by Cindy Dees
While it had not been difficult to sneak across the border into Switzerland, they by no means underestimated the efficiency of the Swiss police. The less the two of them exposed themselves, the better. They stayed inside all the next day, eating a picnic of sausage, cheese, apples and crusty rolls he purchased just around the corner.
In the early afternoon, Amanda placed a phone call to the auditorium where Marina would be performing for two more nights. She introduced herself as a florist with a large flower arrangement to deliver to Miss Subova. Would the theater prefer that it be delivered to the pianist’s dressing room or perhaps to her hotel instead?
She hung up and smiled triumphantly at Taylor. “Thirty-nine Rue St. Berges.”
She placed a call to the home. “Hello. May I please speak with Miss Subova?” A pause. “I understand that she wishes to have privacy. I am a very old, very dear friend of hers. Please ask her if she’d like to take a call from Amanda McClintock.”
Another pause.
“You bitch! Waking me up from my beauty rest!”
Amanda laughed. “Marina? Is that you? You sound like hell. And it’s after noon.”
“Don’t talk so loud. I’m hungover.”
“Hungover! You sound recently raised from the dead. I’m passing through town, and I thought you might slip away from your prison guards for an hour or two of freedom. Maybe tonight? I thought we might check out the local talent. Can I entice you?”
“Done. Where shall we meet?”
Amanda grinned and named a small nightclub she and Taylor had walked past the night before that was perfect for their purposes. Dark, reasonably crowded and next to one of the many small parks dotting Geneva. She hung up the phone.
“Well?” Taylor demanded.
She grinned, feeling more and more like her old self. “I had her as soon as I mentioned slipping her prison guards.”
Max Ebhardt shifted his weight yet again. His rear end was going numb. The Mercedes he was sitting in was comfortable enough, but after six hours it was getting old. God, he hated surveillance. The dull ache in his posterior turned into tingling.
How did Biryayev do it? His partner hadn’t moved a muscle in over an hour. The man seemed completely oblivious to his surroundings. He ignored food except for what Max shoved under his nose. Hardly slept. Hell, hardly even spoke anymore. The older man had dark circles under his eyes, and his sagging skin held a sickly gray pallor. He hadn’t shaved in days, and his clothes were unkempt. Biryayev forgot to bathe more than he remembered to, and Max wrinkled his nose at the results.
There was an unholy glow in Biryayev’s eyes that made Max’s flesh crawl. Rasputin, the mad priest who’d dominated czars and helped bring down the Russian monarchy, must have had this same obsessed look about him. Max seriously considered the idea that his boss might be going mad.
Biryayev handed the binoculars to him and ripped open yet another pack of cigarettes. Max cringed. The reeking blue haze from the last pack still lingered in the car’s confined space. He cracked open his window and shifted his face closer to the opening. He lifted the binoculars and stared at the stage door of the concert hall where Marina Subova was performing. Biryayev had a hunch, so here they sat. Funny how everything had come full circle. They’d started by watching the pianist to pick up the McClintock woman’s trail, and here they were, doing it all again.
Marina followed her new bodyguard out of the dressing room. This one was good-looking, but a stolid family man. Too bad. He opened the exit and held it for her. As she stepped outside, Marina noticed a black Mercedes parked across the street. Hadn’t it been there last night, too? She frowned. She was getting too damn paranoid. Maybe she ought to see a psychiatrist.
As she stepped out of the car in front of her host’s home, she cast a surreptitious look around. No sign of the black Mercedes. She really had to get a grip on herself.
The bodyguard waited outside her bedroom until she was settled down for the night before he went to his own room across the hall. Marina gave him a half hour to fall asleep before she got out of bed. She grabbed a coat and tiptoed out of her room.
The taxi she’d ordered while still in her dressing room pulled up outside exactly on time and dropped her off in front of Chez Madeline. Marina sighed. She should’ve known Amanda would choose a boring little bistro with no action. With a sigh, she stepped into the dim interior.
