“You can’t be sure.”
“We didn’t want to harm anyone; we only tried to embarrass your government.”
Jonathan shook his head. “This doesn’t redeem your disregard for human life. You’re evil, pure evil, Colonel Mariya Rulyova.”
She frowned. “Then so is everyone else involved, including your brother.”
Jonathan was getting angry, and he quickly realized it wasn’t a good idea to continue down that path. “Do you understand my frustration, Mariya? I only want to find my brother. I don’t want to judge him, or you, or anyone else. I am...” He couldn’t finish his thought. His sadness had suddenly choked his voice and filled his mind with images of young Matt at their home, at the levee, at the lighthouse and with their playful Dobermans.
“Are you sure the man Yakovlev rescued was your brother?”
“Yes,” Jonathan murmured.
“When the mission failed, I asked Yakovlev to clean up the mess, but I didn’t ask for details. I simply wanted him gone from my circle. My last dealings with him was to transfer his responsibilities at the Air Force Academy, partly to cover my tracks. I could not afford to be exposed. All I know is that a man was picked up in the Baltic and returned to a military clinic near Leningrad.”
“And then what?”
“I don’t know. For me, the dossier was no longer my concern. But knowing the way things worked back then, I don’t believe your brother stood much of a chance.”
“Someone, somewhere must know what happened to him.”
She leaned forward and looked into Jonathan’s eyes, her hand briefly resting on his lap. And with psychotic smoothness, she transformed her facade into one of compassion. “I’m sorry. I just don’t know. I purposely chose to know nothing more about that affair. And then, not long after, the world around me became insane, unimaginable, petrifying. The August Coup. The corruption. The collapse of our government institutions. A real disaster—the Soviet Union disintegrated, with most of our intelligence services left in disarray. And many people went missing, either defecting, joining the mafia or simply falling victim to revenge. Archives were mishandled or destroyed. Each ministry was in shambles. It was a prolonged agony, knocking my country to its knees. So to keep track of one sick foreign spy was obviously not my priority.” She sat back in her seat and returned to nursing her cigarette.
“Then help me find him. I’ve helped you with my information. It’s only fair. Or do you not understand fairness in your line of work?”
“There is no need to insult me further,” she said. She looked out the window again and added, “Ah, we’ve arrived.”
Jonathan glanced out. A cluster of pine trees and an open gate came into view as the car slowed to a crawl. They turned onto a snow-covered driveway and headed into the property. At the end of the path stood a small one-story house, its dark wood siding somewhat dilapidated. A brick chimney spewed smoke. The cottage was surrounded by trees and looked like the kind of cozy place where one would hibernate all winter and even into summer.
The car stopped right in front.
“Don’t say anything,” Mariya said coldly. “I’ll do the talking. I haven’t seen this person in years.”
“Who is it?”
“You’ll see.”
They got out, Mariya’s two bodyguards leading the way. The taller of the two knocked at the door with his bulky hand, which Jonathan imagined had broken a few jaws in the past.
The door opened, and a man in his sixties answered. He had short, silver hair, his eyes small and beady. He looked surprised to have visitors, even more so when he spotted Mariya. He said a few words to her in Russian.
She responded coolly, though Jonathan had no clue what they’d exchanged. The man appeared to be uncomfortable with her presence, but he opened the door wide and waved them in. Mariya nodded for Jonathan to go in first. Her bodyguards stayed outside.
She introduced Jonathan to the man only by his first name, and then in English said, “This is Doctor Karmachov, one of Russia’s finest scientists.”
Jonathan shook his hand as his memory instantly replayed Vlad’s words during the prison visit. Karmachov was one of the men waiting for Vlad at that strange farm that had only rabbits and squirrels.
Karmachov, who walked with a mild limp, ushered his guests into the home and pointed at the table that separated the living room from the rustic, open kitchen. Mariya sauntered ahead of Jonathan and seemed to scan the entire room.
