The Woman Who Knew Too Much

by Tom Savage

  The phone call Galina made from the garden when Nora was getting her coat must have been to one of these two. Galina was about to tell Nora a shocking story about General Malinkov, and she’d been cut off from her spies by the storm. As soon as the phones were working again, she’d checked with them to be sure that Malinkov had been on the plane to Moscow the previous morning. Only when she knew he was no longer in Venice would she commit to telling the story of the coup d’état. Of course, by then—Saturday—the general was already back in Venice, but he clearly hadn’t gone directly to Hotel Danieli, because Galina’s assistants thought he was still in Russia. More bad timing for Galina, like the bank transfer.

  The offer of a lot of money to help the actress achieve her Hollywood and Broadway dream would have been too tempting for Sergei and Juna to ignore. And it must have been a lot of money: Sergei had killed a man for it.

  Sergei would be detained by the Italian state police, who had been instructed to hand him over to the Russian authorities when they called for him. The Moscow State Theater had left Venice for Paris this morning. A new team of Russian Federation guards had been waiting for them at Charles de Gaulle Airport, and their first official act was to seize Juna and hustle her into a waiting plane to Moscow.

  Nora knew Malinkov was a murderer, and she’d been afraid for Vera Gubalova and the Italian detective, Luigi Donato. One had loose lips and the other had been bribed away from the general’s employ, forcing the general to turn to one of his own people, Pavel Oblomov. Last night Nora had felt compelled to make sure Vera and Donato were still alive, and she’d been relieved to find that they were.

  The American plane was waiting on a runway at the airfield, and another plane was nearby. Both aircraft had their engines running, with mobile staircases rolled up to open doors. A small group waited on the tarmac in front of the American plane, including Hamilton Green and Ralph Johnson. In the distance by the nearest hangar, armed U.S. soldiers stood watching. Huge piles of snow were everywhere in the fields around the airstrip, but the runway was clear. Mario drove the limousine to the edge of the runway and stopped, and the other car stopped behind it. Paolo got out of the passenger seat to open the rear door for the three women.

  The cold air felt good on Nora’s face. She turned to her asset with a smile.

  “Come along, Galina,” she said. “Your new life awaits.”

  Chapter 49

  Later, Nora would wonder exactly when Galina Rostova realized what was happening at the airfield.

  Not at first, certainly. The actress drew herself up and allowed Nora to lead her out onto the tarmac, their convent cloaks flapping in the wind, to greet the Americans waiting by the plane. Frances stayed by the car with Paolo and Mario. Nora introduced Galina to Ham Green and Ralph Johnson, and they introduced her to the others in their party, a woman from the State Department and a man who was apparently her assistant. Behind them stood three men in dark suits and coats wearing sunglasses and earpieces; no introductions necessary.

  Nora watched the round of smiles and handshakes, but out of the corner of her eye she noticed the people descending the stairs from the Russian plane behind Galina. In the other direction, Nora saw the four men who emerged from the second limousine approaching them across the tarmac. One of them was a high-ranking official from the Russian Embassy in Rome, or so she’d been told this morning, and two were civilian soldiers not unlike the three who guarded the Americans. The fourth man was General Nikolai Malinkov.

  The general had been planning to return to Moscow this morning, but he’d changed his plans after his late night call from Joan Simmons. The American journalist had informed the general that Galina Rostova was still in Italy, and that she was being met by American officials at the Army base in Vicenza. Joan Simmons even knew the time of the rendezvous, which she’d accidentally let slip to the general during their conversation. He’d thanked her and ended the call.

  Nora had counted on General Malinkov’s anger, pride, and enormous ego to do the rest, and she’d been right. Within minutes of his call from Joan Simmons, Malinkov was waking up half the Kremlin, hastily arranging an official intervention. This had included calls to the U.S. State Department and the commander here at Camp Ederle. Malinkov informed the Americans that Galina Rostova had hired a Russian Federation agent to assassinate another Russian agent in her bid for asylum in America, and now she must be returned to Russia to face charges. He must have been delighted when the Americans immediately agreed to his request, even inviting him to attend the arrest.

