Hunting The Kobra

by Cooper-Posey, Tracy

  Aslan did not hesitate. He did not drop his voice. “Among other things,” he said evenly, “Methyl difluorophosphite is used to produce Sarin gas.”

  The beat of the engines at the bottom of the boat, the susurrations of water along the side, the murmur of the diners, even the whistle of the wind in the eaves of the boat, all swelled together to become a high-pitched note in her mind.

  Only, Aslan had not finished yet. “In the warehouse you stood over, this morning, is three metric tons of methyl difluorophosphite. Two weeks ago, I opened bidding for it. At the moment, Russia is leading. They badly need Sarin. All they can produce is Ricin, which grows unstable after a few weeks. Sarin never goes off.”

  It was an oddly curious factoid for a surreal subject. Did you know Ricin is so unstable it goes off after a few weeks, rendering chemical weapons useless? Damn, huh…?

  Quinn realized she was breathing shallowly, her fingernails digging into the linen. She had lost sight of Aslan, even though her gaze had not shifted from his face. Everything had blurred. It was all true. Everything Dima had told her about Aslan was true. She was sitting at the lunch table with a monster.

  He loved Denis, too. It was the smallest of whispers, yet she grasped it and held on. It was her lifeline. It made sense, when nothing he had said in the last few minutes did.

  This was why she was sitting here. She was doing this for Denis.

  Denis. Remember that.

  Quinn made herself breathe and blinked to refocus on Aslan’s face once more. He had watched her reaction and likely had read her dismay.

  He said in the same conversational tone, “I have made a great deal of money selling base chemicals around the world. It is pocket change compared to what I have made selling precursors. Countries who want no one to know they are sourcing chemical weapons in defiance of the Chemical Weapons Convention will pay far above the fair market value. The prices they pay guarantee discretion.”

  Quinn reached blindly for her teacup. If she took her gaze away from Aslan’s face to see where the cup was sitting, something inside her might break at the movement.

  Aslan picked up her cup and put it into her hand. He seemed to understand her reaction.

  She gripped the cup in both hands. The warmth against her fingers told her how cold she had become. She sipped. Then she cleared her throat and tried to speak. She cleared her throat again. “You think your business is why Denis died, don’t you?”

  Aslan didn’t answer at once. It was as if he needed to gather himself to respond, too. “Like you, I cannot go on without knowing the truth, because you are right, Quinn. There is always a reason for even the most senseless events. If you are courageous enough and dig hard enough, you can find those reasons in the murk at the bottom. I have to believe Denis’ death makes sense, so I search for an answer I know I will not like.” He reached into his jacket. “I will feel as you do, when I have my answer.”

  He put a flat velvet box on the table. It was dark blue and about four inches square. He rested his fingers on it. “This is a reminder for both of us of why we are doing this. We need the reminder, because it will become very dark before we see the light.”

  He pushed the box toward her. Quinn opened it and caught her breath, as the necklace was revealed.

  It was gold. The chain was simple, although it looked strong. The pendant which hung from it was gold, too. She touched the pendant and traced the shape. It looked like a backward “E” with a thick bar in front of it.

  Quinn looked at Aslan. “Denis gave me one of these, on our second date. I was wearing it the night of the bombing. I lost it during the emergency. It’s probably still under rubble somewhere…” She cleared her throat, which was tightening again. Her eyes were aching. “How did you know?”

  “The photo in your apartment of the two of you. You were wearing it in the photo. I recognized the symbol. It’s musical.”

  She nodded. “They call it a soprano clef. Most jewelry uses the treble clef—the one which looks like an ampersand. Denis said it was too common for me…” She couldn’t finish.

  Aslan sat back. “You don’t have to wear it. Keep it as a reminder.”

  She closed the lid on the box. “Thank you for this.” At least she began to say it. Nothing emerged. Her throat was too tight and her eyes ached. The words scratched the back of her throat, hurting. Then the tears dripped.

  Quinn lowered her head, fighting to gain control. She couldn’t break down and weep here in public. People would remember her. Aslan would think less of her.

