kurbanov,” Kancheli offered one of his chilly smiles, “of NATO.”

Pavle felt his own hand go cold in the general’s grasp. There would be no help from NATO, they wanted this war. Their chance to finally confront Russia once and for all.

He wasn’t screwed; he was totally fucked.

58

“Not long now.”

They sat in the Bunker Bar, once more in the same positions they’d occupied four hours ago. He on the stools with Holly and Tad to either side and Max standing across from them.

Now, a large cast-iron skillet rested on a hot pad in the middle of the bar. In it were eggs poached atop a mixture of fried onion, tomato, walnut, and herbs. Max had provided them with forks and torn sections of sourdough bread as they ate communal style. Mike had never eaten Chirbuli before, but paired with the strong Turkish-style coffee, he almost felt as if he’d slept more than the few hours on the couch Max had pointed him to.

Holly looked like she hadn’t slept a single second. Not his problem.

Tad looked as if he’d slept the straight eight of the pure of heart. Mike would really dislike the man if he wasn’t so affable.

Or was he too affable?

He’d kept bantering back and forth with Max about military experience. The Georgian had actually opened up enough to tell some utterly bone chilling stories. He’d been deeply involved against Russia during the 2008 Russo-Georgian War. The only thing that ran deeper than his experience was his anger. It was pretty clear that he was more than half serious about delivering a suitcase nuke to the Russian president in person and pulling the trigger in person just to make sure he got his man.

How had Tad managed to not be in the room each time they discussed the Georgian trip? Because he was behind the scenes pulling strings? Did he really know so little about fixed-wing aircraft? His security clearance and ID had checked out, but that didn’t stop a person from betraying those.

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