by Cindy Dees
Russian government? Shock rooted Amanda’s feet to the ground. No way. What did they want with her? Were they tied into the diamonds somehow? The Venezuelan police officer had a good look at the guy’s identification and seemed satisfied with it, so he must be for real. She waited until an ambulance crew tried to move the Russian. Under the cover of his moaning pain, she slipped away in the dark.
Thoughtfully, she made her way across a half-dozen estates, dodging on autopilot the various security guards, lights and dogs she encountered. The guy who’d followed her at LaGuardia had been Russian government, too. What was the link? Were they trying to track down the smugglers, too, or was there a more sinister connection? Were they part of the diamond-smuggling operation?
Amanda stopped at the top of a gentle hill, crouched in the shadows of a stately beige Georgian mansion. The contact’s house. She checked her watch. They’d been jumped nearly a half hour ago. Where was Taylor? Gad, she hated it when they got split up like this.
What she wouldn’t give to be wired with microphones and radios right about now. But wires would undoubtedly freak out their contact if they were searched. Speaking of which, they were due for their meeting in about five minutes. C’mon, Taylor. Show up.
Amanda waited, more worried than she was willing to admit, for fifteen more minutes. She’d begun to consider going to the meeting alone when, without warning, a hand clapped over her mouth. She jolted violently and grabbed the hand preparatory to ripping its thumb off. A voice whispered in her ear, “Hi, honey, I’m home.”
She sagged in relief and turned in Taylor’s arms, throwing her arms around his neck. “Thank God you’re safe,” she cooed in his ear. She inhaled his wonderful, reassuring scent as he crushed her in a warm, safe hug. Regretfully, she lifted her head off his shoulder.
“Yeah, I know. We’ve got to go,” he whispered. “So, who were those bastards?”
“Russian,” she bit out. “Government.”
He stared at her, mirroring her shock. “What the hell do they want with us?”
She shrugged. “One bad guy at a time. Let’s find out who Four Eyes is first, and then we’ll worry about what burr’s up the Russians’ butts.”
She felt Taylor’s silent chuckle. “Front door or back?” he asked.
“Front,” she replied. They stood up and she brushed herself off as best she could. She still felt little balls of dirt down the back of her shirt, but there was no help for it. She picked a few stray leaves off Taylor, and the two of them strolled around to the front porch as if they owned the place. He rang the doorbell.
A gray-haired man opened the door cautiously. He lurched in momentary surprise, but composed himself almost instantly. “You must be Xavier’s friends,” the man said smoothly. “Come in, come in.”
Amanda frowned mentally. He hadn’t expected them to show up on his porch. Why not? He was the one who set up the meeting…. He’d sold them out. This guy was the reason Russian agents had just jumped them.
“Why, thank you,” Amanda said graciously and glided inside. She didn’t look at Taylor, but she felt when the same conclusion hit him. He stiffened for one furious millisecond, and then it was gone. Smooth as silk, he followed her inside. God, he was good.
Their host led them into an elegant sitting room, dimly lit by a single small lamp in a far corner. She noted their host took a seat with his back to the light, casting his face in deep shadow. Fine. If he wanted to be all spooky and mysterious it was no skin off her nose. She wasn’t leaving here tonight until she knew everything there was to know about Four Eyes. She took a seat beside Taylor on an antique, and highly uncomfortable, couch.
Their host spoke English, but with a melodic Spanish accent. “Thank you for coming here this evening. The matter of which you wish to speak is most delicate.”
Amanda refrained from rolling her eyes. Whatever. The guy’d just pronounced himself a rank amateur. They always got carried away in the drama of the moment. She replied dryly, “Thank you for seeing us on such short notice. It was very kind of you.”
“So tell me,” the man said lightly, “how is it you managed to penetrate the impenetrable security of Viktor Maldonado?”
She had no intention of giving away any trade secrets to this jerk. She replied with a polite smile, “And why is it you were so hot and bothered to see him dead?”
Their host leaned back in his chair, displeased. At least he caught the hint. She wouldn’t reveal her secrets, and he wouldn’t reveal his.
