“But how’d you get into this jam? What gave you away?”
“Had to make a move, you know, you know what I mean? Cat in the military threads had a stick, like a big toothpick. Shoved it under this cat’s fingernail wantin’ to lift it off.”
I winced. And winced again as Leo described how, while trying to stop Zerov, he’d gotten knocked to the ground, then conked on the head. He’d come to before Renner was given his second injection. Fearing he was about to die, Renner wanted Leo to know that he wasn’t a Nazi. He was the sailor in the article who’d jumped ship in Galveston, twenty-one years ago. He’d taken an assumed name, hoping the secret police in Germany wouldn’t find him. But nine months ago they’d caught up to him in the form of their sleeper spy, V-V. Renner’s position at the factory was ideal for procuring secrets for the Fuehrer and V-V had used threats against Renner’s family back in Germany to force him to go along. Renner told Leo all this in the hope that the explanation would somehow reach his wife.
“He had names. Cat called Cardillac the brains. Had the idea to plant the knife, let this cat here, Renner, take the rap for killin’ some other cat called Blount. He’s gonna disappear anyways, I heard the Capt’n sayin,’ referrin’ to Renner. Somethin’ about a poison the doctor’s cooked up. Makes a body decompose from the inside out. Has some crack-brained scheme brewin’ for Kiki, too. And her sister…” Leo’s voice had gotten weak and his normally rich mahogany skin looked ashen. He tried moving again. Another groan.
My gaze remained locked on Shevchenko. He wasn’t wearing his monocle so perhaps he couldn’t see me observing him. That might explain it. Or maybe he thought I was too chicken to use my gun. But the entire time Leo was recounting what Renner had said, the doctor’s hand had been inching toward a nearby cauliflower.
“Halt,” I barked. His hand jerked and whipped to his side. I gestured to the hypodermic syringe and vial at the end of the table. “Move.”
I hated shots, but I forced my hands to remain steady as, keeping Gran’s derringer pointed at his heart, I instructed him to prepare an injection. He sought my permission to replace his monocle, which had hung loosely by its strap since my surprise entry, then reluctantly did my bidding.
“Sleep well,” I murmured, watching his bony frame ease to the floor and fold into a lump. “Leo.” I kneeled at his side, gently shaking him. But he was out also. I checked his pulse then brushed his cheek with my hand. “I’ll be back.”
Chapter Twenty-six
Back at the stand of pines, I discovered a bridle path that curled through the woods. The path twisted and I veered with it until I heard the rushing sounds of the river. A downwards sloping trail met a line of willows at the water’s edge. I took the track, darting through a curtain of lacy tendrils at the bottom.
The soil was soggy. My saddle shoes made light, sucking sounds as I crept between the mushroom-shaped trees, keeping the veil of foliage on my right. Through it, I saw the broad expanse of lawn climbing upwards toward the mansion. At the top, the rear of the house was completely exposed, and tall windows looked out over the river.
I followed the bank, at last arriving at an incline up to the house. I was below the mansion’s north wing. My gaze skated upwards along the lush slope to a rose garden bordering the angular turret at the wing’s end. No entrance was obvious. No human activity either.
I emerged from the willows to charge the gradual rise, at last coming upon a border of rough limestone inset with a recessed entry. The door was ajar but the depths beyond were completely black. My bravado waned.
Somewhere beyond the dark crevice, Kiki was facing disaster. On the floor in Shevchenko’s lab, Leo was out cold. I was the only one who could help.
I dove my hands into my pockets. The rosewood handle of my derringer felt solid and smooth against one palm; in the other, the thick oxidized cylinder of the gas-pen felt dense and cool. Imploring the Woman Upstairs to watch over me, I drew out the weapons and slid through the crack.
I planted my back against the nearest wall. The chill and smell of mold slipped like a damp overcoat around me as seconds of pure silence followed. Gradually, my eyes adjusted to the darkness and I became aware of muted streams of light feeding through fissures in and around the giant double doors, blocking the river entrance. I was in the launch area, a space about the size of a single-car garage. Above me, a low ceiling was supported by wooden beams; around me, stone-faced walls were reinforced with timber posts.
