Kill Zone (Danger in Arms, Book 2)

by Cindy Dees

  Amanda asked Taylor, “Any suggestions on how to approach this interview, Doctor?”

  “Tell him the truth. I doubt anything less will work.”

  Amanda nodded. And shivered. She looked up to see if the sun had gone behind a cloud, for the air had taken on a sudden chill. But it shone down brightly on her upturned face. It was a long walk down Subov’s driveway.

  Long enough for her to think about her life. She’d been dealt crummy cards in parents, but she’d survived. She knew only one way of living—paranoia and violence. So she’d compromised, finding a niche in the covert-operations community, where her lifestyle was acceptable—channeled and controlled—but acceptable.

  She’d managed quite nicely until Taylor had barged into her orderly little world. He’d turned her life upside down with his wide-eyed innocence and moral certitude. He’d forced her to examine her values and finally to face the reality of her life.

  She was a criminal, playing an endless game of cat and mouse with other criminals. No matter what patina of higher good she’d claimed to serve, the plain fact was that Anton Subov’s daughter was dead because of her. She’d led murderers straight to Marina and they’d killed her.

  If she survived beyond the next half hour, Amanda was going to have to learn to live with that fact. She didn’t know how she’d make peace with herself, but she’d find it or go mad trying. Like father, like daughter.

  When they reached the front porch, she hung back. This was Taylor’s gig. He was the trained psychologist with years of experience extracting information out of uncooperative subjects.

  Taylor knocked on the heavy wooden door. A man answered, his back bent and his shoulders sagging. His head was mostly bald, its pink flesh mottled with liver spots above a bright blue gaze, incongruously alive in the weathered face.

  The impact of those eyes was almost physical. The keen intelligence that shone from them was palpable in its intensity, and gave him an overall sense of vitality that was impressive. “Dobrii dyen. Menya zovut Taylor Roberts.”

  Subov answered in flawless English, “Good day, Taylor Roberts. What brings you to my humble doorstep?”

  He replied quietly, “I’ve come to convey my condolences at the loss of your daughter.”

  Subov’s eyes were instantly hooded, and Taylor sensed the deceptive relaxation in the man’s stance. Perfect, lethal balance underlay the man’s exaggeratedly stooped posture. Taylor packed his voice with all the genuine sincerity he could. “Mr. Subov, I mean you no harm. We work for no government, and we carry no weapons. If you would like to search us, that would be fine.”

  Subov stared hard at him for a long moment, then nodded. “You tell the truth.” He looked back and forth between Taylor and Amanda, who still hung back in the shadows. “But neither of you need a weapon. You both can kill with your bare hands.”

  Taylor blinked at the man’s directness and met it with his own. “That is true. But I hope it will not prevent you from speaking with us. I’d wager you, too, are capable of killing bare-handed.”

  Subov chuckled, a rusty sound. “That is also true, my observant young guest. And who have you brought with you?”

  Taylor stepped aside to reveal Amanda fully to Subov. The man frowned for a moment, half recognizing her. And then his face lit up. “Amanda McClintock! My daughter’s school chum.”

  Amanda stepped up to the old man and embraced him in a spontaneous gesture of comfort. Taylor blinked. Since when had she started hugging people in demonstrations of compassion?

  Subov returned the hug briefly, patting her awkwardly on the back. “Enough. You’ll embarrass me.” He turned and led them into the house, Amanda’s hand tucked safely under his arm.

  Taylor followed the pair into a frighteningly formal drawing room. Faded Aubusson rugs covered hardwood floors, elaborately carved mahogany chairs boasted brocade seats and a pair of magnificent tapestries depicting hunting scenes flanked a long gilt mirror over the pink marble fireplace. The ceiling soared some fifteen feet over their heads, and frescoed cherubs cavorted around the crystal chandelier. It looked like something straight out of the czar’s Winter Palace.

  Taylor was relieved when they passed through the salon and into a much cozier room. A fire crackled in the brick fireplace, overstuffed club chairs beckoned and the mellow tones of the wood paneling were soothing. Subov took a seat and turned that saber-sharp gaze of his on Taylor. “What do you wish to speak with me about?”

