A third file on her desk was connected to Bykov’s death. Another man had been found on the overpass with Bykov with multiple gunshot wounds. Russian authorities had been unable to identify him and passed a request on to Interpol. They in turn sent it down the chain until it finally reached her desk.
From fingerprint analysis, the man in question had a connection to Rampart City. The fingerprints identified him as one James Nathaniel Rizzard, formerly of a wealthy family on the northwest side of the city. The only problem was that James Rizzard had died over twenty-five years ago according to the department’s files. His father reported that James, then only eight years old, had drowned during a fishing trip. The father himself had died two years later from a heart attack. His wife had already died three months before the ill-fated fishing trip, which left no one Donovan could talk to in order to verify whether James Rizzard had really drowned.
To make that case even more bizarre was a note from the Russian coroner that the man presumed to be Rizzard wore a jacket made from rat pelts. That had triggered Donovan’s memory from nearly three years ago during the RAT Bombings. She had gone into a burning dorm to rescue young Megan Putnam, except someone else had beaten her to it: a man clad in a coat like this with equally tangled hair. He had smelled awful and been accompanied by a mutant rat that had led her to believe he was the Sewer Rat—Rampart City’s version of Bigfoot. It seemed plausible—though not logical—that Rizzard could have faked his death and gone to live in the sewers to become the Sewer Rat.
Even if that were the case, it didn’t explain how Rizzard could have gotten to Russia or why he and Bykov had been found dead on some remote overpass. Had Bykov wanted to employ the Sewer Rat? Or had the Sewer Rat gone there as a hired assassin? Neither of these scenarios made sense. With a sigh, Captain Donovan leaned back in her chair. This was why she wanted to retire, so she wouldn’t have to deal with any more of this crazy shit.
Usually these crazy cases involved the Scarlet Knight, but this time there was no sign of her involvement. For that matter there had been no sign of the Scarlet Knight in days. She had blown off Donovan’s attempts to set up a meeting. Or maybe she hadn’t blown them off; maybe she was dead. Or maybe after she had apprehended Don Vendetta she had decided to head for Arizona or Florida to retire. Or maybe the crazy bitch was in her Batcave, polishing her breastplate or whatever she did.
Donovan picked up the file about Bykov’s death. She decided to take it down to her Russian friends in the holding cells. It might loosen their tongues up a bit. Or maybe it would shut them up even more. In either case, their reaction might help her figure out exactly what the hell was going on—and whom she was up against.
When she came back, she would hand off the Rizzard file to the cold case unit. Let them waste their time with that. At the moment she had far bigger fish—or rats—to fry.
***
Of the six Russians, the shortest one with a salt-and-pepper crew cut and mustache had been deemed to be the leader. Donovan found him in the interrogation room, where he stared blankly at the wall. He showed no reaction to her as she entered with the translator. Without preamble, she dropped the file on the table; the photo of Sergei Bykov’s corpse spilled out.
“Sergei Bykov is dead. Gunned down on an overpass,” she said as she took a seat across from him. The translator repeated this in Russian, though Donovan suspected the bastard could speak English just fine.
She waited for the man to react. On the surface he continued to do nothing, but for the briefest of moments, she saw his eyes flick down to the picture, as if to confirm for himself that Bykov was dead. That still didn’t tell her whether he worked for Bykov or someone else.
“If you and your friends were waiting for Bykov to get you out, it’s not going to happen. Only one he’s going to be talking to now is the devil.” The translator repeated this and again Donovan waited in vain for a reaction. “Or maybe you were hoping for someone else to bust you out of here? You think it will be easier if he’s dead?”
Donovan leaned back in her chair. “It doesn’t matter in either case. We’ve got you threatening a police officer with an illegal weapon and carrying a bunch of loot from the Plastic Hippo in the back of your truck. It’s not looking real good for you.”
The man finally broke his silence. In English he said, “There’s nothing you can do to us. At worst your country will deport us to Russia.”
“And I suppose you’ll get a hero’s welcome there, right?”
“We have many friends there.”
“None of your friends have shown up yet.”