Water lapped the edge of a boat berth directly in front of me and I assumed that the small pleasure boat, tied to posts and bobbing in the water, was Kiki’s. A droning male voice disturbed the water’s peaceful lapping. Then quiet again.
I stood on a plank of the walkway. The voice had come from somewhere off in the near distance to my right where the walkway widened before disappearing into what appeared to be a deep storage space. Warily, I studied the blackened area, alert for additional sounds. An anguished “Ai-eyy,” from a second voice I thought was Kiki’s, resonated through the dark.
“What is wrong, my darling? Are you not comfortable?” It was V-V. His questions, steeped with malevolence, ran together like a snarl. Some soft shuffling noise followed. Kiki did not respond and I listened for other voices, afraid of who else might be nearby, relieved to hear nothing.
I stared into the cavernous black space, this time noticing a dim circle of flaxen light flickering like a firefly from a lantern resting on the ground. Another moan from Kiki and everything in me tightened. I could not stand by without doing something. But what? My weapons were only effective if I could get to close range.
I needed a free hand to guide me through the dark. The derringer, although more lethal, was the more volatile instrument in my arsenal. I tucked it away, then ran my thumb along the pen’s cap. It did not actually come off but had a tiny ball bearing on its end. Pressing it released a chamber of tear gas, shooting it out through the pen’s point. My thumb found the raised bump and stopped.
“There, is that better?” V-V’s voice purred. “If not, do not let it concern you. Your sister is due to arrive soon. Then, party time! Drinks for the house! Soon to be my house.”
The laugh that had once charmed me now sounded like the creepy announcer on one of my favorite radio shows, The Shadow.
V-V continued talking and I quietly sidled along the wall, my right hand probing the rocky surface ahead, leading me toward the pale, twinkling light.
Kiki’s voice sounded strained and it wavered, but I was close enough now to hear what she was saying.
“Wh-what are you planning? Torture?”
“Torture? Oh no, my precious. Do not worry.” V-V’s voice had practically hummed with malice. Now it oozed with feigned compassion. “No, my sweet. In a concession to my chief assistant who likes to think she comes from a lineage far more refined than mine, you and your beloved Dee will have champagne, laced with a dose of Schevchenko invention, before any shots are actually fired. Just enough so she will indulge me. Write a note revealing that her sister’s betrayal, on top of Philip’s, is more than she can bear. Confess that although her sister has already ingested a poisoned drink, she craves the added satisfaction of firing a bullet through her sister’s head, after which she intends taking her own life in similar fashion. Our Dee finds alcohol, with or without pharmaceuticals, impossible to resist, right, my darling?”
Lush moss, its texture like thick velvet, tickled my fingers, then I felt rough stone again.
Sweat filmed my face and soaked through my sweater.
“Ah, double confession notes. Such convoluted poetic justice. More brilliant, perhaps, than even Hoffmann might have conjured up, don’t you agree, my love?”
“Don’t do it—” Kiki gasped. “I’m your wife. Help me, I’ll help you…”
“Help, you say?” V-V yelped, giving me a fix on where he stood. “You want help? No, my darling, I have no sympathy for you.”
I had made it to the next post. V-V stood beside another beam a
bout fifteen feet away. The sputtering lantern was on the floor beside him. It threw off enough light for me to pick out a heavy wooden door set into the rock wall between myself and the couple. Kiki, still clad in silk pajamas, her back braced against the pillar, was on the floor next to V-V, chin tucked against her chest. A curtain of hair covered her face. Her arms, thrust backwards, were behind the post. I assumed they were bound. A coil of rope was on the floor against the wall just behind V-V; next to the rope, a picnic basket and a neat stack of clothing.
V-V extracted something from the basket. A syringe. Dropping onto one knee, he pressed his face close to his wife’s. Her head jerked and she squirmed, trying to pull away.
