The man was tall and elegantly handsome, a man who appeared in the vaguely ageless realm of men in their fifties or sixties who were in excellent physical shape and who dressed in impeccable clothes. Chernayev wore a dark suit with a perfectly knotted red tie and a high-collared white shirt. He appeared very much like a politician about to give a televised address.
“Colonel Middleton, I am pleased you are well. You have had enough to eat and drink, I hope,” said Arkady Chernayev.
Middleton held up his glass. “I could use some more cola.”
“Yes,” said Chernayev, “being rescued from a burning complex is a thirsty business.”
At once the serving girl appeared with a fresh glass. She took Middleton’s old one and departed. Chernayev now gestured for Middleton to sit on one of the chairs near the fire. He did so. The Russian joined him.
“So,” said Chernayev, “I understand you wish to ask me some questions.”
“I do. And I have some that have just occurred to me.”
Chernayev smiled very thinly. “I can imagine. You want to know why, perhaps, I attacked the compound.”
“I was going to start with
“The why is simple enough. You have some very important information and I need it to get out into the world. The men who held you did not care about such things.”
“Who were they?”
“They call themselves the Group. A name very preposterous in its simplicity, in my opinion, but its vagueness suits them. Their predecessors were formed in the late years of the Second World War, a gathering of scientists and academics and politicians who gathered together the leavings of the Nazi nuclear program. Mostly Germans and Russians. But they are not weapons traders, not exclusively. They do hope to exert their pressure upon world events.”
The cult that his friend Ruslan was telling him about, the outfit that wanted to resurrect the copper-bracelet technology.
“You say that with such contempt,” said Middleton. “You don’t approve.”
“I disapprove of how they do so, not that they do so at all. I would be a hypocrite to take issue with them, for I am guilty of such things myself. I take you into my confidence now, Colonel Middleton, and I hope you understand I would not do so were events not so dire. You see, I too try to shape world events, but for nobler reasons, I hope. In that capacity, I go by a code name-”
“The Scorpion.”
“You know that?” he asked, surprised.
Middleton nodded.
Chernayev held up a hand as if to ward something off. “I know, I know. It is absurd. I absolutely need my anonymity, you understand that. The name ‘Scorpion’ was given to me against my will, but that is another story. There are so many other stories and there will be time for all of them later, but for now I know you must be tired and in need of a shower, so this meeting will be short. There is but one thing I require of you, Colonel Middleton.”
“And what is that?”
“The American secretary of state will be paying an unannounced visit to the dedication of the Baglihar dam in a few days’ time. It’s important for you to be present on that visit.”
“Where is that?” he asked.
“On the Chenab River in northern Kashmir. The nearest town is a resettlement of people displaced when the dam was built. I don’t recall the Indian name but everyone knows it as the ‘Village.’”
In her Paris hotel suite, Leonora Tesla was now fully dressed, though her hotel towel turned makeshift bandage had soaked through and was staining her dark blouse. Charley Middleton stood over Jana, Grover’s daughter. She sat on the floor, her hands tied behind her back with telephone cord, her feet tied together with an electrical cord ripped from a lamp. Her mouth was gagged with a torn shirt.
Charley Middleton held the gun, Tesla a letter opener she had found in the suite’s desk.
“Nora, we really should get you to a hospital,” Middleton said.
“It’s mostly stopped bleeding. We’ll go to the hospital soon enough, but we’ll have to figure out what to do with her first.”
Tesla set down the letter opener, removed the gag from the assassin’s mouth and quickly stepped away. She picked up the letter opener once more.
“So,” said Tesla, “perhaps you will tell us who wants Ms. Middleton and why?”
The woman looked up at both of them, her eyes dark with hatred and contempt. In French, she said, “There is no amount of pain I cannot endure.”
Tesla met her gaze. “Let’s find out if that is true.”
12
A whimpering sound drew Tesla’s eyes to the corner. Charley was slumped against the wall. The Hawlen 9mm was still in her hand, but the barrel, with its long silencer, was pointed at the floor.
“Charley!” Tesla said sharply. “Keep the gun on her.”
Her eyes came up, brimming with tears. When she raised the gun, she had to hold it with two trembling hands.
Tesla turned back to Jana, who was seated on the floor in front of her. Her dark skin glistened with sweat and her breath was coming so fast and shallow Tesla could actually hear the whistle of air through her lips as she struggled to keep calm.
For the third time, Tesla snapped a flame from the lighter and positioned the blackened tip of the silver letter opener over it. A slither of smoke curled from the blade-not from the char of the silver, but from the sear of the tiny bits of flesh that clung to it.
As she reached toward Jana’s face, a memory flicked into her head. The beach at Cap d’Antibes. Harold questioning Balan in the same manner he questioned all suspects, no matter how vile their crimes.
Respectful, measured interrogation. There was no point in abusing prisoners, he said. It was counterproductive.
Tesla pushed Harold’s face and words from her mind. That was him, not her.
Tesla held the letter opener in front of Jana’s face. The woman’s eyes filled with defiant tears. Her dark hair was matted with blood from the gash inflicted when Tesla hit her with the chair. And her lip was swollen from Tesla’s fists. Nothing had made her even flinch. Until Tesla had brushed the red-hot metal of the letter opener against the smooth olive skin of Jana’s finely sculpted cheekbone.
Vanity. That was the key to unlock this woman’s tongue.
“Why are you trying to kill Charley Middleton?” Tesla demanded.
Jana shut her eyes.
“Who are you working with?”
Jana pressed back against the wall, trying to get away from the letter opener.
Tesla warmed its tip again, holding it to the flame until it glowed red. Then she pressed it against Jana’s cheek.
Jana jerked to the side and screamed.
As Jana slid to the carpet, a cell phone fell from the pocket of her trench coat. Tesla saw the woman’s eyes skitter to it. She snatched it up and tossed it out of reach.
“Who are you working for?” Tesla demanded.
“I never tell you,” Jana whispered in English through gritted teeth. “I never betray him.”
“Betray who? The Scorpion? Your father? He’s dead.”
