The Last Deception

by DV Berkom, D. V. Berkom

For now.

  Even then, her husband’s assurances didn’t go far enough to assuage her concerns. True, he’d told her he would no longer ship weapons to Libya, not if it meant they might be diverted to Izz Al-Din. But what if Roman decided to blackmail Anatoly into continuing? How could he refuse? No, something else had happened in Moscow to make her husband take such precautions. She could tell by the tone of his voice.

  What have you done, my love?

  Roman Tsarev might have been a powerful friend, but he was a much more dangerous enemy.

  ***

  After texting her friend, Nalini, to let her know she wouldn’t be joining her at the club that evening, Olga threw herself onto her bed and stared at the ceiling.

  She was eighteen years old, an age recognized as an adult in most countries in the world, and nothing had changed. She’d waited impatiently for the magic birthday, had been excited to enter adulthood, but in one night had been relegated back to child status.

  It was so unfair.

  Many times she had wished her father was not so wealthy. Well, maybe that wasn’t it, exactly—more that he wasn’t so well known. The perks of being a billionaire’s daughter more than made up for the inconvenience of bodyguards hovering nearby.

  Usually.

  But what difference did her age or her father’s wealth make if she couldn’t do what she wanted?

  Frustrated, she selected a movie she’d been meaning to watch from her queue and streamed it on the large flat screen at the foot of her bed. Along with multiple texts from Nalini and her other friends, she’d get through the evening, somehow.

  An hour later, Olga made her way downstairs to the kitchen for a snack. Her mother had retired for the evening, evidenced by the closed doors to her parents’ bedroom, and the sparse lights on in the rest of the villa. She grabbed a carton of milk, a pint of gelato, and a spoon, and sat at the marble counter.

  She was three bites into the gelato when Farid walked into the room.

  “Want some?” she asked, nodding at the slowly melting pint.

  “Sure.” Farid walked to the counter and opened the utensil drawer to grab a spoon.

  “Are things really as bad as my mother says?” she asked.

  Farid shrugged. “It’s not for me to say. Why?”

  “Because I want to go out. My friends are having such a good time.”

  “That could probably be arranged,” Farid said, his voice low.

  Olga’s mood brightened. “Really? How?” she whispered.

  “I could take you.” He gave her a conspiratorial wink. “But you must never, ever tell your parents. Your father would kill me.”

  “Literally,” Olga agreed. Her heart raced with excitement. “It would only be for a couple of hours. I would have to be back before anyone wakes up.”

  “Easily done.” Farid eyed the clock on the microwave. “You have plenty of time before the clubs close.” He put his spoon down and rose from his stool. “Meet me outside in fifteen minutes.”

  ***

  Olga leaned back in the soft leather seat and sipped from the flute of Cristal Farid had handed her. She’d texted Nalini to tell her she was on her way to the club. Her heart still raced—sneaking out of the house had been so exciting. Farid was waiting for her outside in his SUV. He’d had her duck out of sight in the back seat, and they’d made it past the guards at the gate with no problems.

  She ignored the niggling unease at the back of her mind. She didn’t usually defy her parents but she wanted to make a point. Besides, if things were really that dangerous Farid wouldn’t have suggested she go out. He was a bodyguard. He was trained to stop threats.

  Farid made a left hand turn and the inside of the SUV started to spin. Olga braced herself against the door and the back of the seat. She glanced at the champagne in her hand. Funny, she’d only had half a glass. Maybe she should have had more for dinner than just the gelato.

  “Farid?”

  “Yes?” The bodyguard glanced at her in the rearview mirror.

  “Can we get something to eat before we go to the club? I’m not feeling very well.”

  “Of course.”

  Olga put her glass in the drink holder and leaned her head against the seat. The spinning came back, this time much stronger. She opened her window and gulped in the cool evening air.

  What was wrong with her? It wasn’t like she was starving—she’d eaten breakfast that morning—and she didn’t have a fever, so she wasn’t ill.

  Farid pulled over on the side of the road, and turned in his seat to look at her.

  “Are you all right?”

  His words sounded as though he was talking from inside a deep well. She squinted, trying to bring his face into focus but everything was a blur.

  “What’s happening…?” She tried to move her arms—they felt like a dead weights. Her legs were the same. Finding it too difficult to remain upright, her head lolled back and her eyelids fluttered.

  And then there was only darkness.

  Chapter 23

  Sakharov villa, Athens, Greece

  Katarina Sakharov woke with a start. She turned on the lamp and glanced at the clock. Two thirty. What on earth had woken her? Then she remembered the dream.

  Olga and Mikhail had been much younger than they were now. They’d been playing in the backyard of their old home in Odessa. The rest of the dream was hazy, except that they were sad and waving goodbye.

  She threw off the covers and climbed out of bed. Grabbing her robe, she pulled it on and walked into the hall before making her way to Olga’s bedroom. She eased the door open and quietly slipped into the darkened room. She needed to see her daughter—needed to make sure she was all right.

  She advanced toward her four-poster bed, expecting to hear her heavy, even breathing. But something wasn’t right. There was no sound.