  “I am honored to be here today,” Galina was saying to Ham Green and the lady from the State Department. “I am so proud that I will soon be a citizen of your beautiful—” She abruptly stopped, staring in horror as General Malinkov arrived to join their little group. She turned her astonished face to Nora. “What is he doing here?”

  Nora shrugged. “I think he’s here to arrest you. Well, actually, they’re here to arrest you.” She pointed to the five Russians from the other plane who now stood behind Galina. “The general is just here to watch.”

  Ham Green, Ralph Johnson, and the two people with them stood silently by, watching as the Russians from the plane stepped forward, four men and a woman. One of the men was in charge; he began speaking to Galina in Russian as the woman took her by the arm. Nora didn’t understand a word of it, but she knew the sound of formal charges. Galina stared at the man, then turned once more to Nora.

  “Why?” she cried. “Why do you do this to me, Nora?”

  “Because you killed Pavel Oblomov,” Nora said, “a man with a wife and children. Because you tried to use the United States government to help you rob the Russian government. Because you wasted my time and that of a lot of other people. Because you’re a spoiled, ruthless narcissist. But mainly because you nearly killed my husband.”

  Now General Malinkov stepped forward. He said something in Russian to Galina, and she glared at him. Then he began to laugh. He turned to Nora and said, “She is not so pretty now, is she, Ms. Simmons?”

  Nora smiled right back at the general. “I’m not Ms. Simmons, General Malinkov. My name is Nora Baron. I work for them.” She waved her arm to indicate Ham Green and the lady from State, who watched impassively. “If I’m not mistaken, these other people are also here for you.”

  The official from the Russian plane nodded to one of the men with him, who stepped forward to take General Malinkov by the arm. More charges were spelled out in Russian. The man from the Russian Embassy stood with the Americans, observing the arrests. Nora noticed the change that came over Malinkov’s face as the Russian official spoke. He stared in horror when he was told that Lieutenant Tarkovsky’s remains had been unearthed—if that’s what the man was saying; Nora couldn’t be certain. She assumed that the fifty-six million dollars from the Russian treasury was being mentioned as well.

  It was over quickly. The Russian official nodded to the Americans and the Russian diplomat. Then he and his assistants led Galina and Malinkov away toward the Russian plane. Malinkov was silent, head bowed, but Galina Rostova had no such poise. When she reached the foot of the mobile stairway, she sank to her knees and screamed. The woman attending her pulled her roughly to her feet and led her up the stairs, but she didn’t stop screaming. Her cries echoed across the vast, snowy fields, cut off only when she was inside the plane. The door closed, and the Army ground crew rolled the stairs away. In the far distance by the hangars, the Camp Ederle personnel watched in silence.

  The Russian Embassy man shook hands with the Americans, and he made a brief, obviously rehearsed speech in English about the Russian government’s gratitude for the cooperation of the American government. The American lady said something polite in Russian, and the diplomat smiled. With a final bow, he and his retinue returned to their limousine.

  Ham and Ralph accompanied the lady from State and her aide up the stairs into the American plane, followed by the Secret Service men. Frances and the two Italian detectives came out onto th
e tarmac to join Nora, who now stood alone. She kissed Mario and Paolo and thanked them, and they returned to the limo and drove away. Nora and Frances ascended the stairs.

  Jeff was stretched out on a couch in the back of the cabin, playing poker with Patch. Ham and the two other officials sat together in the front, and Ralph joined the poker game. Nora took the armchair beside her husband’s couch, and Frances sat in the one next to her. They had to wait a while for the Russian plane to take off before they could be on their way.

  While they waited, Frances said, “Well, that certainly was interesting. What do you suppose will happen to them now?”

  “The general is in serious trouble,” Nora said. “Between the theft and the murder, he’ll be lucky to get life in prison, but I wouldn’t count on it. He’ll probably be executed.”

  Jeff said, “Either that or they’ll make him their next president.”

  “And Galina?” Frances asked.