“Why would I feel sorry for you?” he snarled. “The money, the privilege, have been yours, always. Even after we married, your parents arranged things so their darling daughter would remain responsible for doling out the household payments: a pittance to the gardener, a shekel to the maids, an installment to the decorator, an allotment to this charity, to that club, a few coins to her charming but useless husband…No, I cannot feel sorry for you. If you had not discovered Shevchenko’s laboratory, then tried to go behind our backs, even after you had supposedly renewed your loyalty to me and to the Fuehrer, you would not be in this pickle. But here you are…”
Kiki struggled to speak. Her voice was a mere whisper. “You can stay. I’ll go. Just untie me…”
V-V’s head snapped back. He gaped, wild-eyed. “Untie you? Why? Where would you go? To that scrawny female agent pretending to be a journalist?”
Deep in the shadows, the scrawny female agent pretending to be a journalist stealthily switched her weapon of choice.
“No, sorry, I will not let you desert me, not like that spineless snake, Renner. I wanted to believe he would come around. Especially now that his wife has joined us.” V-V paused and grinned. “Not that she knows she is with us yet. Any more than she is aware that her beloved Otto will soon become just another ingredient in one of Dr. Shevchenko’s recipes.”
He had been holding the syringe near Kiki’s temple. Now, grabbing her by the hair, he tugged her sideways, positioning the tip of the needle against her neck. Kiki’s eyes bulged in terror. “No, this way is best”—he pressed the needle in—“I will no longer need to grovel—”
With my derringer poised in front of me, I pounded across the plank floor. V-V sprang up, his hand groping the wall. My grip tightened on the trigger. A light bulb snapped on, caught me in its yellow glow. I blinked, hesitated. A slight kick. The report combined with a ping as the derringer’s bullet hit stone wall. V-V grabbed my wrist and threw me against the wall. My breath left; my gun went flying. A raspy gurgle pulled air into my lungs, something sharp bit my neck.
The syringe V-V had been holding to Kiki’s throat was now pressed into mine. My left wrist remained trapped in his vise-grip against the wall. The needle scratched my skin. An intense sensation, like a bee sting, trailed in its wake. I flinched and tried to pull my head back, but it was lodged against hard stone.
Beneath the circle of light, V-V’s face suddenly tightened with pain. I glanced down. He was wearing the same riding habit he’d worn when I’d walked in on Clara and him in the back room of the salon. Only now the arm of his tweed jacket had a frayed tear just below the shoulder seam. My eyes had adjusted and I could see a dark red stain seeping into the tight weave of the surrounding fabric. I’d winged him!
V-V’s features smoothed, then turned hard and sinister. He narrowed his eyes, leaning so close his aquiline nose nearly touched mine. “Ahh, our lovely journalist. What are you doing here? Who sent you? Speak!”
Light glistened in the tiny beads of sweat rimming V-V’s forehead. He drew the needle across my neck again. My body tensed.
There was a sound behind the heavy wooden door. He turned his head. The gas-gun leapt from my pocket. I depressed the trigger. Startled, his hand with the syringe fell away. I ducked, whipping my head sideways to avoid the fumes. I glimpsed my mark. His eyes were shut, his face puckered against the sting of the tear gas. He coughed. Too late, he covered his face, trying to protect it. The syringe dropped from his hand. He doubled over, collapsed.
My lungs burning from the gas, my vision blurred, I panned the floor, searching for the syringe. My attention whisked back to V-V at the same moment he managed, miraculously, to flip over onto his back. I flinched, expecting him to leap up. But V-V would not be standing anytime soon. The syringe had lodged itself deep in his thigh. I made no effort to help him as he lifted his torso ever so slightly, his arm flailing in an agonizing attempt to remove the needle. But the pain was too great. Or maybe it was the drug taking effect. He slumped backwards.
I searched the floor again, desperate to recover my weapons. I dropped to my hands and knees. The heavy door was opening. Too late, I tried to stand.
“What’s taking you so long, Anastase? Berlin is on the radio. They have a drop site for you, but their radioman is insisting that you give the required code personally.”
Even before the figure emerged, I knew who it was. I gulped. “Liberty…”
Chapter Twenty-seven
Liberty had a stiletto up her sleeve. Sniffing the air, she drew the knife and kicked. A pain like molten lava seared my gut. I buckled forward, grasping my midriff. The ridge of Liberty’s hand whacked the back of my neck with a solid chop.