“He’s offering us a drink, so sit down,” Mariya abruptly said to Jonathan as Karmachov took a full bottle of vodka from the cabinet and clumsily removed the top, his hands shaky, his glances nervous. Jonathan sensed that this was no joyous reunion for the two Cold War veterans.
“Doctor Karmachov and I go back a long while,” she said, sitting down. “Since the late ’70s.”
“Does he speak English?”
“Hardly any, so you’ll have to be patient.”
Karmachov joined them at the table carrying the bottle and three glasses. He spoke with Mariya as he poured the booze, but she didn’t translate his words. It wasn’t until five minutes into the conversation that she turned to Jonathan with something to say. “I told him you’re an American official with some important information to share.”
“And what exactly do you want me to share?”
“It doesn’t matter. Just say anything—a sentence or two. I’ll decide what he hears.”
Jonathan nodded and sighed, wondering what this woman was up to this time. He thought it might help to be funny. If anything, it would throw her off a bit.
“My penis is so long, it has an elbow.”
Mariya briefly cracked a smile but then returned to her stoic facade. “Good, you understand.” She then spoke with Karmachov, no doubt saying something completely different. And judging from Karmachov’s expression, her words were not pleasant.
“What did you tell him?”
“That you have an international arrest warrant for him in connection with the air crash in 1989.”
“You’re joking.”
“I am completely serious,” she replied sternly, leaning back into her chair.
Karmachov protested, banging his fist on the table and raising his voice.
Mariya responded, her voice calm but her words surely cutting him to shreds. She was methodical. Calculating. Dangerous. “He’s asking on what basis you are arresting him.”
“He has exceeded the amount of nostril hairs permitted under international environmental treaties.”
Mariya gazed vacantly at Jonathan, having gained the ability to repel the effects of his humor. She turned to the angry scientist and spoke some more, and again Jonathan asked what she’d said.
“I told him that we know that he betrayed his country. That he was the only person other than me who knew the cargo was wired with explosives. Not even his closest colleague, Doctor Vadenko, knew this.”
“And,” she continued, “he had a motive. He was enraged that he wouldn’t be able to leave Russia, as he was promised.”
“Vlad too was promised that,” said Jonathan, “and he too wasn’t happy about not going.”
“That’s different,” she said, appearing surprised that Jonathan knew about that. “Vlad found out much later that he wouldn’t be leaving. This bastard was told a few hours before the rendezvous with the aircraft.”
“Why did you plan for them to go to Europe if you had rigged the plane to blow up in the U.S.?”
“That was the deal. The Americans paid good money for the cargo. They got visas for Karmachov, Yakovlev and four others of Yakovlev’s choice to leave Russia, and I didn’t want to make the Americans suspicious by not allowing them to leave. Remember, the Americans had already purchased other weapons systems and relocated seven scientists. But that was done before we caught on to Operation Tranquility.”
Jonathan was trying to piece this all together. “Why did you change your mind?”
“That day, I had a strange feelin
g. I couldn’t accept the risk that my top scientist would leave, even if it was for a few days. I wasn’t sure he’d ever come back. It was bad enough to have Yakovlev—who was often just plain drunk and careless—roaming around Western Europe or Canada.”
Karmachov blurted out something, after which she lobbed a response—from the sounds of it, an insult.
“Nyet, nyet!” Karmachov shouted. He now looked defiant rather than defensive.
“Vresh!” she shot back. “Fucking liar!”
It became clear to Jonathan that she wasn’t seeking answers from this man. She was out for blood. He saw it in her incendiary eyes.
Karmachov shouted some more and again banged his fist on the table.
Mariya glanced at Jonathan, her rage climaxing. “He says he did what he thought was right,” she said, finishing her words with a hiss. “He didn’t want to kill any civilians.”
Jonathan considered this possible. Perhaps Karmachov wasn’t vengeful at being denied travel to the West, but rather was repulsed by the fact that an unknown number of innocent Americans would be infected by the detonation. “He would be right to think that.”
Mariya scoffed and Karmachov rambled. “He is lying. He just wanted us to fail; it was revenge.”