  Nora shook her head. “I don’t know. She tried to defect, she tried to con the American government, she embarrassed Russia, she was directly responsible for one murder and one attempted murder, and she stole a lot of money. On the other hand, she’s a beautiful, talented actor with an international reputation. Only a few people know what happened here, and most of them are in this plane. There’s every chance they’ll give her a slap on the wrist and put her back onstage.”

  Jeff said, “Either that or they’ll make her their next president.”

  Nora smiled, but she knew her husband wasn’t being funny. Jeff wasn’t at all happy with this sudden bout of diplomatic courtesy to effect a precarious moment of civility between the two nations. Neither was Nora, but playing ball with the Russians had been the only expedient way for her to end this. She glanced over at Ham and the State people at the front of the cabin. They were relaxed in their seats and chatting like old friends, which they probably were. Ham was satisfied with the results of Nora’s first assignment for him, and he’d hinted that there might be others down the road if she was interested.

  Was she interested? Nora wasn’t at all sure. Her first, accidental brush with international events in England and France had been devastating—she’d actually taken lives, which she hoped never to have to do again—but afterward she’d felt a sense of great accomplishment. She’d been able to do something important, and that was payment enough. But this? A beautiful Russian star, a defection, danger and intrigue in the shadowy alleys and twisty canals of the world’s most mysterious city. It all sounded exciting, but the reality had turned out to be small and ugly and prosaic. It hadn’t exhilarated her; instead she felt depressed.

  Nora the actor knew there was another reason for her mood. Galina Rostova had thrown away the talents and opportunities most other actors would kill for, and that made Nora sad. More than sad—disheartened. Nora had spent her whole life in show business, where egocentric drama queens were the norm, but she’d never met anyone like Galina Rostova. Nora thought of her students at the university, dreaming of having just a fraction of what Galina had been given; yet she’d squandered it all in her zeal to obtain even more. From now on, Nora would never look at unusually gifted artists in quite the same way.

  Even so, she’d met some lovely people on this mission. She thought of Mario and Paolo, Aldo, silly Vera, the smiling nuns, and the remarkable Mother Agnes. She’d made two new friends, Frances and Patch, one of them a neighbor in New York and the other her daughter’s boyfriend, and she knew she’d be seeing more of them. Galina and her general were the exceptions, not the rule. Most of the people Nora knew were honest, decent, and basically good. She was grateful for that.

  Frances interrupted her thoughts. “So there never was a secret conspiracy among the Russian generals?”

  “Nope,” Nora said. “She cribbed the whole scenario from that Russian espionage novel, right down to the wife stumbling on the plot—Galina cast herself in that part, of course. She just needed a credible story to sell us so we’d protect her from Malinkov. After all, she stole all of his money.”

  Ralph Johnson looked over from the poker game. “She didn’t steal all of his money, Mrs. Baron.”

  “What do you mean?” Nora said. “She transferred fifty-six million dollars of Russian treasury money out of Malinkov’s bank account into her own.”

  “Yes,” Ralph said, “but it wasn’t all of his money. She only took ten percent.”

  Nora was still staring, her mouth hanging open, when the plane was cleared for takeoff. The poker game was temporarily stopped while everyone buckled up. Jeff reached over to grasp Nora’s hand, and he winked at her. With a rush and a roar, they rose into the wintry Italian sky.

  Author’s Note

  This story is fiction. I have used actual settings—Venice and the nearby U.S. Army base at Caserma Ederle—but I’ve used them fictionally. Anyone who’s been in Venice lately will notice that the Venice I describe is from idealized memories of my visits there years ago, not the new realities of unregulated cruise ship tourism, overcrowding, and rampant construction that currently plague my favorite Italian city. As for the U.S. Army garrison, I provided only a vague description of the compound for security reasons, and the incident I staged there is my own creation. (Interesting trivia: In 1974, American movie star Amy Adams was born at Camp Ederle, where her father was stationed.)

  There is no Moscow State Theater, no Pensione Bella, no mask shop called Un Ballo in Maschera in Calle Vallaresso, no café such as I describe across from the opera house, and no Convento della Santa Maria Magdalena on Canale delle Fondamente Nove. Everything else I mention in Venice is actually there, and I hope I have done justice to the city’s beauty.