  Soft cloth pressed against her palm, where her hand laid on the table. She curled her fingers around it. A handkerchief. Silk, of course.

  “What is it Noah?” Aslan said, annoyed. He didn’t appreciate the interruption.

  “I wasn’t sure if you noticed we are nearly back at the dock,” Noah said.

  Silence for a heartbeat or two. Quinn kept her head down and dabbed at her eyes, trying not to smear her makeup.

  “Thank you,” Aslan said stiffly. Then, “As soon as it docks, start the car. Let it warm up, so we don’t all have to sit in the cold.”

  “I will,” Noah said. Quinn saw his figure pass her chair. She didn’t look up.

  The boat engines dropped down a few gears, as it slowed on its approach to the dock.

  “Noah means well,” Aslan said. “He and I are the same in many ways. He came out of Croatia after the war. We are both survivors of disaster. You are, too. The next time Noah irritates you enough to scream at him, you might remember that and give him the benefit of the doubt.”

  Quinn sniffed heavily and looked up. She blinked to regain her focus. “I don’t like him. He scowls all the time.”

  “Exactly my point.” Aslan smiled at her. It was a nice smile. He was a charming man. She found herself smiling back.

  Remember he is a monster, she told herself. They were just words, though. The blue velvet box beneath her fingers was warm and soft and real.

  [18]

  Saturday, December 21st

  Leela was freezing her ass off. Never mind that it would be Christmas in four days’ time and the chance she would be home for it was less than zero. Not that her family even celebrated Christmas. It was the principle of the thing. And the principle was that she should be home for Christmas.

  Being cold didn’t help her frame of mind. She had been up on this roof for only two hours. A single rotation was six hours. She knew she wouldn’t last another four hours here.

  “Let me add for the record,” she said, “that I am fucking freezing and I hate you all.”

  The bug in her ear gave the tiny beep which told her someone was about to speak.

  “And we all love you too, Leela,” Scott said. He was acting as her analyst coordinator. He never failed to respond when she spoke. “If you’re very nice, I will send someone to take your place in thirty minutes.”

  “Aawwwhhh… He does love me.” Leela put her eyes to the rangefinder and stared at the house across the road. The house was huge. It looked as though there were four floors, only when they had got hold of the blueprints, they learned there was only two. It made each floor at least twenty feet high. It was a palace, not a house.

  For more than a week now, there had been no movement in and out of the house. Vienna was going through a cold snap which kept everyone indoors.

  Dima’s team were the only ones mad enough to stay outside. One by one, they took their turn on this cold roof, nestled on their bellies on a flat pad of foam, with a sleeping bag over the top to maintain warmth. They stared through the viewfinder, monitoring the house, because Dima didn’t trust the security feeds they could find in the area. She wanted real eyes on the house.

  Lochan, who trusted nothing which wasn’t electronic, had also hacked into the security feeds. It made Leela feel less lonely to know he was bent over four laptops, monitoring the areas which she could not see from up here.

  She scanned the house once more, turning the viewfinder to peer down the s
ide street at the old servants’ entrance. “Well, it’s past my suppertime and nothing is moving.” She paused. “This is day six we have been freezing our asses off up here. Is anyone at any point going to ask the obvious question?”

  “Is Quinn in the house?” Lochan asked. His voice was scratchy because his pickup was the wonky one.

  “I am reminded of something Scott often says,” Dima said. Her voice was smooth and rich, like honey. The deep cadences were not like those of a man but they were oddly reassuring for Leela, especially when Dima spoke in her ear as she did now, through the earbud.

  “Three things cannot be silenced,” Dima began. “Shells being ejected, the breaking of the sound barrier—”

  “and a falling body,” Leela finished. She wasn’t the only one to say it. She heard everyone else echo her.

  “Only we don’t have a bug inside the house, so how are we going to hear a falling body?” Agata’s young voice sounded lighter than ever through the earbud.

  “I believe Dima was speaking metaphorically,” Leela said.