Jonathan was about to say something when Mariya brought her purse up from her lap, dug into it and took out a chrome-plated revolver, pointing it at Karmachov, who immediately shut up. She spoke at length this time, raising her voice more with each sentence.
Jonathan bolted to his feet. “Mariya, calm down!”
“Quiet! I’m explaining to him why he’s a coward, a traitor, an undeserving scum. I’m telling him what you told me—that the Americans were warned that the plane would explode.”
Jonathan began feeling sorry for the scientist. Anything was possible with Mariya, and there wasn’t a thing Jonathan could do. “Maybe someone else found out about the explosives?” Jonathan suggested, quickly constructing another possible explanation in hopes of averting bloodshed. “Perhaps they found out by tapping his phone or by some other means.”
“I don’t think so,” Mariya said with the iciness of a madwoman.
“Put that gun away. Let’s talk with him in a civilized manner, for God’s sake!”
Mariya returned a burning stare and said, “He’s a treasonous bastard who deserves to die.”
“Don’t!” Jonathan pleaded, now thinking of lunging at her to stop the insanity.
Karmachov gripped the edge of the table, the rest of his body remaining frozen in his chair.
“After everything we’ve done for him,” Mariya said. “Unlike his unpleasant colleague, Doctor Vadenko, he was one of the most decorated scientists at Biopreparat. He was given the most expensive Western instruments, the most talented staff and the cleanest laboratories. And all for what? To betray our country? To put our security in the hands of American spies?”
Karmachov’s shoulders sank. His eyes shifted frantically between Mariya and Jonathan. He spoke a few words, but Mariya seemed oblivious to the scientist’s desperation. Her grip on the gun seemed to tighten.
Jonathan became angrier. “What is he saying—and don’t lie to me!”
Mariya also stood up, steadfastly holding her weapon straight out in front of her, the barrel pointed at Karmachov’s face. “He says...he’s admitting it. It’s true, it’s all true. He called Yakovlev’s American contact to put an end to the—” She then interrupted herself and yelled at him in Russian.
Jonathan couldn’t be sure that she was accurately translating what Karmachov had said. Her words now sounded too self-serving.
The scientist looked like a man trying to crawl out of his own skin. But there was no escaping. Mariya was the master of ceremonies, her eyes bright with fury, her veins bubbling with adrenaline.
Jonathan gripped the back of his chair with both hands, anticipating the worst. “Please, put the gun down.” He quickly pondered knocking the weapon out of her grip, but what of the two men outside? The act would be futile, perhaps ending in two corpses instead of one. “Don’t do this.”
She glanced coldly at Jonathan. “You should want him dead, too. If it weren’t for his actions, your brother would be safe today.”
“If it’s vengeance you want, Mariya, then settle the score without me. I want no part of—”
An earsplitting bang burst through the room. Karmachov’s forehead ripped open from the high-caliber round, his body falling back with his chair and slamming on the floor.
“Holy shit!” Jonathan barked, eyeing Mariya in horror as she lowered her gun. A plume of smoke snaked out of the barrel. “You fucking nut job!” He stepped back, bumping up against the window sill behind him. “Jesus! Jesus Christ!”
“Calm down,” she said, as if Jonathan was the one being unreasonable.
“You killed him, you freak!”
She slipped the gun back into her purse and glanced at Jonathan with a crooked smile. “I hope so.”
Jonathan didn’t want to move. From his vantage, he only saw the surface of the slightly bloodstained table, and not the body that lay on the floor behind it. He’d seen too much death since his Victory Lines case had taken him down this twisted path—more bodies and bloodshed in less than two weeks than most criminals witness in an entire lifetime.
Her bodyguards rushed into the house and quickly grasped what had happened. Judging from their sterile expressions, perhaps they had already known her intentions. Her driver picked up both Mariya’s and Jonathan’s glasses, emptied the remnants into the sink and threw them in a clear plastic bag that he had pulled out of his pocket.
Mariya pushed a cigarette out of her pack and lit it with a surreal calmness.
