death. My sin was not being alert enough to stop the attack on me, just before Father Mosto was murdered.'
Kartli lifted the hand that until this moment had been propping up his chin. 'You say you're telling me the truth.' The hand waggled back and forth in equivocation. 'You do not know me. What have I done to deserve this signal honor?'
'You're the Order's man in Trabzon,' Jenny said.
'Therefore, I am trustworthy. But it seems these days no one, inside the Order or out, is to be trusted.'
Jenny said, 'I have nowhere else to go, nothing left to lose.'
There was as slight pause.
'And this Father Mosto… ?'
'I don't pretend to know much about him. He's not important.'
'A man's death-'
'What is vital for you to understand,' Jenny pressed, 'is that Anthony Rule was the Knight of St. Clement mole inside the Order-not me, not Paolo Zorzi.'
Kartli's gimlet eyes never strayed from her face. 'Paolo Zorzi was your mentor.' It was not a question. 'Difficult to believe he had turned against you, was it?'
'Actually, it wouldn't have been hard to believe at all,' Jenny said. 'He was perfectly placed.'
'Yes, he was.'
'But Rule would have been the smarter choice,' she went on. 'He was Dexter Shaw's closest confidant.'
Kartli made no further comment, and nothing in his expression gave Jenny the slightest clue as to his thinking. Lacking such a guidepost, she had no choice but to plunge onward. 'The bottom line is that we have to find Bravo before the agents of the Knights do, and keep him safe.'
'I don't see how I can help you.'
'You must have met him, that much we have surmised,' Jenny said. 'Like me, he had nowhere else to go in Trabzon.'
'And I say again, I don't see how I can help you. I no longer work for the Order.'
Jenny took a breath, as if she were about to move out into deeper water. She sat forward, her upper body angled toward Kartli, and Camille at once took note because a new, uncataloged tension had come into the muscles of her body, an expression of the deepest concentration flooded her face. She appeared undaunted by what Kartli had said.
'I want to tell you about Braverman Shaw,' she began, and oddly enough, Kartli, though he might have wanted to, resisted the urge to stay her.
Jenny talked about Bravo in the most impassioned way, and Camille noticed something. Like a fly in a web, the Georgian's attention had been caught. Kartli, like Camille, had fastened onto the upwelling of genuine emotion as she conjured up Braverman Shaw for him.
This was of the most intense interest for Camille. Jenny was the vulnerable spot, the pivot point that would tip the scales and bring Bravo rushing to her, and now, for the first time, she began to understand the depth of Jenny's feelings for Bravo. Whereas before she had assumed a schoolgirl crush, a romantic infatuation brought about by intimate contact that could bond those in battle-she herself had had her share of fiery but short-lived affairs-now she heard the truth from Jenny's own mouth. Much to her surprise and consternation, Cornadoro had been right, after all. Jenny was committed to Bravo, truly, deeply, unshakably.
Camille took a deep breath, let it out slowly. This information changed everything.
Possibly Mikhail Kartli felt the same way, for he said, 'I don't know where Braverman Shaw is.'
Something passed across Jenny's expression. No more than a flicker, it was nevertheless picked up by Camille's keen eye. Friend or foe, this was how Jenny was coming to judge everyone she met. If they couldn't help her-or wouldn't-they became her enemy. For her the middle ground had disappeared, had been rendered meaningless by the betrayals she had suffered on this assignment. It would be wise to keep in mind her new way of looking at the Voire Dei, her rapid learning curve, Camille decided.
'In that case,' Jenny said now, 'I could really use a handgun.'
'Luger or a Witness?'
'Is the Witness a Tanfoglio?' Jenny said. 'I like the way the Italians make it.'
Kartli smiled, as if she had passed a test. 'The Tanfoglio Witness will cost you more.'
'And extra ammo,' Jenny said. 'I aim to get my money's worth.'
As Bravo went into a defensive stance, Adem Khalif raised both hands palms outward in an unmistakable gesture of placation.
'I mean you no harm, Bravo, truly.'
'What about those two behind me?'
'They mean you no harm, either.'
'Bullshit They belong to Mikhail Kartli.'
'True enough,' Khalif acknowledged, 'but Kartli is no more your enemy than I am.'
'Now I know you've lost your mind.' It was maddening trying to keep track of both Khalif and the two bearded men at the same time, surely their intention. 'I don't have to remind you that I offended Kartli. Mortally. He's out for my blood.'
Adem Khalif inclined his head slightly. 'So it would seem to anyone observing the incident.'
There was a short pause, during which Bravo digested the implications of this comment. The feral dog had reappeared, no doubt lured by the prospect of fresh meat. One of the bearded men lofted an empty beer bottle in a low arc over Bravo's head, striking the animal in the side. It yelped in pain and vanished.
'Someone was observing us?' Bravo said.
'It was why Mikhail ignored my advice to take the argument inside his shop.' Khalif ventured the ghost of a smile. 'I wondered about that at the time. It is foolish to air one's business in public, and Mikhail Kartli is anything but foolish.'
'True enough,' Bravo nodded.
'I have more to tell you,' Khalif said, 'but, I beg you, somewhere more pleasant, yes?'
'What about the Glimmer Twins over there?'
Khalif's gaze shifted to the two bearded men behind Bravo. 'Bodyguards for you. Kartli's express orders. I wouldn't disobey them'-he shrugged-'though I suppose it is your choice.'
Bravo waited a beat, considering. 'I can dismiss them at any time.'
'Of course.'
Khalif's brown eyes met his without any hint of deception.
'All right,' Bravo said. 'Lead on.'
A twenty-minute walk through the maze of the bazaar brought them to an unmarked door in a seedy building on a street sticky with beer. Here and there, garishly painted Natashas lounged and leered fiercely.
The door, its green field of peeling paint sadly faded, opened at Khalif's first knock, and they entered. The interior looked like Hollywood's idea of an Oriental opium den circa 1950-red wallpaper, yellow songbirds in bamboo cages, huge brass hookahs beside plush sofas, women in long, sleek, high-slit shantung silk dresses. On one wall, a painting of a lush naked woman, erotically sprawled on a divan, smiling with enigmatic malice.
The four men were completely ignored by the women, whose languid movement about the rooms reminded Bravo of exotic fish in a tank. Khalif nodded to an older woman with an inch of pancake makeup on her face, who directed them to a private room, then closed the door firmly behind them.
On the central table was a flagon of raki, eight bottles of beer, a decanter of single-malt scotch and a fistful of glasses. Bravo and Khalif took seats. The Glimmer Twins remained outside, presumably flanking the door.
Khalif gestured at the liquor, but Bravo shook his head.
'Mikhail suspected that you were being followed,' Khalif said. 'Further, he felt there was only one way-sure and quick-to find out. He gave the impression of a serious falling out. I played my own part-unwitting, as it happens-of trying to be the mediator between two hotheads. His ruse worked. Not an hour after you left his shop, a man arrived. By that time I, too, had departed, though in the company of one of Mikhail's sons-to keep me from contacting you, or so I believed.'
Khalif drew out a cell phone, turned it so Bravo could see the color photo on the screen. 'Taken by one of