  For Kathy and Larry Pontillo

  from the Best Man

  Acknowledgments

  I’d like to thank my editor, Junessa Viloria, and everyone at Penguin Random House/Alibi who helped to make this novel a reality. Tom Cherwin’s excellent copyediting and Caroline Johnson’s beautiful cover design are greatly appreciated.

  I’m grateful for my agent, Robin Rue, and her associates at Writers House, Beth Miller and Julie Trelstad.

  As always, my love to my sister, Marcia McDevitt; my writing group, Betsy Harding and S. J. Rozan; and the Friday Night Club—especially Kathy Pontillo, whose middle name is Frances.

  BY TOM SAVAGE

  The Nora Baron series

  Mrs. John Doe

  The Woman Who Knew Too Much

  The Joe Wilder Mysteries

  Dance of the Mongoose

  Woman in the Dark

  Other Novels

  A Penny for the Hangman

  Scavenger

  The Inheritance

  Valentine

  Precipice

  Collected Stories

  Jumbie Tea and Other Things: 8 Tales of Mystery and Suspense

  About the Author

  TOM SAVAGE is the USA Today bestselling author of A Penny for the Hangman, the Nora Baron series (Mrs. John Doe and The Woman Who Knew Too Much), and many other novels and short stories. His books have been published in fifteen countries, and his novel Valentine was made into a Warner Bros. film. Raised in St. Thomas, Virgin Islands, he now lives in New York City, where he worked for many years at Murder Ink®, the world’s first mystery bookstore.

  tomsavagebooks.com

  Find Tom Savage on Facebook

  Read on for a sneak preview of the next Nora Baron thriller

  The Spy Who Never Was

  by Tom Savage

  Coming soon from Alibi

  Chapter 1

  Nora Baron stood on the sidewalk, gazing up at the safe house. It was in a row of handsome three-story townhouses on the quiet tree-lined street in Greenwich Village; a graceful façade of dark red bricks, blue-gray trim, and blue-gray shingles on the mansard roof. The bay window glinted in the sunlight, and black wrought-iron railings gleamed on the front steps and window guards. The door was painted the same bright blue-gray as the shingles and frames. It seemed an oddly c
heerful place to hold a clandestine meeting.

  She smiled at a young couple who passed by her, and they smiled back as they continued toward Sheridan Square in the distance. Nora wondered if this location had been chosen for her benefit; her apartment was mere blocks from this house. She’d walked here in just under ten minutes, moving lightly in the mild spring afternoon. She didn’t really need the black linen jacket she wore over her blue blouse and black skirt, but it made her feel professional. She’d pulled her shoulder-length chestnut hair back from her face and clipped it with a barrette, and her trusty black Coach shoulder bag and favorite black boots completed her ensemble. She hoped she looked like a talented, middle-aged, Irish-American wife, mother, actor, and college drama teacher who occasionally took assignments from her husband’s employers. Nora Baron: spy.

  She looked down the block toward Sixth Avenue. Across the avenue was the campus of Nora’s alma mater, New York University, where her daughter was currently a senior in the theater arts department. Dana’s graduation was in June, and July would bring Nora’s birthday. The Big Five-O. Ugh. She wouldn’t think about that now…

  At exactly four o’clock, she climbed the steps to the front door and rang the bell. The young woman who answered it was dressed similarly to Nora, but her jacket and skirt were gray, and she wore a wireless gray earpiece. She even had a tiny gray heart-shaped tattoo on one wrist. This made Nora smile because gray was the signature color of the CIA. Clothes, cars, electronics—everything these people used was typically a neutral, unobtrusive shade of gray.

  The house was no exception. The exterior was all cozy Greenwich Village, but the living room into which the smiling young woman led her was a sleek symphony composed on the CIA’s favorite theme. Pale driftwood for the walls, silver velveteen on couches and armchairs, pewter drapes and carpet. A narrow staircase on one side led to the upper floors, and a gray marble fireplace dominated the other long wall. The woman continued through the room to the sliding gray doors at the back, slid the doors open, and stepped aside to allow Nora to pass.