“You just threw Gurin under the bus, didn’t you?” She stepped toward him. “You had him do your dirty work, then set him up to be your fall guy if things went sideways.”
Zherov turned his head away. “Come on, Bobbi. We concluded someone with a grudge blackmailed Ermi into giving up the address.”
“But we know that’s not true.” She paused to allow that truth to sink in before continuing. “You might as well tell me. I’ll be easier on you than the FSB inquisitors I’ll have to call in.” She gripped the back of the chair. “Your life is already sufficiently fucked up. I can make the aftermath infinitely easier for you. But if I walk out of this room …”
A terrible silence ensued, not for her but for him. “Okay.” Zherov sighed. “The truth.”
“And nothing but.”
He did not return her smile. “So Ilya was in love with me. Madly in love. He did everything I asked him to do, unquestioningly.”
“And did you love him?”
“I loved his usefulness,” Zherov admitted.
Kata’s knuckles turned white on the chairback. “Go on.”
“So, okay, I wanted to get rid of you. Nothing personal. But you were a rising star. Dima knew it, Baev knew it, and so did I. You were standing in the way of my ambitions. I couldn’t get where I wanted to go with you ahead of me. Zaslon wasn’t big enough for the both of us. I’d bitch about it to Ilya and he completely took on my point of view. Now you became an obstacle to him. That was him all over.”
She tried to ignore the contempt in his voice. “And the knife shop in Istanbul?”
“Well, of course I knew what was coming. Ilya found me an ex-con, and I called the thug when I went to pay the breakfast bill. I gave him Ermi’s address. But I have to admit that bastard was more of a handful than I had expected. Still, it worked out, didn’t it?”
“Really? I was still alive.”
“Somewhere between the time I called him and our arriving at the knife shop I realized you intrigued me too much to have you killed so quickly. Then, of course, it was too late to stop him.”
“And you couldn’t do it yourself.”
“Not after you pulled me to shore on that sandspit off Istanbul.”
“Very gallant.” She came around from behind the chair. “Is that all?”
“Yes, that’s all.”
“Actually, it isn’t. There’s Ermi’s murder.” She rolled her shoulders to ease the tension that bunched her muscles. “The Omega death ritual—Ana’s frightening reminder to her acolytes of the wages of betrayal—involved beheading and jamming a death gag into the victim’s mouth. It stuck in my mind that only half the ritual was completed with Ermi—the part I had put in my debriefing report. Which you read. So you must have set up Ermi’s murder. But how, I wondered. Your ex-con was busy at the shop, couldn’t be in two places at once. That’s when it hit me: you hired two of them, one to kill me at the knife shop, the second to go after Ermi.” She stared at him. “That’s right, isn’t it?”
“Fuck you, Kobalt.”
Without another word, she grabbed the pillow, smashed it down over his face. “I’m not Kobalt, you fucking fuck,” she said through gritted teeth. “I’m Kata Romanovna Hemakova.”
She kept the pillow in place until he stopped moving and the outputs flatlined.
“Kobalt is dead.”
Throwing the pillow back onto the shelf of the closet, she opened the door, stepped outside. She was already down the corridor and around the corner by the time three nurses hurried into his room.
61
AFTERMATH III
SCHNELLER PSYCHIATRIC CLINIC, GERMANY
Evan found Leonard Pine in the kitchen, finishing a snack he had made for himself. It seemed any time of the day was right for tea, especially during stressful periods. As she stepped in, he poured her a cup of tea from a beautiful Meissen china teapot. Ben was still in surgery. There was nothing she could do for him, except pray. Not her strongest suit.
“Take a pew,” Pine said. “I’ve been expecting you.”
He was sitting at one of the work counters, staring out the window as night drew closer, the forest, plunged into pitch darkness, a mere silhouette. She drew up a stool and settled herself.
He gestured. “Milk? Sugar?”
“Let’s cut the English butler act, shall we?” she said shortly. “It’s confession time.”
“As you wish.”
