the laptop computer that would lead back to Rencke. But Chernov was damned good, even better than his brother.
He clambered into the cab, and ducked below the level of the windows as Astimovich took off in the opposite direction from the Mercedes on the heels of dozens of police cars coming out from the city, their lights flashing, their sirens blaring.
It was 1:15 a.m. when the helicopter touched down at the edge of the vast Dinamo Stadium parking lot. Chernov and Petrovsky dismounted and hurried over to the knot of policemen standing around the Mercedes four- by-four.
“Who is in charge of this operation?” Chernov asked mildly, though he was seething with rage.
A Militia lieutenant was summoned from one of the patrol cars, where he’d been busy on the radio. He saluted crisply.
“You were told to follow this car, not mount World War Three,” Chernov said.
“We did follow the car, sir,” he said. He gestured toward the flea market. “But the driver disappeared in there someplace, so I ordered the entire parking lot surrounded. My people are letting them out one by one after a thorough search. We’ll find him.”
“You think so?”
“Yes, sir,” the lieutenant replied enthusiastically.
“Very well. But if you don’t find him here tonight, you will be placed under arrest and tried for failure to follow orders. Is that clear?”
The lieutenant’s face fell. “Yes, sir.”
“I suggest that you get on with it,” Chernov said, and the lieutenant scurried back to his radio car.
“Over here,” Petrovsky said, from the Mercedes.
Chernov walked over. A KGB general’s uniform was laid out in the backseat, along with a laptop computer. “Well, we know how he planned on getting close,” Petrovsky said. “Now that he doesn’t have this, maybe he’ll finally give up.”
“He won’t quit,” Chernov said. He glanced toward the flea market. “He came here to buy a weapon, and he means to use it.”
“Then maybe we’re lucky, maybe he’s still here.” Chernov shook his head. “He’s gone. As soon as he spotted the first police ear he got out. It’s just as much my fault as it is that lieutenant’s.”
“Were you serious about arresting him?” “Either that or just shoot him and get it over with, I really don’t care which,” Chernov said. “In the meantime McGarvey has made it to Moscow, and it’s up to us to find him in the next forty-eight hours, whatever it takes.” Chernov gave Petrovsky a hard stare. “And I do mean whatever it takes.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
McGarvey sat across the large desk from Yakov Ostrovsky, his legs crossed, smoking a cigarette and sipping French champagne, while he maintained an outward calm. Astimovich waited with Ostrovsky’s bodyguards and ferret-faced accountant in an outer office, while the boss talked serious business with the Belgian who’d apparently gotten himself in some big trouble. No one else in the busy club knew what was going on, and Ostrovsky agreed to let it remain that way for the moment, although he was extremely suspicious and therefore wary, but curious. It was this curiosity that McGarvey planned on using to his advantage over the next forty-eight hours.
“I’m told that there was some excitement at the flea market this evening,” the Mafia boss said. “You had to leave the car you were bringing to me.”
McGarvey shrugged indifferently. “There are ten more coming by transport truck from Riga in a few days.”
“If you were stopped because of one car, what makes you think that you’ll be successful bringing in ten?”
“Because the next shipment won’t be traceable to me. They’re coming directly to you if we can make a deal. But I’ll have to lay low here until they arrive.”
“Then what?”
“I’ll be returning to Riga to arrange for further shipments,” McGarvey said. “That is if you want more cars.”
“Situations change,“I Ostrovsky said, a calculating expression in his eyes. “Maybe we’ll have to rework the conditions of our business arrangement. Maybe the risk has become too great for me. I have a serious position to maintain.”
“I’m listening,” McGarvey said.
“It strikes me that the Militia went to a lot of trouble to corner an ordinary smuggler tonight.”
“But that’s just the point, Yakov, I’m not an ordinary smuggler. In fact you’ve already verified that the papers for the car are valid. It’s the same for the car I had to abandon tonight. The Militia was after me because I killed two of their officers outside of Volokolamsk.”
“Now that’s a crime those boys do take seriously,” Ostrovsky said quietly. “Why did you do it?”
“I was speeding, and since I was driving such an obviously expensive automobile they suggested that I needed protection.”
“Why didn’t you pay it?”
“I would have been forced to pass on the extra cost to you.”
Ostrovsky shrugged.
“The fact is I don’t like to be pushed around,” McGarvey said, allowing a hard edge into his voice. “I was tired, they were being unreasonable, and when I told them to fuck themselves they ordered me to get out of the car. So I shot them dead, dragged their bodies into the ditch, and drove the rest of the way here. Somebody must have seen something, maybe a farmer, I don’t know. It was just rotten luck.”
“What were you doing at the flea market?”
“I bought a couple of souvenirs for a friend in Brussels,” McGarvey said. He allowed a faint smirk. “This business is a two-way street, you know.”
“Let me see the gun you used,” Ostrovsky said. McGarvey hesitated a moment, then leaned forward so that he could remove the Walther from its holster at the small of his back. He ejected the magazine, locked the empty breach block in the open position and handed it across the desk.
Ostrovsky examined the gun, then sniffed the barrel. “This weapon has not been fired recently.”
“I cleaned it.”
The Mafia boss nodded. “You are an efficient man.”
“Da,” McGarvey said. “There’s no problem importing cars to you. The only problem that exists at the moment is a place for me to stay for a few days. I would have thought that you would provide me the professional courtesy.” McGarvey inclined his head.
Ostrovsky sat back, a big grin on his face. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, Monsieur Allain,” he said. “I will be happy to have you as a guest of the club until my cars safely arrive.” His smile disappeared. “Since it’s only for a few days, I’ll require you to remain here, out of sight within the club.” Ostrovsky smiled again. “Think of it as a well-deserved vacation.”
“That’s fine with me,” McGarvey said, returning the smile. “But you might warn your staff that I’m a light sleeper. A very light sleeper.”
Aboard Tarankov’s Train
Elizabeth McGarvey lay fully clothed on the narrow bed in the darkness of the tiny train compartment, trying without luck to catch at least a few hours sleep. Her heart refused to slow down, and her stomach ached from fear and worry.
By now Jacqueline would have reported her missing, and word would have been passed to Tom Lynch in Paris, who would have in turn informed Ryan at Langley. But there was nothing any of them could do to help her, simply because nobody knew where she’d been taken.