  Katarina turned on the bedside lamp and her breath caught. The bed was empty.

  Don’t jump to conclusions, Katerina. She could be downstairs. Anatoly’s deep, practical voice echoed in her head. Tamping down her alarm, she retraced her steps to the hall and made her way downstairs to the kitchen. Two spoons lay in the sink. She checked the living room and the media room. Olga was nowhere to be found.

  “Farid?” she called. There was no answer. She returned to the living room, found her phone on the side table where she’d left it, and hit speed dial for her daughter’s mobile. Olga’s voice came on the line, urging her to leave a message. “Olga, this is your mother. Call me as soon as you get this.” Frustrated, Katarina ended the call and slammed the phone back onto the table.

  One of Anatoly’s new security guards walked into the room. “Is there anything I can do for you, Mrs. Sakharov?” he asked.

  “Have you seen my daughter?”

  The guard shook his head. “No.”

  “Olga’s missing.” Her heart squeezed tight at the thought that her child might be in danger. It was hard to breathe.

  “Missing? What do you mean, missing?” His confused look amplified her fears.

  “I mean she’s not in her room, she’s not in the kitchen, she’s not anywhere in this house.” She tried to keep the panic from her voice. Cold dread wound its way from her belly into her chest. “Who’s watching the video feeds tonight?”

  “Farid.”

  Katarina led the way downstairs to the security staff room. It was empty.

  “Roll back the feeds and fast forward through them,” she ordered. The recordings had to show where her daughter went. The guard did as instructed.

  Halfway through the second recording, Farid appeared near the entrance. He paused at the alarm keypad, punched in a code, and walked out the door. Another camera picked him up as he got into his vehicle. Katarina frowned.

  “Did he tell you he was leaving?” she asked the new guard.

  “The last I spoke with him, he told me to cover the east section of the villa.”

  “Who else i
s on duty tonight?”

  “There are five men patrolling the grounds, and two inside—Farid and myself.”

  A few seconds later, Olga walked into the shot and slipped out through the same door as Farid. Switching to a different camera, the next frames showed her climbing into the backseat of his SUV.

  A mixture of relief and anger flowed through her. Her daughter was safe. She was with Farid. But why did he help her leave? He knew the surveillance cameras were there, would know he’d be fired at once if he was caught helping Olga sneak out. If he wanted to keep his complicity a secret, he would have erased the video.

  Unless he didn’t care if they knew what he’d done.

  She glanced at the guard. “What’s your name?”

  “Jansson.”

  “Jansson, call Farid. Now.”

  He brought his radio to his lips. “Base to Farid.”

  No answer.

  “Base to Farid. This is Jansson, over.”

  Still no answer. Anatoly had replaced all of his security guards except Farid and Yevgeny—the two who had been with them the longest. She hadn’t thought to ask why. Until now.

  “I have to call my husband.” Katarina sprinted back up the stairs to the living room for her phone. Her hands shook as she pressed the speed dial number for her husband. She needed to hear his voice, needed to know he was all right.

  “You’re up late.” Anatoly’s deep voice reverberated over the line.

  “Why did you replace all of our bodyguards?” she demanded.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Olga’s missing.”

  “She’s what?”

  Katarina explained what she’d seen on the security footage. “You were trying to get rid of a mole, weren’t you?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Well, you didn’t go far enough. It was Farid.” Her self-control broke and tears sprang to her eyes. “And now our baby’s gone.” She sucked in deep breaths, trying to control the emotions sweeping through her. First it was Mikhail and now this.

  “Don’t cry, Katya. Are you sure? You know how headstrong she is. Could she have talked him into helping her sneak out to the clubs?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. They’d have been back by now, and Farid would have erased the feeds so they wouldn’t be found out. He knows you would fire him. That he didn’t do anything to cover his actions tells me he doesn’t care if we know what he did.” She took a deep breath to clear her thoughts. “It’s because of your war with Roman, isn’t it? Anatoly, what have you done?”

  There was another brief silence. “We will get her back.”

  The resolve in his tone gave her hope. “I-I can’t bear to lose another—”

  “I know. I will not let that happen, I promise.”

  “Should we call the police?”

  “Not yet. I’d rather not involve the authorities at this point.”

  “But—”

  “No police, Katarina.”

  “When will he make his demands?”

  Anatoly sighed. “I don’t know. Soon.”

  “We’re going to need help.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Can’t you call one of your well-connected friends to find out where she is?”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Why not?” she demanded. Her cheeks flushed with anger.

  “You know who did this. We have to be careful.”

  Katarina blinked. “But why?” Her voice cracked.

  “There’s something else. Something I didn’t tell you. Sergei and Nataly are dead.”

  Katarina inhaled sharply. “You think Roman—”

  “I do.”

  Roman ordered the assassination of a general in the SVR? “No,” she said, fresh tears sliding down her cheeks. It was all too much to process. She sank onto the couch. “How?”

  “I’d rather not talk about it over the phone. I think you’ll agree it changes things.”

  “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

  “I’ll explain everything when I return. Don’t call anyone until I get back.”