“Did you see the evening news tonight?” she asked into the deepening silence.
The man’s frown eased. “Yes. There was a bit about one of the richest men in Mexico being hospitalized. Apparently doctors are puzzled over why he’s so ill. He’s been flown to the United States for treatment.”
Amanda shrugged. “There is no cure for his condition. He will be gravely ill until he dies. He is no longer a viable business entity of any kind.”
“I wanted him dead.”
“You needed him out of your way for business purposes, and this way you don’t have blood on your hands. Besides, this way he’ll suffer—a lot—before he dies.”
Fierce satisfaction gleamed in their host’s black gaze.
She leaned forward. “I believe you have some information for us.”
The man stood up and moved to a desk across the room. He pulled a key ring out of his pocket and unlocked a deep desk drawer. He reached inside to spin the lock on a small safe, and pulled a manila envelope out of it. He handed it to Amanda as he walked past her and sat down once more.
She opened it and pulled out a sheaf of handwritten notes. On top was a faxed copy of the photograph she’d given Xavier. She translated the Spanish aloud for Taylor. “His name is Alexii Brodin. He comes from a city called…Udarsky in Kyrgyzstan, goes by the nickname Kirgy. Age forty-five, rap sheet a mile long all over Eastern Europe. Racketeering, smuggling, drug running, weapons trading, theft, bribery, murder, the works.” She frowned as she read on. “He’s attached to the Russian Mafia.”
Taylor interrupted. “The Mafia? As in mostly ex-KGB, now controls Russia like Al Capone did Chicago? That Mafia?”
“The very same,” their host replied. “Of that there is no doubt.”
She flipped to the last page. “It says here he’s getting protection from someone big because he was able to move freely through the United States recently, after he was identified by the FBI.” She looked up at their host. “Is the Russian Mafia that connected inside the FBI?”
The man’s gaze was sharp. “I highly doubt it. I think your friend owns someone high up elsewhere in your government.”
She glanced down at the notes. “It says here he was last seen in Mexico. Do you know where he is now?”
Their host leaned back in his seat. Amanda didn’t like the look on his face. The arrogant prick was going to try to extort something else from them beyond the Maldonado job.
Sure enough, the guy steepled his fingers and said slowly, “I might.”
She surged up off the couch and across the room before the guy could blink. She jumped on him, planting a knee in his groin and grabbing his throat, pinching off the veins on either side of his trachea. She shoved her face within inches of his. “Here’s the way the rest of this conversation’s going to go. You’re going to tell me exactly what I want to know, and I’ll let you live. One wrong answer and you die. Got it?”
The guy’s panicked gaze met hers, and he nodded as much as he was able to with her hand jammed up under his chin.
“Where is Brodin now?”
“I don’t know,” the guy croaked.
Amanda tightened her fingers, cutting off the guy’s air. His eyes were getting bloodshot.
“But I know where he’s going to be,” the man choked out frantically.
Amanda eased off slightly on the pressure. “Keep talking.”
“He’s flying into Caracas within a few days to do a business deal.”
“What sort of de
al?” she demanded.
“I don’t know. But it’s huge. Drawing in a lot of big players.”
“When?”
“I don’t know.” The guy didn’t wait for her to choke him again before he rushed on. “But I can give you advance notice of when he’s due in. Maybe six hours.”
“Make it twelve,” she snarled, “and I might let you live.”
“Okay, okay. Twelve hours,” the guy whined.
She gave him the phone number of her answering service and made him repeat it back to her until she was sure he’d remember it, even in his terrified state. Then she said, “Next question. Why did you sell us out to the Russian government? Why not tell Brodin?”
The guy stared in dismay. “I didn’t—”
She cut off the rest of the air he’d have used to finish that lie. “I don’t care if you want to take over Brodin’s business, or sleep with his wife, or just screw him over. But if you so much as breathe a word to him about what you’ve told us, or you ever try to double-cross me again in any way, I’ll tell Brodin myself that you ratted him out.”