A slight figure detached itself from the counter and turned toward her. Marina reached out and gave her old friend a hug. “Good grief, Mashka. Did you have to pick someplace so…dull? I’m out of my cage! Let’s go have some fun!”
Amanda laughed. “Okay. Let’s get out of here.” They stepped outside.
Marina said brightly, “I know a great bar across town where a bunch of ski instructors hang out. You ought to see the bodies on these Swiss guys! They may act dull in public, but they’re not so bad in the sack.”
Amanda laughed. “I’ve got a better idea. Let’s take a little walk before we go there.”
Marina peered closely at her. “What’s wrong?”
“Let’s walk.”
Marina linked her arm through Amanda’s as she had when they were girls. “Talk to me.”
Amanda led her into the Jardin Anglais, the English Garden, a park on the banks of Lake Geneva. It must be beautiful in the summer. Even dried and brown, it was lovely. The two women walked for some minutes in silence. They neared the lake and passed into a long arched arbor. A shadow detached itself from the dark and glided forward. Marina gave a little shriek.
Amanda squeezed her friend’s arm. “It’s all right. It’s my friend, Taylor.”
“Hello, Miss Subova.”
“Taylor? It is you?”
“Yes. I’m sorry if I frightened you. I asked Amanda to arrange this meeting. I need to speak with you in private.”
Marina glanced uncertainly at Amanda. “I don’t steal men from my best friend.”
Amanda chuckled. “It’s nothing like that. He has a few questions he’d like to ask you. Please don’t be afraid to answer him honestly. I trust him completely.”
Taylor peered into the dark shadows hiding Amanda’s face. Did she really? He was inordinately pleased to hear her say it.
His attention snapped back to Marina as she demanded, “What questions could be so serious that you have to drag me to a secluded park in the middle of the night to speak of it?”
He looked directly into Marina’s eyes. “Diamonds.”
The Russian woman gasped. She swayed slightly and clutched Amanda’s arm before she recovered herself. “What are you talking about?”
“You know perfectly well what I’m talking about.”
“No. I know nothing about any diamonds.”
Taylor schooled his voice to a gentle tone. “I’m not the police. And I don’t work with or for the authorities. I have no intention of turning you in to anyone, Marina. But Amanda’s in danger and I need some information if I’m going to help her.”
“What kind of information?” Suspicion overlaid the fear in her voice. He wished this place was better lit. He could read her body language better if he could see her clearly. “We know about the diamonds. The big gemstones you’ve been selling. We also know about the musical messages encoded into your improvisations. Your government is making you play those, aren’t they?”
Marina staggered. “How…when…what do you want from me?” she stuttered.
He reached out to take her arm and she backed away from him. He let his arm fall. No need to frighten her further. “I mean you no harm,” he reiterated soothingly. “I just need to know where you’re getting the diamonds from that you’re selling to your patrons.”
“Why?” she spit.
“Because whoever’s supplying you is trying to kill Amanda.”
Marina lurched at that one. And then laughed. Loudly. Like a braying donkey. “That’s ridiculous,” she guffawed. “He’d never hurt Amanda!”
“Who’d never hurt her?” Ta
ylor pressed. “Tell me!”
She opened her mouth to speak.
“Max, wake up.”
Foul breath wafted across Max’s face. He turned his head away from the rotten smell and roused himself. “What is it, Comrade Biryayev?” His boss had gotten violently angry at Max the day before for accidentally dropping the Communist title.
“The little piano whore is sneaking out of the house.”
Max groaned and sat up behind the wheel of the car. Why couldn’t she stay in her room for once? It was after midnight, and Marina Subova was just heading out on the prowl. It was going to be another long night. He waited for the taxi to pull away before starting the Mercedes’s powerful engine and steering quietly out of the shadows. “Twenty rubles says she picks up a blond tonight.”
Biryayev growled. “She can fuck a Mongolian for all I care. Just don’t lose her. The McClintock woman has got to come to the bait soon. I can feel the bitch getting close.” Biryayev lifted his nose and sniffed the air like a dog. “I can smell her.”