  “You can’t hide the sound of a falling body and you can’t hide a dead body for long, either,” Scott said. “It’s been a week we haven’t spotted her, but we haven’t found her body either. Ergo, there’s a good chance she still alive. We just have to keep watching.”

  “Thank you, Scott.” Leela could tell from Dima’s voice that she was smiling.

  “And why are we not putting a bug in the house?” Agata asked.

  Dima was in an expansive mood. It must be because it was Christmas. “It’s too much of a risk to enter a house full of suspicious people,” Boss Lady said. “Ashtad admits the blueprints we have are out of date, which heightens the risk we wouldn’t find a place to hide a bug these professionals wouldn’t find. If they found the bug, suspicion would instantly turn upon Quinn. I won’t risk it.”

  Ashtad was their local coordinator. She was an American who had lived her adult life in Austria. She was as a tour guide for any intelligence services who needed to tap into local resources. She was also a walking fountain of information and contacts, yet even she had come up blank on more recent blueprints of the house, or a confirmed current owner. The paperwork for the house was hopelessly out of date. It made sense, as it was Aslan’s house. If he was truly the man they thought he was, then obscuring information about assets and financial affairs would be second nature to him.

  Little traffic used the frosty road, so when two black SUVs emerged from the side road and pulled around the corner, Leela sat up, her attention caught. “Hello…”

  “What’s up?” Scott said.

  “Two black Escalade type vehicles just stopped in front of the house,” Lochan said.

  “They are Mercedes-Benz GLE 400s,” Leela said. “A lovely car, thank you very much.”

  “Glad to see the guy patronizes local businesses,” Ren said. Her voice was remote, because she was working on sound feeds and monitoring other channels, besides.

  “Driver got out of one, other is staying in place,” Leela reported. “I don’t recognize the driver.” She watched. “Now knocking on the door. I think we’re about to have action here.”

  She resettled herself on the foam pad and put her eye against the viewfinder once more. She wanted a good close up of every face which came out the door. She put her finger on the shutter button for the built-in camera.

  The door opened. The first through the door was the man they had decided was Mitchell Peters. He looked Aryan, sounded American, and they were still trying to dig up his real origins. Like Aslan, his employees were good at masking their trail.

  “Mitchell Peters,” Lochan said, as Leela let the camera snap away.

  The blond man looked happy as he bounced down the steps. His overcoat opened, giving Leela a glimpse of black and white and satin.

  “Oh my, we are all dressed up to go to the ball,” she breathed.

  “It is ball season in Vienna,” Ashtad said softly.

  “Really? There’s actually a ball season here?” Leela asked.

  “My poor child.” Scott’s tone was patronizing.

  “Yeah, well, my expertise lies a little farther east than Austria,” Leela said defensively. “There’s the dark-haired one. Noel. Can’t see under his coat, but there are satin stripes on his pants.”

  “Noah Stojanovich,” Dima corrected her.

  “Yeah, that one. And here comes the Ice Queen.” Leela whistled, despite whistling making everyone else’s ears ache. “She scrubs up pretty.”

  “As usual, Leela,” Lochan said with a dry voice, “you have indulged in spectacular understatement.”

  “Whatever,” Leela said. “She can only wear a dress like that because she’s so skinny.”

  “Let me see, Lochan,” Scott said.

  Leela grinned.

  “… Mama!” Scott said with a soft sound.

  Leela ran her eyes over the Ice Queen, better known as Antonia Washington. The Washington part of the name didn’t fit with her Slavic features. It was likely everyone in the house used a name they weren’t born with. Even Quinn was, now.

  Antonia Washington put her hands on her hips as the driver opened the back door for her. She wore carmine red satin which hugged every straight line of her body. As she moved, the dress split to show her thigh. The short coat she wore over her dress was white, stopped at her waist and was probably real fur. She wouldn’t be big on conservation. She flashed more thigh as she got into the car and pulled the hem of the dress in after her.

  There seemed to be a delay at the door. People called into the house.

