“Close enough.” Val waved a hand in the air. “Okay, so this is the gist. When your clearance or investigation comes through tomorrow morning, you get to be my partner for this operation.” She nodded to herself and put on the blinker marking her intent to exit the road.
Smith considered the words for a moment. “I thought I was working with you already. What aren’t you telling me?”
She glanced over at him and winked. “That’s top secret. I’ll tell you when your clearance comes through.”
He nodded. Rational, if not a little unsettling. Val turned again and drove down a road leading them into the countryside. The clouds parted, and the sun streamed through the windshield. It was a beautiful area, and he’d been raised in a rural town like it. Vast land between houses used to be the norm. The last time he’d driven by his childhood house, the once-vacant areas were filled with new mini-mansions. His father and mother had painted and renovated since he left. However, the iron gate that blocked the driveway was still adorned with the “Y,” indicating they still owned the property.
“How often have you practiced your Russian?” Val asked him in the language.
He replied in kind. “Often. Whenever I visit Brighton Beach, which everyone calls Little Odessa, I speak only Russian. There are several restaurants in New York, Russian neighborhoods, and enforcers who do the same thing as me, and I converse with them.” He extended his answer because he knew she wanted to see how proficient he was with the language. “What about you?” he asked, still speaking in Russian.
“I learned it when I joined Guardian. French, Italian, and Russian. Those are the countries where I’m most utilized.” She shrugged. “I’m trying to learn Arabic. It’s a work in progress.” Her pronunciation was fluid, and her accent was neutral.
Smith continued in Russian. “Do you say you’re American?”
She glanced at him. “Depends on the mission. Americans aren’t hated in Russia. American politics are. Americans have money and sometimes contacts that are hard for certain people inside Russia to make. Through Guardian, I’ve supplied valuable information. My acquaintances are on the Bratva fringe, and I’ve never been questioned or accosted. Well, except for once.”
“What happened?” He’d gladly twist the head off anyone with the balls to accost Val.
“A young Brigadier within the Bratva wanted access to the political influence he thought I had. I refused his command and told the young man to grow up before he played with the big boys.”
“How did that go over?” He could only imagine the young man’s wounded pride.
“There was a heated discussion.” She shrugged. “He didn’t worry me. He was just a young bull trying to push me around. I can handle myself.”
Smith chuckled, and her head whipped in his direction. “Do you doubt my capabilities?”
He glanced over at her. “No. I’m sure you handle weapons very well.”
She snorted. “I’m better with my hands.”
“That you are.” As he recalled vividly from last night.
She rolled her eyes. “Thank you, but no, not that. I could take you down. Quickly, I might add.” She slowed and signaled to turn down a gravel road.
That time, he laughed. “I saw the hijacker on the aircraft. The damage you inflicted was apparent.”
“Yet, I still hear the doubt in your voice.” Val glanced at him before pointing through the windshield. “That’s mine. It’s an old Mill cottage. Over that hill is the Manor House. The owners are elderly and just wanted a steady rental income. I’m rarely here, so they aren’t inconvenienced. They can pay their bills, and I keep the place nice.”
Smith took in the view of the small house. It was two stories, built of stone with a roof that sagged just a bit between the two windows of the second floor. A red frame and the same color front door between two larger windows looked inviting. The grounds were meticulously maintained.
“I have a contract with the manor owner’s landscaping company.” Val seemed to know what he was thinking, which would have been irritating with anyone else. He prided himself on his lack of expression. She put the vehicle in Park, and Smith gratefully pulled himself out of the front seat. He rolled his shoulders and stretched to the cloud-covered sky, his back popping several times. “Would you get the basket from the boot, please?” Val asked as she headed to the cottage.
He obliged, pulling what looked like an oversized picnic basket out of the back of the car. He ducked down to enter the little house and was pleasantly surprised at the inside. A small sofa and a large, overstuffed chair were positioned in front of the recessed wood-burning stove. The ceilings were higher than he’d expected and were adorned with exposed beams. Underfoot, he stood on quarry tiling. There was a rug in front of the couch and chair.
All in all, it was a nice place. The kitchen was small and functional. He heard footsteps upstairs.
“I’ll be right down,” Val called out.
Smith put the basket on the kitchen counter and exited the cottage, taking in the view from the front door. A small wooden bridge spanned a brook where he assumed the old mill must have been located. The trees were full of leaves and turning colors. There was a crisp feel in the air and no noise except for the sound of birds in the trees, the light babble of water in the brook, and the ripple of a breeze through the leaves. A cornerstone placed at the base of the small cottage marked the year 1560. He gazed at the huge trees and wondered if any had seen the place being built.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Val said from behind him.
“It is. Peaceful.” He nodded.
“Okay, so we have lunch. Inside or al fresco?”
“Do you think the rain will hold off?” He nodded at the clouds.