I was flat on my stomach. She stood over me. I struggled to catch my breath. “S-so you are one of them.”
“I have always been one of them.”
Liberty was wearing Army boots and green fatigues, like those worn by Zerov. I sensed the movement of her foot then felt an almost unbearable crush of weight press against the small of my back. I gasped.
She gestured with the stiletto. Its ice-pick blade flashed dully. “All right, stand up. Don’t try anything funny. You’re no match for me and you know it.”
The point of her blade found the sweet spot between my ribs, near my heart, and she backed me up against the wall. There was a rushing in my ears, but I needed to keep her talking until help could arrive. Or until I could make a grab for my gun.
“So you’re V-V’s assistant—”
“Assistant?” On the ground, near the wall, about ten feet away, V-V was perfectly still. She flung him a sidelong glance and smiled a little. “Looks like I’ve been promoted to running the operation now, haven’t I?”
“But you won’t kill Kiki and Dee—”
“The idea was mine in the first place.”
“No…”
“Poor, stupid Pucci,” she said, and smiled.
“Y-You joined OSS,” I said, mining familiar territory, trying to understand how a close friend could have morphed into an assassin pressing a knife to my heart. “Why?”
“To infiltrate the organization. To uncover its methods, pass them on to Berlin, why else?” She smiled mockingly. “And how else do you suppose I could have tricked you without first knowing about G-2? And Roy? Besides, I needed to keep involved in something useful until I could be activated.”
Her blunt assessment and the notion of what her maneuverings meant to the security of our country frightened and emboldened me.
“The feds are on to you. They know about the phantom ink message inside Personality Unlimited. They know it was Kiki who wrote it, that it was meant to reach you…”
Her dead-eyed gaze shot ice water through my veins.
Badgering Liberty, I realized belatedly, would only hasten her intent of sending me to an early grave.
But she smiled. “Your threats mean nothing. I will never be captured.”
The Countess’ charm bible had a Golden Rule covering the art of socializing. On those occasions when you would like to impress your partner, or put your partner at ease, remember that everyone likes to feel as if they are the most intelligent, special human being on the planet. While I didn’t care about charming my foe, I did need fresh ammo to keep her chatting.
“Well, that ploy involving
the secret ink message certainly had me fooled,” I admitted.
“You’re all fools.” Liberty eyed me warily then smiled. “You were always good at getting to me with that Midwest PK sweetness-and-light, slather-on-the-guilt crap. Stuff it. You want to know something, ask. There’s no reason for me to hold back anything any longer. You’re going to die anyway, just as soon as”—she chortled softly—“as soon as Dee arrives for her sisterly outing. Someone’s gone to pick her up, did you know?”
A sharp pressure at my midriff forced my answer. I glared at her. “Uh-huh.”
“That’s better. You want to know about the phantom message?” She leaned closer. The warmth from her body and the smell of her sweat brought bile to my throat. She sent Kiki a fleeting sidelong look. Whatever V-V had shot her with had taken effect. I had interrupted him before he could administer the full dose from the syringe, but she was eerily still.
“Initially, Anastase was able to control our golden goose over there by threatening to tell Dee about the supposed tryst with Philip. But then our little goose tried to outmaneuver us.” Liberty’s lips twisted crookedly. “Anastase and I differ when it comes to using force. I prefer brains; he prefers brawn.”
Kiki’s obsession with the Book Faire at last made sense. “A tactical weakness,” I said. “In order for your murder-suicide scheme to succeed, the women at the Club needed time to absorb the misinformation you were sowing about Kiki. And Kiki needed to remain in circulation while the rumors took hold. Possible only if she showed no signs of physical violence, and only as long as the Club’s manicurist was nearby, keeping watch.”
Liberty permitted herself a quick, smug smile. “Picking up news of war preparations from clients was a rewarding side benefit.”
Liberty tilted her head as if she’d heard something. I turned my ear, listening as well. Water rippled against the dock and V-V whimpered softly from the floor. The lantern made a spitting noise.
The quiet unnerved me. Flatter her, keep her talking…
Lipstick and Lies Page 30