He took a sip of his tea. His face betrayed nothing. He was dressed casually for him—gray wool slacks, a cream sweater over a sky-blue shirt with a regimental tie. His shoes, however, were his usual oxford wingtips, mirror shined.
She took the gold cross on its thin chain Ben had handed her and dropped it on the counter between them. The chain was dark with Hel’s blood.
He picked it up, cradled it in his cupped palm. His fingertips ran over the cross. “She’s dead. My poor sister.”
Evan glared at him. “After putting a bullet in my friend’s hip.”
“I’m sorry about that.”
Evan hit him then. He flew off his stool, knocking it over. He sat on the floor but did not touch his jaw, which was already roughened and red from the blow.
“You’re sorry about that?” She looked down at him in disgust. “Are you also sorry you betrayed us to Ana?”
He made to get up, but she said, “Stay right there,” and he subsided back onto the floor.
“I had no choice,” he said. “Ana said she’d kill Hel if I didn’t do what she asked.” He held out a hand. “At least I didn’t give you away. I didn’t tell her you weren’t Robin.”
That was true enough. “Your action still could have gotten all of us killed.” When he made no reply, she went on, “You were the perfect mole. You saw and heard everything around here.” When he remained silent, she added, “Get up already.”
She waited until he was back on his stool, had straightened his shirt and tie, before she said, “Okay, Herr Mole, what do you have for me?”
He took a sip of his tea. He shook so badly he had to hold on to the cup with both hands.
He cleared his throat. “Give me a moment, will you?”
“Sure, take your time.” Evan’s tone dripped contempt. “You have ten seconds.”
He gave her a furtive look, or maybe he was simply abashed. “Are you going to tell the Reveshvilis?”
“No, you are.”
He digested this news for several moments before nodding in acquiescence. Then he took a tremulous breath and began. “One night, probably just after midnight, I was outside taking a breath of fresh air. From around the corner I heard Ana’s voice. She was speaking on her mobile.”
“When was this?”
“Shortly before the Herr Doktor ordered her to leave.”
“Go on.”
“When I crept close, I heard her in conversation with her sister. ‘Listen, Lucinda, you’ve got to find a way,’ she said.”
And Evan heard again the echo of Ana’s strident voice, “And for your information my sister’s name is Lucinda, not that ugly version Konstantin gave her.”
“What else did you hear?”
“They were talking about millions of dollars.”
“Millions?” The short hairs at the back of Evan’s neck stood up.
Leonard nodded. “That’s right.”
Evan shook her head. “But millions of dollars? Where would Ana’s sister get that kind of money?”
“That’s precisely what Ana asked her, though not as nicely.”
“And what did her sister say to that?”
“I couldn’t hear that, of course. But Ana listened, then replied. ‘When?’ And then, ‘How rich did you say he was?’”
Leonard sighed. “It turns out Luzida also changed her name when she moved to Slovenia and established citizenship.” He winced. His jaw was beginning to swell.
*
For the rest of the evening, through dinner and then story time, Evan arranged to be alone with the children.
For the most part they seemed happy, thrilled to spend time with her, but there were pockets of silence when they clung to her, and she rocked them wordlessly. She did not ask them about their abduction or their incarceration inside the citadel, trusting that they would tell her in their own time, at their own pace. As for her, she felt her heart must burst at the giddiness of being with them no matter what they were doing or saying. An emotional flickering pulsed through her. Sometimes, she felt unbearably close to them, as if they were her own. Strange, very strange.
At story time, they asked her for Peter Pan. She had read them the book so often she had memorized the bones and some of the muscle of the story. What details she could not remember, she pulled from the Disney film. They asked her to repeat the flying sequence, when Peter took them to Neverland. They fought sleep, but finally, it took them over and their eyes closed, their breathing turned slow and regular, two precious bodies in one big bed, wrapped around each other. They had asked that the lamps stay on, calling them “nightlights,” as their namesakes in the story called the streetlights outside the Darlings’ London townhome.