“They are biding their time. Waiting for the right moment.”
When Donovan heard a knock on the door, she knew it meant trouble. She saw Lieutenant Cielo in the doorway with a grim expression. “We’ve got trouble, Cap,” he said.
“What is it?”
“There’s a shootout over on Alameda Street, down at the docks. We got two officers down already. Backup’s on the way.”
The docks. That was close to Amanda Murdoch’s beat. Amanda would be on duty tonight with her new training officer. It had taken a fair amount of persuasion to get Darlene Morgan to sign on as Amanda’s tutor. “I’d prefer not being partnered with someone who’s going to get me shot,” Officer Morgan had said.
Ultimately Donovan had struck a deal to sponsor Morgan when it came time to hand out promotions to detective. This was something Donovan probably would have done anyway before she retired. Darlene Morgan was a good officer. Most importantly, she was honest and she operated above board. That she was a woman with a similar background to Amanda was another plus. If anyone could rein Amanda in, it would be Officer Morgan. Except now they would be heading right into some kind of firefight. Donovan could only imagine the mess Amanda would make of that; she would be lucky if Amanda and Darlene weren’t both killed or otherwise crippled.
“Shit,” Donovan said. She shook her head. “Get that Russian asshole back to his cell. Then make sure we have every available unit responding to that call.”
“What about you, Cap?”
“I’m on my way.”
Chapter 24
The Scarlet Knight carried Ivan Bykov through the forest, his hands still tied up with a bit of cloth. She tore off another strip to stuff into his mouth after ten minutes of his ranting about how he would make her suffer and pay.
This made the trip back to the tiny village easier for her, but it wasn’t easy for Emma Earl. She could hear Emma wail for Louise, who had been taken from her so soon after they were reunited. Just as Louise had started to accept Emma as her mother, she was gone again. What would they do to her this time?
At least Emma had the foresight to put that bit of plume into Louise’s turtle so that Marlin could follow her. While the Scarlet Knight concerned herself with carrying Ivan through the forest to the village, Emma waited anxiously for Marlin to return with news about where they had gone.
He took much longer than either Emma or the Scarlet Knight would have liked; he reappeared as she took off the helmet so she could take Ivan into town. For once Marlin didn’t have any jokes or sarcastic comments. He was stone-faced as he reported, “They took her to Prague.”
“Prague? How did they get her there so fast?”
“It’s a witch. She vanished the girl to some house in Prague.”
“A witch? That’s impossible. The coven wouldn’t kidnap Louise. She doesn’t have any value for them.”
“Not the coven. Cecelia’s friends.”
Emma stared at Marlin in shock for a moment. The organization Cecelia had worked for had tried to take the armor from Emma once before, back when she was pregnant with Louise. Now they had kidnapped her little girl, most likely to make her exchange the armor for her daughter’s life. “Oh no.”
“It gets worse. They have Renee too.”
“Renee?” Emma ran a hand through her hair and tried to put the pieces together. If they wanted the armor from her, why kidnap Renee too? Aggie cou
ldn’t deliver the armor to them. “What do they want with her?”
“How should I know? I couldn’t bloody well ask them, could I?”
“It was a rhetorical question.” Emma tore the gag out of Ivan’s mouth. She didn’t need the Scarlet Knight persona for this. “What are they doing with Louise—Katya—and Renee Chiostro?”
“Who?”
“A group of assassins. They took Louise and my friend’s daughter. Did you hire them to do the job?”
“No. Why would I want that little brat?”
Emma couldn’t hold back her hand in time as she slapped Ivan across the face. She held up a finger. “That’s my daughter you’re talking about.”
“The child of an American whore means nothing to me.”
“She meant something to your father. Did he hire them?”
“You think he would tell me such a thing?”
Emma growled with impatience and then stuffed the gag—now wet with saliva and snow—back into Ivan’s mouth. She looked up at Marlin. “Go back and see what you can find out. We’re going to arrange transportation.”
“I’ll try, but don’t hope for any miracles,” Marlin said.