“Are you shocked?” she asked, her voice devoid of emotion.
“Oh, no,” Jonathan said, sarcastically. “I think it’s perfectly normal to kill someone in cold blood and then relax with a smoke.” His pulse continued to quicken.
She then shook her head as the fine, long hair fanned over her slender shoulders. She raised her chin and met Jonathan’s gaze. “Have sex with me, and I will help you.”
Are you nuts? Jonathan said silently and shook his head in disbelief. Of course she is. He crossed his arms. “You need to check into the nearest mental clinic. They have those here, don’t they?”
Mariya moved toward the American and dipped her hand into her purse. “His bedroom is over there, behind the kitchen. Fuck me like you’ve never done before, and I will help you find your brother. Refuse, and I will kill you like I did Karmachov. If you think I’m so evil, then I want to live up to it.”
Jonathan was both scared and livid. If he’d had a gun, he’d have shot her as one would a venomous snake. But it was she who was armed.
“Well?” she said, appearing impatient and perhaps insulted that Jonathan had not already yielded. “Keep moving,” she added as he slowly walked through the kitchen, toward to the bedroom.
It would be just a fuck, a demented fuck in return for something of value, to end this nightmare once and for all, Jonathan thought, before quickly feeling guilty about Linda and repulsed that he’d even considered such a thing. Over my dead body, you crazy whore. He grew angrier as he watched Mariya strut her body his way.
She waited for an answer, her hand still hidden in her purse, probably grasping her gun. She briefly turned and said something to the driver as he headed out with his colleague. She then gazed back at Jonathan. “Come on, let’s have a little fun together.”
Her twisted smile sickened him.
“And you’d better last more than thirty minutes.”
Aside from the sole redeeming quality of her amazing physical features, everything about this woman was repulsive. Everything, including her very existence.
“Is this the only way you can get pleasure?” Jonathan said spitefully. “To torture someone into touching you? You have no dignity.”
“I can be with anyone I want,” she barked back, her hand emerging from her purse wit
h the gun pointed at him, and he realized that if he didn’t give in, death might come his way.
Jonathan glanced at Karmachov’s metal-framed bed and turned his gaze back at the woman. He slowly stepped backward until he felt his legs butt up against the edge of the mattress. He stared at the armed woman approaching him, reckless mischief painted across her face. Raising the gun to aim at Jonathan’s face, she dropped her purse and began unbuttoning her blouse with her other hand. She untucked it and flaunted her shapely breasts. Her hand slid down her leg. She gripped her skirt and raised it until her inner thighs were fully exposed. She wore no underwear. A thin glaze of perspiration coated her smooth, inviting flesh.
“Have me,” she declared in a loud whisper.
He felt himself weakening, but as he watched a nearly nude Mariya swaying in front of him, images of Linda lying on a hospital bed suddenly flooded his mind. He saw Linda’s helpless gaze, her struggle to survive.
He knew that what he would say next could get him killed. “Nothing is worth betraying my wife. You of all people should know what betrayal means. You just killed a man for that reason. So, respect my decision to say no. I can’t. I won’t. No matter how much I want your help to find what happened to my brother, I cannot sell my soul in return for that knowledge.”
Mariya let go of her skirt and sighed. “I can make you.”
“No, you can’t,” Jonathan said. “There must be something in you, somewhere deep inside, that makes you human and compassionate. There just has to be. And this is where I draw the line. You are an incredibly attractive woman, but I can’t betray the one person who has held my world together for so long.”
Mariya was angry, but probably not hurt. Women like her don’t get heartbroken, or they certainly wouldn’t dare show it, Jonathan thought. Instead, they inflict pain on others as if to soothe their own insecurities, their own dissatisfaction with life. But Jonathan wasn’t about to get lured into feeling sorry for her. She was evil.
Suddenly the sound of a phone rang out from Mariya’s handbag. She lowered her revolver and frowned at Jonathan before retrieving the phone.
Jonathan glanced at her uncovered chest. It looked tender, flawless.
Tranquility Denied Page 27