For some time after they fell asleep, Evan sat by their bedside, watching over them, wishing them sweet dreams, sending all the love she had to them in an endless flow. Nevertheless, she could not stop herself wondering how deeply they had been scarred by their ordeal. They had already suffered the loss of their parents. They would need psychological help to work through their fear, helplessness, and anger, she knew that with a certainty. She could not think of anyone better to provide this support than Kostya. And, in any case, she would be here to help guide them for as long as Ben was recovering and rehabbing. After that, it was their choice whether to remain here with their grandparents or to return to the States. Until that time, when, inevitably, they acted out, she would be here to hold them; when, inevitably, they broke down in tears, she would be here to hold them, and when they laughed, she would laugh with them, urging them on toward happiness.
Happiness.
At what point something inside her changed she could not afterward have said, but somewhere along the line looking at them was like looking inside herself. It occurred to her then that going after them, finding them, bringing them to safety, even at the possible cost of her own life or that of Ben’s and Lyudmila’s, was the most important remit she’d ever undertaken. It seemed odd, at first blush, but saving the world was abstract. Saving Wendy and Michael was real, visceral. She felt it down to her bones. They were part of her; she was part of them. And she knew Bobbi lived on inside them. Her sister was dead, but sadly Evan had discovered that death did not assuage hatred or the feeling of betrayal. And yet, the more time she spent with them, the more her hatred faded, the more forgiveness became a real possibility.
Happiness. For her it wasn’t easy.
She continued her silent vigil, thinking, They’re here, they’re healthy, they’re safe. She thought about them the night of their escape, on the copter’s unfurled ladder, firelight sparking one side of their brave faces as they climbed up to where the mechanical Peter Pan hovered, ready to whisk them off to Neverland.
“It’s not on any chart,” she sang softly. “You can find it in your heart …” Were those the exact words? It didn’t matter. She sang the refrain again.
Tears came, then. She made no attempt to stop them.
*
“How’s the boy?” Evan said when she stepped into the clinic’s post-op suite.
Ben smiled. “Feeling no pain. For now, anyway.” His face darkened. “Prognosis?”
“You look like shit.”
“Fuck you very much.”
She laughed. She had said it as a joke, of course, but she was appalled at how pale and drawn he looked, lines etched deep into his face she had never noticed before. Had they even been there, or had he been marked as she had by this field assignment?
“I meant the kids,” he said.
“They’ll be fine, Ben. I just introduced them to their grandparents; they’re having breakfast together. Already Rebecca is a different person, animated, smiling, delighted at everything the children say or do. Wendy repeated the joke about the Russian spies Lyudmila told her.”
Ben smiled. “I know that one.”
“When she hit the punch line, Kostya laughed so hard tears came to his eyes.”
“That’s good for all of them.” He was clearly pleased, the news taking him out of himself for the moment. “I spoke with Zoe. She misses both of us, but she’s having a ball with her friends.”
“It’s wonderful she’s adjusted so well to you being away for long periods.” The moment she said it she knew it was a mistake.
He frowned. “Yeah, well …”
“I miss her too,” she said hastily. “I’ll call her later today.”
“She’ll love that.”
Evan cleared her throat. “I just spoke to the surgeon. Nice guy. Handsome, too.”
“Oh, for God’s sake!”
“The latest tests are all good. It’s early days yet but pretty much certain you’ll regain your ability to walk.”
Ben closed his eyes for a moment.
“So how d’you feel about canes?” she said in a brightened voice. He grimaced and in return she gave him her widest grin. “I’m going to find you the best damn one available. Maybe I’ll even have it made to order. What’s your preference, ebony, blackthorn, Malacca? I think a sculpted lion’s head on top would suit you. King of the jungle, what d’you think?”
“So …” He sighed. “My field days are over.”
She was quiet for a moment. “Listen, Ben. Maybe it’s for the b—”
“Help me understand, dammit,” he barked.
He had every reason to be angry. “The truth is you’re better as control than as a field agent.”