“I have to,” Emma whispered. She reseated the helmet on her head; she no longer cared if anyone saw her as the Scarlet Knight here or not. She shoved Ivan forward and growled, “If you try anything, I’ll cut both your hamstrings. Try hunting then.”
“You wouldn’t,” he said through the gag.
“Your father killed my boyfriend and kidnapped my daughter. You nearly killed me and distracted me while they took her away again.” She poked a finger in his back. “So don’t press your luck.”
As she marched him into the village, she thought again of Peter and the Wolf and when she had told the story to Jim. He was gone now; she would never get to tell him any stories again. Even worse, she had broken her final promise to him, to get Louise back home safely. She had failed him and she had failed Louise. On top of that, Becky had been shot and Aggie’s daughter had been kidnapped as well. Some superhero I am, she thought gloomily.
The townspeople did not appear from their homes to give her a hero’s welcome as she marched Ivan Bykov into town. She kept him walking until they reached the one gas station in town. “You’re going to get on the phone and call some of your father’s friends. Have them send a helicopter to pick us up. Then we’re going to the nearest air force base. I want a jet waiting on the tarmac when we get there—the fastest they have.”
“I can’t do all of that.”
“Yes you can. You’re the son of the great Sergei Bykov, right? That name still probably means something.”
Ivan grumbled something under his breath as she pushed him inside. The clerk told them the pay phone didn’t work, but he generously volunteered to let them use the company phone. He probably saw her in the armor with a sword at her hip and thought she would rob the store. Emma had Ivan give her the number to dial and then whispered into his ear, “You know I speak perfect Russian, so don’t try slipping them any codes.”
“If I do this, will you let me go?”
“I’ll leave you at the air force base. Only because I have to get to Louise. Otherwise I’d as soon drag you all the way back to America.” She poked him with a finger again. “But if you so much as think about Louise, I’ll come back to finish things.”
“Fine. As I said, I have no interest in the brat.”
She held back from slapping him again. He finally got someone on the line and began to make the arrangements. Whoever he talked to was naturally skeptical about his need for the helicopter and jet, but Ivan cleared all of this when he said, “It is my father’s will. You will do it or you will face the consequences.” Though he was dead, Sergei Bykov’s name still carried some weight.
Once Ivan hung up the phone, he said, “They will have the helicopter here in a half-hour. The plane will be waiting for you as requested.”
“Good. Now we can go outside to wait.” She thanked the gas station clerk and then reached into Ivan’s pocket for his wallet. She took out a stack of bills, more than enough to cover the phone call.
There was nothing to do then but wait.
***
Katya’s nose wrinkled as the smell of a soiled diaper wafted across the playpen. It wasn’t really a playpen, so much as a tiny prison for her and the baby she’d found trapped with her once she woke up. The baby hadn’t done much so far except to whimper and sob—and now to wet herself. Katya backed farther into the corner she’d designated as her corner and set Slowey down to use as a pillow.
Now that her diaper was wet, the baby began to cry again. Katya tried her best to ignore this; she turned away from the stupid baby. Katya hadn’t needed a diaper since she was ten months old after she potty trained herself. The only problem had been to get up to the potty and not fall in. To solve this problem, Katarina had installed a miniature toilet for Katya to use until she was big enough to use the grown-up one. This baby had to be over a year old and she was still in diapers and peeing herself.
When two minutes went by without anyone coming to check on them, Katya turned to the baby and snapped in English, “Shut up! Stupid baby.” This only prompted the baby to cry even louder; her tiny face turned bright red. Another minute went by with the baby still crying. Katya finally decided to crawl over to where the baby lay and hope she hadn’t soiled the mattress along with herself.
Katya put a hand on the baby’s back and whispered, “It’s all right. Mommy’s going to find us. She’s going to find us and save us.”
“Mama?”
“That’s right. Mama. My mama. Not yours.”
The baby looked at her in confusion for a moment before she said, “Mama?”
“Yes, fine, Mama.” Katya shook her head; she didn’t understand how a baby could be so dumb. Mommy had said Katya was smart, but clearly this baby wasn’t. “Do you know your name?”