More likely he smells himself. Max drove on in grim silence, staying well behind the taxi. It was late and there wasn’t much traffic to camouflage them. He was surprised when Marina got out at a quiet little club. This was certainly a departure from her usual style. He parked halfway down the block. Max was just making himself comfortable when their quarry emerged again from the cafe. And she wasn’t alone. He leaned forward, squinting at her companion.
Biryayev, using the binoculars, hissed, “It’s her. Amanda McClintock. She’s taken the bait!”
The women crossed the street quickly and headed for the wooded park on the opposite side.
“I knew it! I knew she was here. Let’s go, Comrade:” Biryayev leaped out the car in barely contained excitement.
Max followed with less enthusiasm. He slid into the plentiful shadows behind his boss and followed Amanda and Marina as they walked rapidly across the lovely gardens. The pair of women ducked down winding paths, circled back twice and stuck to the darkest shadows, but he and Biryayev were better at surveillance than that.
The women’s clumsy attempts to lose them failed. Of course, if the McClintock girl had been by herself, it could’ve been more of a challenge. But with an amateur like Subova in tow, there was only so much McClintock could do. The women neared the lake and disappeared into yet another long, covered pathway.
Biryayev stopped and hand signaled that they’d separate and tail the women down each side of the arbor. He signaled that he’d shoot the McClintock woman before they exited the far end and Max should shoot Subova.
Max rolled his eyes and signaled back emphatically in the negative.
Biryayev scowled and repeated the signal to kill.
Max whispered urgently, “We have no permission to kill anyone. We’re in Switzerland, for God’s sake. It’s neutral ground.”
“Bullshit!” came an explosive whisper in reply.
“But…”
“Silence. I order you to kill Subova if you get the chance.”
Max rose from his crouch without another word. Arguing with Biryayev was useless. The guy was completely unhinged.
He turned away. A strong hand gripped his arm, spinning him around. Biryayev snarled, “Don’t forget, Comrade. McClintock’s daughter is mine.”
“Fine already.” Jeez.
“Go.”
Max ran silently along the wooden arches, encased in dead leaves. He heard the muted sound of voices and halted abruptly. He bent over low from the waist and continued forward carefully. He neared the dense foliage and dropped to his knees. There they were, just ahead. McClintock’s boyfriend, Taylor Roberts, had joined the two women. Why this clandestine meeting? It felt as if it was more than a simple escape from Subova’s bodyguards to go party.
Max rose to his feet and eased forward once more. He was only a few meters from them now. Another step. And another. He could practically touch the McClintock girl. Had a clear shot at Subova over her shoulder. He raised his pistol. And hesitated. He wasn’t a cold-blooded murderer. Did he dare disobey Biryayev’s order? Would the sick bastard turn on him?
With a quick flip of his wrist, Max reversed the pistol in his hand, grasping it by the barrel. He brought the butt of his gun down sharply on the back of Amanda’s head. And heard the spit of a silenced pistol.
Seventeen
Taylor was sandwiched in softness and warmth. Pain shot through his skull. Dim light shone behind his eyelids. The sound of quiet breathing. A thud and a muffled groan. This finally was reason enough for Taylor to crack open his eyes painfully.
Bare white walls. The sounds had come from his right. He turned his head. And screwed his eyes shut against the hot knife of pain that shot through his left temple. He lifted his hand to his head. A bandage circled it. Carefully, he opened his eyes once more. Amanda sat on the floor, leaning wearily against a wall. She looked almost as bad as he felt.
“Hey.” His voice came out a hoarse whisper.
Her eyes opened and she smiled wanly at him. She looked beyond exhausted as she stood up and came over to sit down gently on the side of the bed. “How do you feel?” she murmured.
“Rotten. What happened?”
Amanda hesitated. He knew her too well. She was thinking about what to filter out. “Tell me everything,” he demanded.
“How much do you remember?”