  “Amanda and I were present when Marina was killed. I would like to think that she didn’t die in vain, and that with your help, something good might come out of her death. She and I were discussing something highly sensitive at the time she died that may be related to her murder.”

  “Her what?” Subov snapped.

  Taylor blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  The man was white with rage. He half rose out of his chair. “My baby was murdered?”

  Taylor stared, stunned. He’d assumed Subov knew. Christ, the Swiss government—no, more likely the Russian government—must have covered up the incident. He stumbled through answering, “Yes, that’s correct.”

  “Impossible. She was in a car accident.”

  Taylor touched the long scab on his left temple. “I was grazed by the same bullet that killed her. It struck her in the throat.”

  Subov subsided into his chair, aghast. “You lie.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. I do not.” Taylor described in excruciating detail exactly what had happened in the park. At least as best as he and Amanda could piece it together. He spared Subov nothing. The guy had to believe them. Hell, he deserved to know the truth.

  At the end of his recitation, Subov was silent. His hands shook violently, but he gave no other outward sign of reaction to the tale. Taylor hesitated, unsure of what to do. A lie by the Russian government he had not foreseen. Slowly, Subov’s shock coalesced into muttering fury. Taylor silently translated the Russian invective. Those bastards. Those murdering, lying bastards.

  He and Amanda waited a long time while Subov visibly sorted through his jumbled thoughts. Finally, he looked up. His voice was hard. “Tell me everything. From the beginning this time.”

  Taylor sketched the details of their investigation into the diamond smuggling for their host, starting with Grigorii Kriskin’s suicide in Carnegie Hall and ending on Subov’s doorstep. “I wish I could tell you who’s behind all this, Mr. Subov, but I don’t know. Nor do I know who pulled the trigger that killed your daughter.”

  “I do.” Subov jumped up out of his chair, and paced, agitated.

  It was Taylor’s turn to be shocked. “You can’t possibly know….”

  “I have a pretty good idea.” The man pivoted sharply and stalked back across the room.

  “But how?”

  “Do you forget who I am? For decades, I was one of the most powerful men in the world. I still have connections. I’ve heard rumors, innuendos, tidbits here and there, but I didn’t put them together until now.” His rage flared and he buried his fist in his other palm. “By God, they’ll pay for this. If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll see to it they pay.”

  Taylor leaned forward. “We believe the same people who killed your daughter have been trying to kill Amanda over the last couple months. We need to know who it is. Was it the CIA?”

  Subov stopped pacing for a moment and glared at him. “Lord, no. It wasn’t the Americans. It was Russians.” He spit the word out with disgust.

  Taylor leaned back, digesting that bit of information. “Government or Mob?”

  Subov headed for the telephone on the console table behind the sofa. He snarled, “Let us find out.”

  He placed a call, speaking in rapid Russian that Taylor was only able to catch snatches of. Subov made several more calls in quick succession. Even if Taylor hadn’t understood a word of Russian, it was clear that Subov was contacting people who owed him favors within both the Russian government and Mob.

  Subov put down the phone and collapsed
into an armchair, abruptly looking like an exhausted old man. “Now we wait.”

  Taylor looked away tactfully as a tear rolled down the guy’s cheek. Silently, Amanda got up and brought him a box of tissues from the desk on the other side of the room. The wave of grief eventually passed. Subov’s shoulders stopped shaking and he looked up, his eyes red rimmed. His voice rough, he ordered them, “Tell me again what happened.”

  He questioned Taylor and Amanda closely about Marina’s murder, and Taylor was duly impressed by the guy’s interrogation skills. Worthy of the best the FBI had to offer. And then the Russian asked the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. “Who do you to work for?”

  Taylor looked over at Amanda and she nodded. He duly replied, “We work for a man called Devereaux.”

  Subov sucked in his breath. “Indeed? And why would someone of his stature be interested in my daughter’s passing off a few diamonds here and there to support her aging father?”