“Ouch.”
She held up a hand. “Wait. Hear me out. I’m so concentrated on working out there, handling the endless stream of problems in the field, I often lose sight of the big picture. As an example, I was more fixated on rescuing Wendy and Michael than on dealing with Omega. That’s what you and Lyudmila were doing.” She smiled. “Ben, my Ben, you’re the one who always sees and reacts to the macro elements. That’s your thing; it’s what you’re best at. That’s why you’re able to move pieces around the board so successfully.”
He regarded her with both anger and gratitude.
“We’re a team, you and I. The best team I’ve ever been on. That’s not going to change one iota. I sure as hell won’t let you put yourself out to pasture.”
A silence arose, just the metronome beeping of the monitors that could depress even a kid as Christmastime.
Just as his gaze was turning inward, she piped up. “So. Back to business. Turns out …” She approached his bed. “You’ll never guess who Ana’s twin sister turns out to be.”
“Madonna,” he said facetiously. “Who?”
“She changed her name just like Ana did, but she went several steps further. She’s Lucinda Horvat now.”
Ben almost did a double take. “What? Samuel Wainwright Wells’s wife?”
“None other.” She leaned closer. “And, get this, the two sisters were in touch. Leonard Pine overheard Ana asking Lucinda for money—millions.”
“But this was … when?”
“Two, three years ago. Which means …”
Despite his dark mood, a bright spark lit up Ben’s eyes and his breath quickened. “Which means that Lucinda Horvat seduced Wells and married him so she could siphon his money to her sister and Omega.”
Evan nodded. “And that by now Lucinda Wells is the head of Omega in the States.”
“She’s likely the one who ordered you abducted and both of us dead,” Ben said.
He pursed his lips. Then, crisply, “Hand me my mobile.” When she did, he punched in a speed dial number. “We need a sponsor we can trust, who’s independent of the government and who has deep pockets.”
She knew precisely who he meant, and while
he spoke to Isobel Lowe, she stepped away in order both to afford them privacy and to reassure Ben that she trusted him. But in her heart of hearts she wondered whether she trusted his longtime friend, trusted that their relationship was strictly business as Ben had repeatedly assured her it was.
But those fears were for another time, another place. For now, she saw the wisdom in getting her backing. Frankly, as General Aristides had told Ben in no uncertain terms, there was no longer a place for them within any of the government’s clandestine agencies. And besides, she didn’t want to be there. Neither, she was sure, did Ben.
“It’s done.” Ben handed the mobile back to her. “As soon as I go through rehab here and get my strength back, one of her jets will be waiting for us in Köln.”
Evan nodded, put a hand on his shoulder. She grinned. “Then you’d better get through rehab ASAP, Ben. We have more work to do.”
NOTES ON THE NOVEL
As in all my books I try to be as true to life as possible. There purportedly is an ultrasecret division of the Russian SVR, known as Zaslon, all protestations of the Russian government to the contrary. Zaslon differs from spetsnaz, for instance, which is more or less equivalent to the American Special Forces, because it is not involved in military actions, but in high-stealth ops, of which the SVR can safely deny all knowledge. Nonetheless, it is true that the SVR has taken to hiring ex-cons who ran murder-for-hire operations inside their prisons for its most unseemly and politically delicate wet work. The boatyards in Odessa are as depicted in the novel.
However, I am at heart a novelist, not a journalist, so inventions will creep in here and there. Some examples: though I am aware that Reveshvili is a Georgian name, the fact is Kostya’s great-grandfather emigrated to Russia, but did not, as some émigrés did, Russify his name. Rebecca’s family hails from St. Petersburg.
There is a clinic in the Bergisch Gladbach area outside Cologne, but it bears no resemblance whatsoever to Reveshvili’s clinic. Nice area of Germany, though. Picturesque, which is why I chose it. Kostya’s theory regarding twins, interesting though it may be, is his alone. To my knowledge, it does not exist in real life.
The Kobalt Dossier Page 39