Taylor frowned. “I remember…” He paused. “I remember asking Marina where she was getting her diamonds from. She started to answer me and then something hit me in the head.”
He remembered the smell of wet grass beneath his cheek. It had been ice-cold against his face. A voice. Well, not a voice exactly, but a sound. Crying. The sound of someone stifling sobs. Amanda. He looked up at her in the dim room. She stared back at him patiently. It was coming back to him now. He’d opened his eyes and seen Marina crumpled on the ground, her ruined throat spouting blood like a fountain. Amanda was kneeling over him, begging him frantically not to die. She’d been wrapping something around his head. He vaguely recollected her hauling him to his feet and him stumbling drunkenly out of the park practically draped over her shoulder.
He said aloud, “Marina’s dead, isn’t she?”
Amanda nodded.
“Who did it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Any guesses?” he asked.
“No.”
“What hit me?”
“The bullet that killed Marina grazed you in the left temple. There was a lot of blood. You gave me a bit of a fright.”
A bit of a fright? He remembered stark terror on Amanda’s face as she bent over him. “You’re not looking so hot yourself, babe.”
Amanda grimaced. “I’ve got a concussion. Somebody clocked me in the back of the head. Didn’t want to risk sleeping until you came around. I’ll need to be woken up every couple hours. Wouldn’t do to slip into a coma.”
“What time is it?”
“About 5:00 a.m.” she replied.
“Where are we?”
“In a youth hostel. No one will bother us. They’re all sleeping off a pot party.”
Taylor stared at her in amazement. She was teetering on the edge of a complete mental breakdown, but when the shit hit the fan, she’d found reserves of strength he’d never have guessed she had. She pulled herself together and got him out of the park alive. He’d never met anyone, male or female, as courageous as this slender woman. He slid over to one side of the sagging bed. “Why don’t you lie down? You look like you could use the rest.”
Amanda didn’t argue. She felt like death warmed over. She set her wrist alarm for two hours, stretched out beside Taylor with a grateful sigh and listened to his breathing settle into the even rhythm of sleep. She was too tired, too wired, to sleep. She replayed the details of the moments leading up to the shooting yet again, trying to glean any new detail she’d overlooked.
Marina had laughed at the idea of her source killing Amanda. That meant the source was either nonvi
olent in the extreme…or—good Lord, it was so obvious she’d missed it before—her source knew Amanda! Not only knew her, but liked her. Enough not to kill her. Who around Marina fit that bill? Her mind raced. The only person it could be was Marina’s father.
What did Anton Subov have to do with all this? He’d been KGB until the Soviet regime collapsed, and then he’d retired. Or had he? Had he jumped ship with so many other KGB officers and helped form the Russian Mafia? It made sense. Marina and Brodin were getting their diamonds from the same source. She was using them to raise cash, and he was using them to buy weapons. Son of a gun.
The train trip to Odessa took nearly two days. She and Taylor both slept almost nonstop, rousing only to eat and take care of their most basic needs. They were filthy, exhausted and only partially healed when they arrived. However, Taylor’s Russian held up well enough to find them a room in a once elegant, but now shabby, hotel. A lot like the rest of the city.
Amanda woke up early the next morning. Her headache still throbbed, although it had subsided to human proportions. Thankfully, the goose egg on the back of her head—probably from a pistol butt—was getting smaller, too. At least she wasn’t dead, like Marina…. Amanda took deep, slow breaths until the nausea passed. Even the thought of bloodshed was enough to make her sick.
She forced her thoughts elsewhere. Anton Subov. He was the key to it all. He had to be.
They headed for the Crimean seashore resort where he lived with only a vague idea of where to find him. It turned out to be shockingly easy. They stopped a mailman riding by on his bicycle, and for twenty bucks U.S., he gave them not only the address but detailed directions on how to get there. In a matter of minutes, they stood at the end of a long driveway that wound away into a copse of young birch trees, their spindly white trunks reaching hungrily sunward.