A spreading, warm wetness at Amanda’s knee told her he got the point just fine. Man, this Brodin character really had this guy scared. Truth be told, Brodin had her a little spooked. If only she knew why he was so determined to kill her—him and the Russian government. She stood up and saw Taylor standing behind her with his pistol drawn.
“Please,” the guy babbled, “if you try to kill Brodin, do not fail. Otherwise, he will know he’s got a leak, and he’ll come after me and my family. I implore you. Don’t miss.”
She answered coolly, “I never miss.” She held out a hand. “Give me your car keys.”
The guy fished in his pocket for the key ring he’d used earlier. The keys rattled musically as he passed them to her with a trembling hand. She said lightly, “Don’t bother reporting it stolen. I’ll have it returned to you when we’re through with it.”
She tied the guy to the chair with his necktie, then scooped up the envelope and the notes on Brodin. Taylor fell in beside her and they made their way quickly to the back of the house, being careful to touch nothing that would pick up a fingerprint.
They found the garage through a mudroom attached to the kitchen. Taylor slid behind the wheel of the late-model Mercedes while Amanda activated an automatic garage door opener on the driver’s visor. The big door rattled up. Taylor backed out and turned around, pointing the car down the driveway. The front gate opened automatically as they approached it.
They rolled out into the street and away into the darkness. They burned almost a half tank’s worth of gas before they were dead certain they hadn’t been followed from the guy’s house. It was well after midnight when they finally drew near their hotel.
“Let’s ditch the car here,” she announced. “We can walk the rest of the way back.”
Taylor nodded and turned into a narrow side street. It was dark and seedy. They climbed out of the car, and a gang of potentially unpleasant young men closed off the entrance of the alley and began to stroll toward them. She cursed under her breath.
Taylor grinned down at her. “Watch this.” He picked up his pace and strode right at the gang. The thugs were a bit taken aback, but closed ranks quickly. Crud. The last thing she needed right now was a gang rumble. Too many other thoughts were racing around in her mind demanding consideration. “Anyone speak English?” Taylor asked casually.
“Yeah,” one of the toughs spoke up.
“Here. Catch.” Taylor tossed him the car keys. “Go have fun.”
The guy looked down at the keys and then up at the gleaming black Mercedes behind them. “Are you kidding?” he squeaked. Amanda grinned as the tough-guy mask fell away and revealed a teenage kid in the middle of a dream come true.
Taylor laughed. “Nope. It’s hotter than a house fire, but it’s all yours.”
As the gang caught the gist of what he’d done, disbelieving smiles broke out. They parted ranks to let Amanda and Taylor pass through. There was a brief whispered exchange, and the one who spoke English put a hand on her arm. She tensed to fight.
“Hey, lady. Some suits was asking around if anyone had seen a man and a woman looking like you. They was showing pictures. One of my boys says you was in the picture.”
“Is that so?” she replied. “What did these guys look like? Were they Russian?”
A kid spoke up in Spanish. “Nah. Not Russian. They stank of U.S.A. all the way.”
“DEA?” she asked. They were by far the most common U.S. law enforcement presence in this neck of the woods.
“If they were, they ain’t the regulars,” one of the other boys retorted.
She nodded slowly. “Thanks for the heads-up.” She murmured to Taylor, “They say some Americans were flashing around pictures of us a while ago.”
They walked back toward their hotel, alert for anyone following them. Amanda said, “Let’s go back to that cafe across from the hotel and see who’s hanging around.”
“Good idea,” Taylor replied. “Besides, I’m hungry.”
She laughed. “How can you think of food at a time like this?”
He laughed back at her. “How can you not? With all that running around and threatening people we did tonight, I’ve really worked up an appetite.”
It took them only minutes to pick out the Americans watching the hotel. The pair sat at a bar just inside the hotel lobby. Big plate-glass windows opened out onto the street from the cocktail club so the guys could watch outside, too. As a stakeout spot went it wasn’t bad. The men were decent at what they did, but they just didn’t blend into the local scenery.
“FBI, do you suppose?” she asked Taylor.