  Amanda fielded that one. “Look where those few diamonds here and there have led us. I’d say Devereaux’s instincts were right on target, wouldn’t you?”

  Subov nodded slowly. “My mistake. I never anticipated that my little stash of diamonds would draw the attention of someone like him.”

  Taylor couldn’t resist. “What can you tell us about Devereaux?”

  “You work for him. You tell me,” Subov retorted.

  Taylor stared the older man down, waiting him out. Subov sighed. “I’ve heard rumors. No more. Of a man, or a small group of men, called Devereaux, who has grown frustrated with the old ways of dealing with certain international forces. Devereaux has taken matters into his own hands and pursues his own brand of justice.”

  Taylor pressed, “What do your contacts say about Devereaux?”

  “Everyone who knows of his existence fears drawing his attention. He is said to be ruthless in the extreme against anyone who crosses the line of his moral standards. A rich, powerful and dangerous vigilante. But a vigilante, nonetheless.”

  “You say that like you don’t approve of him,” Taylor remarked.

  Subov shrugged. “Who’s going to control the vigilante when he crosses the line himself?”

  Taylor nodded, conceding the point. A discussion for another time.

  He and Amanda allowed Subov to pick their brains at will, but the Russian, too, grew frustrated at the lack of conclusive evidence as to who killed Marina. The conversation trailed off. Subov closed his eyes to rest for a few minutes. Taylor and Amanda sat with him in silence, each lost in his own troubled thoughts.

  The fire popped loudly, and Subov jumped. His eyes flew open and he levered himself out of the chair. “Are you hungry? I’ll make lunch for us if you dare try my cooking.” He walked slowly out of the room, like an old man who’d borne one blow too many in his lifetime.

  Their wait for a return phone call turned into an overnight visit. Subov insisted they stay with him until he heard back from his contacts. In yet another surprising show of kindness, Amanda sat with Subov for hours after supper, reminiscing about Marina’s childhood. She told dozens of funny and whimsical anecdotes about their school days together. Subov’s laughter rang out through the evening over his wild daughter’s heretofore unknown antics.

  As Taylor climbed under the fluffy down comforter that night, he rolled toward Amanda, taking her gently into his arms. “That was a decent thing you did for him tonight. You brought an old man joy in the midst of his sorrow.”

  She sighed. “I think I needed it as much as he did.”

  “Do you feel better?”

  “Yes. But I still can’t escape the fact that I’m responsible for her death.”

  Taylor frowned. “Amanda, if anyone’s responsible, I am. If I hadn’t insisted on seeing her, she’d never have been killed.”

  Amanda reached up to smooth her palm over Taylor’s cheek. “We all do what we have to. Rule number sixty-seven, or whatever number I’m up to—never look back.”

  “Never?”

  “Not if you can help it.”

  “You don’t sound entirely convinced. Isn’t there a reckoning at the end of the line? When you’re old and tired, won’t you have to think about it then?”

  Amanda whispered painfully. “I’m going to Hell.”

  “Hey. Weren’t you the one who told me that if you didn’t do the jobs, someone else would? You were given a unique set of skills that you use for the greater good. Yeah, it’s dirty work, but don’t the ends justify the means?”

  “I’ve gotten innocent victims killed. First Grigorii Kriskin, then all the people in Caracas, and now Marina. How am I going to live with that?”

  He hugged her close. Lord, he was proud of her. She was completing the journey back to humanity before his very eyes. And she’d made it on her own. He smoothed her hair back from her tormented brow. “There are people, like me, who can help you learn to deal with it. But in the meantime, remember you’re not alone. I love you, you know.”

  Amanda’s shoulders began to shake. “I know. I don’t understand why, but I know.”

  Taylor felt tears sliding off her cheek onto his arm. He rocked her slowly and let her cry.

  Her whispered voice came out of the darkness. “I love you, too.”

  He dropped a gentle kiss on the top of her head, smiling into her hair. “I know.” Finally. He’d found the tender, loving woman beneath the cold, calculating operative. Or, rather, she’d found herself.

