“You and your father aren’t close.” Gabe’s understated comment drew Marina’s attention from the passing scenery of scrubby brown grass and rolling hills.
“No. Not at all.” Talking—or even thinking—about her relationship with her father wasn’t something she indulged in often. It was too messy. Easier left alone.
“Why is that?”
“You trying to make conversation or are you just being nosy?” she replied. But her voice wasn’t angry.
“Both. You fought getting involved in this with both arms flailing, and now you’re trying to lead the charge. That kind of change of heart makes me curious. It didn’t seem like concern for Victor was the driving force behind your change, either.”
Perhaps she owed it to Gabe, who was accompanying her on this journey, some explanation. “I didn’t want to get involved because I’ve spent my adult life, and much of my adolescence, trying to get past him, to forget about him. He was never a father to me in any way that mattered—except that he gave me life. I dealt with it. Grew up without him, without Daddy-Daughter Dances and a cheering father at my sporting events … .and without the glowering, dominant figure sizing up my dates when they came to pick me up.
“I handled it. Put it away. Lived with it, and grew into a normal person. Put him out of mind. And preferred to leave him there. Except when I had to do my duty on Father’s Day. His birthday. You know.”
“Then we showed up.”
“Yeah. At that point, I lost control of my life—the one I’d tried so hard to manage and keep normal. The one I’d kept him out of. So, at first, I did the barest thing I could: I talked to you and Bergstrom. And then all hell broke loose.”
“Normal? You call what you do normal?” The corners of his eyes crinkled when he laughed.
She also appreciated his gracious change of subject. “It’s normal to me. Did I mention that I’m stubborn, and once I get started on something—thrown full-force into it—there’s no stopping me?”
“You didn’t have to.” He glanced at her, his gaze lingering a bit too long. “So why do you do all those things?”
“You mean, why is a nice girl like me not settling down with a regular job, a husband, and a couple kids?” The little bit of attraction she might have felt waned.
“No,” he said. “I mean why do you fly and cave and go down the Amazon and eat mopane worms? If you’d knock the chip off your shoulder, you’d probably stop reading between the lines and hearing things that aren’t there.”
Marina’s fingers uncurled and she found herself giving him a genuine smile. “Sorry.” She glanced out the window, formulating her thoughts before responding. “I want to make a difference in the world. I want to live life to the fullest and experience everything I can, and if I can help people at the same time, I will. I have nothing to lose.”
“Except your life. You told me the other day you weren’t a spy, a Sidney Bristow. But you do things that are even more dangerous sometimes. That cave rescue in Pennsylvania wasn’t a cakewalk.”
“No. But it had to be done, and since I don’t have a family waiting for me, I take the risks so that others don’t have to.”
“So,” he said casually, his wrist leveraging the steering wheel. “What’s with you and the tall guy—Bruce?”
Marina looked at him, and when she didn’t respond right away, he looked over at her. Challenging, brows raised, a tiny smirk at the corner of a wide, sexy mouth. He needed a shave.
“What’s with you and Helen Darrow?” she countered, thinking how that stubble would scrape against her skin.
“Well,” he gave a short laugh, returning his attention to the road. “You’re either sharper than I gave you credit for, or you’re damned lucky.”
Marina shrugged, pleased that her guess had been confirmed. “I notice things.”
“It’s been almost five years,” he told her, his voice nonchalant. “Just before she transferred to Chicago. Haven’t seen her since. So how about Bruce? “
“He’s married.”
“I saw the ring. But I also saw the way he looked at you.” He jabbed a finger in the air. “I notice things too.”
“Like I said, he’s married. Looks don’t mean a thing.” She turned to look out the window, effectively ending the conversation, suddenly feeling as vast and lonely as the flat lands that stretched alongside the highway.
They stopped only for lunch, eating beef-and-gravy-laden pasties which Gabe, who was from West Virginia, had never had before, and then continued their journey. Between the map and the directions printed on the sheet of paper, they easily found their way to … .
“This is it?” Gabe turned to stare at Marina, his hands poised on the wheel as if ready to yank it into a turn-about. His weapon rested in his lap, slipping into the space between his jeans-clad thighs.