He studied the pair. “I don’t think so. I did a lot of work with FBI agents when I was counseling convicts, and those two don’t seem…blue-collar enough. FBI types work hard and get their hands dirty. Those two over there look like they’d rather be sitting in an air-conditioned room pecking at a computer.”
Amanda agreed with his assessment. The Americans looked faintly uncomfortable in the bar, nursing drinks long gone warm and watery. She frowned. “Do you remember Marina Subova’s itinerary? I thought she was in Europe right now, not Venezuela.”
Taylor nodded. “She’s in Germany until tomorrow, then Switzerland for a week.”
“Then what’s Brodin doing here? Does that shoot down your theory of him getting delivery messages for diamonds from her music?”
Taylor stared at her thoughtfully. “I still think I was right about that. However, Marina’s manager threatened her with tax-evasion charges if she didn’t play the music. That would mean the Russian government was using Brodin, not the Russian Mafia. Was our contact tonight wrong about Brodin’s employer?”
Amanda shook her head sharply in the negative. “I was looking the guy in the eye and he was scared to death. He told the truth. Brodin’s Mafia.”
“So the Russian government was making convenient use of a Mob thug for some purpose,” Taylor stated.
“But what? Surely Mother Russia doesn’t need shipments of small arms and explosives. It’s got warehouses full of that kind of stuff.”
Taylor shrugged. “Are they supplying terrorists, or someone they don’t want Russian equipment to show up in the hands of?”
“Russian military gear is so widely available on the black market already, a little more wouldn’t be remotely noticeable. They’ve got to be using Brodin for something else.”
“Something attached to diamonds?” Taylor asked.
She nodded slowly. “It’s the only element in this whole puzzle that’s consistent. Starting with Devereaux’s involvement in this case, to gemstone diamonds showing up around Marina Subova, to the arms trades by Brodin.”
Taylor leaned forward abruptly. “No offense, but why in hell did Devereaux put you on this case to begin with? You were seriously overdue to stand down. Why did you, in your mental and emotional state, get sent after a handful of diamonds? Sure, the s
tones were big, but why would Devereaux risk burning you out for good over a few lousy diamonds?”
“I wasn’t in that bad of shape, was I?”
He looked her in the eye. “Worse. You’re doing worlds better now, mind you, but I’ve never seen anyone that close to a crack-up who didn’t end up coming apart completely.”
She reached across the table to squeeze his hand briefly. There was no need for words. She was sitting here today because of his care and concern.
Taylor asked, “When you got your initial briefing on this case from Harry Trumpman, what did he say? Were you only supposed to track down the gemstones popping up around Marina?”
Holy cow. “No,” she breathed. “That didn’t come until later. I was told Devereaux got wind of some big illegal diamond deal going down. His information was that whoever was going to move the stones was attached to Marina Subova’s entourage.”
Taylor nodded. “Maybe we haven’t been so far off track all along. Four Eyes—Brodin—trails along behind Marina, waiting to do some big diamond deal. In the meantime, he does a few side deals for the Russian Mafia while he waits for the right signal from the Russian government.”
“Except now he’s gone off her itinerary and is coming to Caracas,” she said quietly.
Which meant it was time for the big deal to go down. They stared at each other in silence for several moments.
“Now what?” Taylor asked.
“I’ve got my father’s journal in my purse. Everything else we left in the hotel is replaceable. I say let’s blow this joint and hole up somewhere else until Joe Pees-his-pants calls us with Brodin’s arrival time.”
Taylor nodded crisply. They left the cafe and retraced their steps to the alley. They found their friendly, local gang still crawling all over the plush car. Amanda hastened to reassure the boys as hackles went up at the sight of her and Taylor. “Gentlemen,” she said pleasantly, “you were so helpful before, I wondered if we might prevail upon you to transact a bit of business.”
The youths were more than happy to hook her up with the local black market electronics suppliers, weapons dealers, and even private lodgings when she peeled a fistful of bolivars off her wad of cash. She suspected she and Taylor were staying in the home of one of the kids’ parents, but she didn’t care.