  “Come on, come on!” Leela breathed. “And heeeeeeere’s…Aslan!”

  The man himself stepped down to the pavement and turned to hold his hand up to the door. It was an old-fashioned courtesy.

  “Aaww!” Leela breathed. “Lochan, how come you never help me down the steps?”

  “Because you would break my fingers if I tried,” he murmured.

  Leela drew in a soft controlled breath, as the last person stepped out of the house. “Holy sheep dip, Batman.”

  “Second that,” Scott said. He was clearly peering over the Lochan’s shoulder. “Now that is a princess!”

  Quinn stepped carefully down the brick steps to the sidewalk beside the 400s. She wore a large, warm shawl around her shoulders instead of a coat, which gave an intriguing glimpse of her shoulders. She also wore long black gloves. The shawl prevented Leela from glimpsing the top of the dress, although the bottom half told the full story, anyway. It looked like it was green velvet. None of that passé satin or silk or lace. Velvet was an unexpected choice.

  The skirt flared from the waist, which made Quinn’s waist look tiny. Leela glimpsed layers of petticoat beneath, holding the skirt out. “That is one hell of a gown to wear to a ball,” Leela said.

  Then Quinn turned to speak to the blond guy, giving Leela a look at the back of the dress. Leela’s breath caught again. At the front, the dress just touched the ground. Behind, it spread out in an elegant curve—not an extended train, but a halo of green velvet. “Wow!”

  “And not an inch of thigh in sight anywhere,” Dima said. Leela thought there was pride in her voice.

  “Let the record reflect that there was no dead body,” Scott said. “Told you so,” he added.

  “Actually Dima told us,” Leela pointed out.

  “She quoted me,” Scott said. “You do want me to relieve you in thirty minutes, yes?”

  Leela blew a kiss at him. Scott was a good second and wouldn’t leave her out here after promising her a shortened shift. She watched Aslan and the others help Quinn into the car, tuck the endless yards of skirt in after her and shut the door. Then all the men got into the cars, the doors were shut and the cars pulled away.

  “Cinderella is off to the ball,” Leela reported. “Right now, I’d be more than happy to roll about in the cinders instead. At least I’d be warm doing it.”

  She watched the tail lights of the second Mercedes-
Benz disappear up the street and out of sight. Her grumpiness about Christmas had evaporated. They’d seen Quinn. She was still alive.

  “Now we can make plans,” Dima said over the earbud, as if she had been reading Leela’s thoughts.

  “Damn right,” Leela finished.

  The formalities for the ball were over, the debutantes had been presented and now everyone danced. The huge ballroom was filled at the edges with banquet tables and chairs, where everyone rested between dances. There was even a real-live orchestra instead of canned music, for everyone to dance to.

  Quinn didn’t consciously listen to the orchestra, yet even in the back of her mind she rated them as merely adequate. They had not been rehearsed enough and their sequences were uncoordinated. A better conductor might’ve held them together, but this one was not quite up to the task. Perhaps he resented being relegated to a corner of the huge ballroom, a coordinator of dance music, rather than the center of attention. Lord knows, conductors were flighty and hysterical, putting even opera divas to shame.

  Waiters dressed in 18th-century costumes, complete with breaches and wigs, served champagne in crystal glasses. Bowls of strawberries were laid out to go with the champagne.

  Aslan picked up his flute and held it in the air. He waited.

  Everyone scrambled to pick up their glass and join him, even Quinn. She had no intention of drinking champagne, although she did like the way it tickled her nose when she pretended to sip. She felt heady enough just being here.

  It has been Aslan’s idea that the entire household attend the winter solstice ball, one of the first of the formal Viennese ball season which would stretch into February. He had mentioned it only a week ago and told Toni and Quinn to find pretty dresses.

  Toni looked down her nose. “I refuse to go outside this week. I will find something online.”

  Quinn’s attention perked up. Browsing online would save a lot of running around the city looking for the appropriate dress. She used her new laptop to search the inventory of every store in the city. She tracked down the dress via a link on the Swarovski page.