The baby made several nonsense sounds before she managed to get out, “Wenee.”
“Wenee? You mean Renee?”
“Yes.”
“That’s a pretty name. My name is Katya.”
“Kaya?”
“Kaht-ya,” she said.
“Kaya.”
“Sure, Kaya.” Katya shook her head sadly. The baby had made some progress, but she was still slow. Katya wondered why these bad people would want a stupid baby like Renee. Maybe she belonged to some rich people. Or maybe they wanted to use her in a science experiment.
Through the bars of the playpen, Katya saw a room like her library at the sea house. She had to fight off a sniffle at the thought of so many books so close, but just out of her reach. She wished she could have one book so she would have something to do other than sit here with a stupid baby who could hardly say her own name.
As if she sensed Katya’s thoughts, Renee began to cry again. Katya helped the baby sit up and then patted her tuft of brown hair. “It’s all right,” she said as gently as she could. “Mommy’s going to come and save us. She promised she would. Then she’ll make all these bad people go away and she’ll take you back to your parents.”
“Mama? Agga?”
“That’s right. She’ll take you back to your mama and agga.” Katya didn’t know what the latter meant; she assumed it was some kind of silly baby talk. “She’ll make everything better.”
Katya didn’t really know why she believed so much in Mommy. Maybe it was the pretty armor she wore that made her look like a storybook hero. Or maybe it was the obvious love in her eyes. Maybe it was the certainty in her voice when she had said she would find Katya. Whatever it was, she knew Mommy would come through for her. She knew it.
She picked up Slowey and made sure the bit of yellow fuzz was still inside his stuffing. Then she held up the turtle’s face so the plastic eyes and sewn-on mouth faced Renee. “Hellllllll-o,” she said, doing her best impersonation of the voice Katarina had done for Slowey. “Iiiiiiit’s niiiiiiiice to meeeeeet youuuuuuuu. Myyyyyyyy naaaaa
ame issss Slooooooo-weeeee.”
Renee clapped her pudgy hands together at this and giggled. A stupid baby like her was pretty easy to impress. “Slowey, this is Renee. She’s a silly little baby. She’s not a big girl like me.”
Renee’s face began to turn red again as if she were about to cry. Katya sighed at this. “All right, you’re not a silly little baby. Is she, Slowey?”
“Noooooooo. Sheeeeeee’s a biiiiiiiiig girrrrrrrl tooooooo.”
Renee giggled again, which in turn made Katya smile. She broke into a round of “Row, Row Your Boat” with her and Slowey. This prompted more laughter from Renee. By the time it was over, the baby tucked her head against Katya’s chest and fell asleep. Katya stroked Renee’s hair and whispered, “Mommy will come for us. She’ll come for us soon.”
The door finally opened, but it wasn’t Mommy who came in. It was the mean old lady who had taken Katya from the forest. The old woman bent down and smiled at Katya. “Looks like you’ve made a new friend.”
“Where’s Mommy?”
“I’m sure she’s out looking for you. But she’s not going to find you.” The old woman reached into the playpen to pick Renee up. The baby’s eyes opened and she looked around for a moment before she wailed again. She held her hands out to Katya, who could do nothing as the old woman carried Renee across the room to a table. “It smells like someone needs a change.”
Renee kicked and squirmed until finally the old woman put a hand to her head as she’d done to Katya in the forest. The baby went still so the old woman could change the diaper. Katya watched all of this with her fists clenched with rage. How could the mean old lady do that to Renee? She was a baby. Even if she was a little stupid, she didn’t deserve it.
“You should let her go,” Katya said as the old woman carried Renee over to a crib. “She’s a baby.”
“Yes, and so are you.” The old woman lifted her out of the playpen, her hands like steel around Katya’s chest. Katya could only cry like a baby as the old woman tore the stuffed turtle from her hands and dumped him back into the playpen. She squirmed in the old woman’s arms. “Let me go!” she said.
Tales of the Scarlet Knight Collection: The Wrath of Isis Page 132