  Subov’s answer came the next morning in a phone call from Switzerland. The bullet dug out of Marina’s neck was fired from a 5.45 mm PRI pistol, the kind issued to officers of the Russian intelligence directorate. Subov hung up the phone, visibly shaken. He paced the large kitchen, agitated. “My own government killed her. They took away my career, exiled me in disgrace, stripped my wealth, and now they’ve murdered my only child.”

  He spun in abrupt decision and faced Taylor and Amanda, who were seated at the kitchen table. “You want to know where Marina got those diamonds? I’ll tell you. She got them from me.” He headed for the back door, grabbing a coat. “Come. Let me show you something.”

  Taylor and Amanda hurried after him, snatching their coats off the pegs by the door. Subov strode quickly through the new snow that had fallen overnight, heading off through the trees. They raced after him down a slippery footpath that twisted and turned and finally emerged into a small clearing. A rude hut stood in the center of it. Subov leaned over a lock, fumbling with a key. He pushed the plank door open. “Come,” he called impatiently.

  Taylor hauled wood in through the low doorway, and Amanda helped Subov light a fire in the big iron stove that stood in the corner, next to a barrel of water and a big box of fist-size rocks. A sauna. The flame caught, and Subov fed tinder into the belly of the stove. After a few minutes, he added several logs and closed the oven door.

  He moved to the opposite corner of the room and, using a screwdriver he pulled out of his coat pocket, pried at the flooring. Taylor leaned down to help. He hooked his fingers under the board and lifted it the rest of the way free. Amanda coughed as a cloud of dust rose up from the long, narrow space.

  Subov bent a creaky knee and reached down into the dark slot that was revealed. He handed up a large, brown envelope, then reached into the hole again. He drew out a dirty sack about the size of a pillow case. Taylor helped Subov to his feet, then followed the man to a bench by the tiny table in the opposite corner.

  Amanda sat down on the opposite side of the table with Taylor. Subov unwrapped a string from around the top of the sack. He pulled out a small, cloth bag. The Russian cleared the table with a sweep of his sleeve and gently poured out the contents of the bag. Dozens of small, folded squares of tissue paper. She sucked in her breath. One by one, Subov unfolded the papers and dumped out a series of magnificent diamonds onto the table.

  She picked up one of the stones and shards of brilliantly colored light leaped and danced on the walls of the cabin. “Is this real or synthetic?”
<
br />   “Very good, young lady. It is both.”

  She frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s a real enough diamond, all right. Except it was manufactured in a laboratory a number of years ago.”

  Taylor and Amanda stared at him.

  Subov continued. “The Russian government perfected the technology to make gemstone-quality diamonds decades ago. They sent a sample of their finest work to the Politburo for approval. In my capacity with the KGB, I was responsible for storing the stones afterward.”

  He swept his hand over the table to encompass the cache of stones. “These came into my care at a time when the Soviet regime was failing, and it was clear that I was to become obsolete. I decided to take out a little…insurance policy.”

  She examined another, even larger stone. It sure as heck looked real. “How are they made?”

  “Basically, pure carbon is subjected to extreme heat and pressure. It’s not that complicated a process. An American company demonstrated the technology fifty years ago. It was the Japanese who perfected the process. However, they used argon gas to fill the crystallization chamber, and this made the stones bright yellow. It took Russian scientists to figure out how to complete the process in a vacuum so the stones would be white.”

  Taylor let out a low whistle.

  Subov continued, “The process was prohibitively expensive in the West. Your scientists concluded that making laboratory diamonds on a commercial scale was not economically feasible.

  But that is not the case for us. Stalin built a number of large dams and hydroelectric stations in remote parts of the Soviet Union back in the fifties. He hoped to draw settlers to the hinterlands. It didn’t work, of course. But Russia and its former republics have huge amounts of surplus electrical energy going to waste for lack of power lines to carry it to the major urban centers.”

  “Kyrgyzstan,” Amanda breathed.

  Subov looked up at her in surprise. “You two have done your homework. Yes. Udarsky. It’s a Russian military base near one of the great hydroelectric dams in Kyrgyzstan. Home of a secret diamond-manufacturing facility.”