“This is it. A patch of grass in the middle of nowhere. Hills to the north, trees to the west. No sign of life or a place to meet.” Marina craned her neck to look around. It wasn’t as if anyone could be waiting in ambush—there was nowhere to hide.
“Remind me what we’re supposed to be doing here.”
Marina chose not to respond. Since she’d gotten them here in one piece, she rather felt he should keep his comments to himself.
With a snap, she unbuckled her seatbelt and yanked the handle to open the door.
The air was warmer than it had been when they left the airport, but still cool enough that she needed the coat. Tucking the gloves into her pocket, she strolled away from the Land Rover as much to give her legs a stretch as to clear her mind.
There had to be a reason they were led to this place. The directions were in a bag kept by Bran and George; despite the fact that they were in English, it seemed odd that they would have gone through the trouble of putting them together in order to trick her and Gabe. After all, they couldn’t have planned for Marina’s aerobatic escape.
She stood in the middle of the field. It wasn’t so very large, maybe ten or twelve acres worth of scraggly brownish-green grass. A firm breeze dashed over the small meadow, tufting and shifting the taller grasses, and she inhaled deeply. Beautiful. Clean and fresh.
Nothing like the polluted oxygen she and the majority of Americans ingested.
Despite her Russian roots, Marina had never been to the Soviet Union or even as far north as she was now. Perhaps she’d been wary of getting too close to her lost family. But now, as she looked around at the world under the startling blue sky and the brilliant sun that would barely sleep that night, she recognized a unique beauty in the Arctic.
Yet another facet of Gaia’s magnificence.
Gaia?
Just for a moment, she’d felt a kinship … a oneness with the world around her. Nature, raw and untouched, and alive. And she remembered that it was threatened, every day. That places like this remote area, virginal and new, were disappearing.
And she started to understand what her people felt. The greatness, the majesty of their planet.
The earth—Gaia—was one with them. In order to survive, they had to protect her.
“Ready to head back?”
She hadn’t heard Gabe approach from behind; hadn’t even heard him slam the truck door. “Not yet. No. Let’s walk over there.” She pointed to the low hills studded with pines.
“Marina—“
“It’s the closest thing to mountains around … and that’s where the Skalas live. In Taymyria, anyway. It’s worth checking it out.”
“Something wrong?”
“It’s beautiful here. I was just appreciating her. Nature.”
“Yeah.” Gabe didn’t sound convinced, and she noticed he still held the gun in his hand. “All right, sixty minutes to check out the hills, then we head back and check in with Bergstrom. I’ll call him on the sat phone when we leave.”
Marina was already several yards away, and Gabe jammed the weapon into the waistband of his jeans.
The look on her face when he approached her had been one of intensity and concentration. She was standing there like she owned the world. Her hands thrust into the pockets of her jacket, eyes clear and bright, and her long, slim nose tipped red by the chill breeze.
And here he was, following the damn woman for a hike around some hills when he should be calling Bergstrom. Maybe they’d cracked Bran and George by now and there were some facts to go on.
He looked toward where he’d last seen Marina, and she was gone. He stepped up the pace and approached the base of one of the small hills.
“Tire tracks,” he heard her call, and indeed there were the two narrow strips of pressed-down grass that indicated a vehicle’s passage. The tracks were on the far end of the field from where their Land Rover was parked, explaining why they hadn’t noticed them.
The direction of the trail was easy to follow, and they hurried along between the two tire lines as it wound around one of the hills.
The far sides of the hills were rocky and jagged with shale; more like small mountains than the hillocks cupping the meadow. The tire tracks led right into a throng of trees that grew between the vee of two hills.
Marina looked at Gabe and put her hands on her hips. “I’ll bet you the entire Bond DVD collection that there’s a cave in there.”
He looked toward the low-growing, scrubby pines. “This is your bailiwick and I’m not betting. You’re right.” He resisted the urge to pull her back and allow him to go first; somehow they’d evolved from an expert protecting a civilian to equal partners. Besides, she wouldn’t go for it anyway.
Marina found the narrow passageway that whatever vehicle it had been, had gone through. They followed the trail, stepping on a matt of rust-colored pine needles that had probably been collecting there for centuries; millennia, perhaps. Only yards beyond the trees a crust of grey rock jagged from the hill, and as they approached, Marina edged up next to it.