  “Don’t—how can I not do anything? Our daughter is missing.”

  “I realize that.”

  “Didn’t you tell me that Eve Mason—”

  “Her name is Leine Basso.”

  “Fine. Leine Basso. Didn’t you tell me that she finds women and children who have been taken by traffickers?”

  “Yes, but she lied to us.”

  “But she didn’t lie about Mikhail, did she?”

  Anatoly Sakharov hesitated a moment before he said, “No. I don’t think so.”

  It felt like someone had thrust a knife into her stomach. She closed her eyes, absorbing the pain as reality came crashing down around her. Her husband had confessed to believing his only son was truly dead.

  “Oh, my God.”

  “Please don’t cry, my love. We must be strong. We must focus on getting Olga back.”

  She’d never before heard such misery in her husband’s voice. Her heart broke at the thought of how anguished he must be. She would have to be strong.

  “Yes, my darling. We must be like steel.” She pushed away the thought of Mikhail’s death. “This Basso woman must have had a good reason to travel under a false name. She risked her life to give you the information on Mikhail’s flash drive.”

  “Yes, she did. But still she lied.”

  “That doesn’t matter. She obviously knows how to find people. And according to your sources she’s an expert at finding young women who’ve been kidnapped. Call her, Anatoly. We need her.”

  “I will not. I don’t trust the woman.”

  A flame of anger erupted inside Katarina. How could he not be willing to try anything to find their daughter? “You trust the wrong people,” she retorted. “What about Roman? You trusted him.”

  “I’ll be home in a few hours.” He ground out the words. “We’ll discuss it when I return.”

  “Yes, we will,” Katarina snapped. She jabbed the end call button and sank onto the couch as a wave of powerlessness washed through her. Now that she was alone, the real tears came. Tears of frustration, fear, and anger at her inability to do anything to find her daughter.

  But there was one thing she could do.

  She accessed the contacts on her phone and scrolled through until she found the number she was looking for. The other party answered on the second ring.

  “Eve Mason.”

  Katarina took a deep breath and started talking.

  Chapter 24

  Leine put down the phone and checked her watch. It was three twenty. She’d just agreed to find Katrina Sakharov’s daughter.

  When Leine asked her why she’d contacted her and not the authorities, Katerina had given her a surprising answer.

  “Because your name isn’t Eve Mason. It’s Leine Basso, and you find missing people for a living.”

  Leine had paused for a moment, allowing the implication to sink in. Someone, possibly Anatoly Sakharov but more likely Roman Tsarev, had uncovered her true identity. That told her that the man on the boat that morning had ties to the general and she needed to be extraordinarily careful. After the attack, Art brought her to a safe house with heavy security in a nondescript neighborhood in Athens, so in theory she’d be all right for the time being.

  As long as she could trust Art.

  “I expected to hear from your husband, not you. He needed time before he would commit to helping me. Does he know about this call?”

  “No. He does not. The last time I talked to him he mentioned that he did not trust you. If Anatoly doesn’t trust you, he won’t do anything to help you. That’s the way my husband works.”

  “Why doesn’t he trust me? I’ve told him the truth about your son, among other things.”

  “But you lied about your identity. To him, that makes your motivation suspect.”

  Then Katarina Sakharov to
ld her that two of their friends had been murdered and that one of the victims, Sergei Gorev, had been a general in the SVR. When Leine probed her about whom she thought carried out the assassination, Katarina refused to say anything over the phone, leading Leine to believe it was Tsarev. Now that the general had become serious about reducing friction to his plans no matter the consequences, Leine reassessed the situation and decided the time had come to escalate.

  “I will help you,” she’d told her. “But your husband must return the favor by backing me up when I meet with Henderson.”

  “If you help us find our daughter, I’m sure Anatoly will be much more amenable to providing the proof you need to present your case to your government.”

  After the call, Leine accessed a secure chatroom where she left an update for Lou and asked for lateral support. Her original task of locating Sakharov and finding out if he diverted the shipment had just morphed into something larger and much more complicated. She and Art were going to need all the help they could get. She checked the time again. Afternoon in Los Angeles. A good time to call Santa.

  Santiago Jensen, aka Santa, worked as a detective in the robbery homicide division, or RHD, for the Los Angeles Police Department. He was also her live-in partner.

  “Hey there.”

  She smiled at Santa’s voice—the familiar timbre melted a good portion of her stress. “Hey. You busy?”

  “For you, never. Are you still in Greece?”

  “Yeah. About that. Looks like things have taken a bit of a turn and I’ll need to stay here a while longer.”

  “By ‘a bit of a turn’ I assume you mean clusterfuck?”

  “It’s complicated. I can’t go into a lot of detail, but I wanted to let you know not to expect me any time soon.”

  “You need anything? I’ve got some comp time on the books.” He let the offer hang between them.

  “That sounds amazing.” She sighed, looking at the four blank walls of her room. “I’d rather be home with you, but you being here comes in a close second. Unfortunately, there’s not much you could do at the moment. I’m in wait-and-see mode and I know how much you enjoy that.”