She screamed.
“Hush.” Borzoi was pointing a gun at her. “I was quick with him. I’ll be quick with you.”
“No, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. I did what he wanted.” Tears were running down her cheeks. “Don’t do-”
“Shh.” He pressed the trigger.
The bullet entered her heart.
Venable was cursing when Joe ran into the office from the veranda. He was sitting at the mahogany desk staring in frustration at the computer. “He wiped it clean. There’s not a damn thing on it. I’d bet he figured we were onto him.”
Joe was kneeling at the hearth. “Something was burned here recently. There are still embers glowing.” He reached in and poked the embers. “Probably the paper trail.” He picked up a slender piece of paper that had been untouched by the flames. “A map?”
“That’s my bet,” Venable said grimly. “And I’d guess one similar to one I have on my wall. Only with a hell of a lot more information.”
“This was all done within the past few hours,” Joe said. “He was literally burning his bridges.” He glanced at the computer. “Can you get the information back?”
“Yes, there’s no such thing as a total wipeout if you have the right equipment for retrieval. It will just take time.”
“How much time?”
“How the hell do I know?” He turned to the agent who was bundling up the computer. “How long, Ted?”
“Twenty-four hours maybe.”
“Too long.”
Joe agreed. Every word that Rakovac had spoken to Catherine indicated that they had entered the final stage of planning. “Get to work.” He turned to Venable. “He wouldn’t have destroyed everything until the actual go-ahead on the attack.”
“Don’t say that.”
“No, I mean he has to have a small computer, a file, a thumb drive on him. Something that’s portable for him to use or turn over to Dabala.”
“If he hasn’t sent him the file already.” Venable shook his head. “And I don’t think he has. He’s still working at completing his revenge on Catherine. He wouldn’t turn loose the wolves until he was on his way to a safe little haven to wait out all the turmoil till it blows over.”
“Optimistic view. This attack will never blow over.”
“They said that about the Nazi war criminals. They may still be hunted, but many of them had wonderfully comfortable lives until they were caught. Some of them have never been caught.” He was frowning. “So I’ll bet he’s going to keep his charts and records to himself until he boards a plane.”
“Why are we standing here trying to decide what he will or won’t do?” Joe said impatiently. “We have to find the bastard.” He started going through the desk. Scribbled notes, photos…He pulled out a framed photo of Catherine Ling. “This is a desk photo. I don’t like the idea that he put it away in a drawer. Very final.” He put the photo aside and checked a few of the notes. Nothing that he could make sense of. He took out the pile of photos. “It seems Rakovac likes to document his vices. I remember he said something about the miracle of photography when he e-mailed the picture of the skeleton.”
Women. Adolescent girls. Even a photo of a much younger Natalie. All involved in S and M acts that were graphic and hard to stare at for more than a moment. No young boys who could be Luke. He went through the pile again. No Luke.
Of course, he wouldn’t want to risk anyone finding a photo of a boy he was keeping captive. But judging by the other photos he kept close to him, Joe couldn’t believe that he wouldn’t have a picture of the boy whose capture had been the supreme evidence of his triumph over Catherine.
Where would it…
He suddenly threw the photos down and picked up Catherine’s picture again.
“What are you looking for?” Venable said.
“This one is framed. He had to have kept it on his desk where he could look at it.” He was unscrewing the leather back of the frame. “What better place to keep a photo of her son? He’d enjoy the thought of keeping the picture close to her heart when she could never be near him and-” He stopped as he saw the five-by-seven photo turned facedown. He didn’t want to turn it over. Not after seeing the other photos in that pile.
He flipped it over. Nothing obscene, he realized with relief. Just the photo of a nine-or ten-year-old boy in front of a large stone house. The boy was thin, dressed in worn gray pants and a black shirt. His hair was long and as dark as his shirt. A handsome boy, his slightly tilted dark eyes and high cheekbones definitely resembling Catherine’s.
Venable gave a low whistle. “My God, that’s Luke? He looks like he’s ready to attack everyone and everything.”
Joe had been so involved with checking out the resemblance to Catherine that he had not noticed the boy’s expression. Venable was right: The boy’s dark eyes seemed to burn, glaring out of the photo in defiance, his lips slightly parted, his white teeth bared.
“Well, I don’t think Rakovac managed to break him,” Joe said dryly. “Not if this is any indication.”
“Maybe he didn’t want to break him,” Venable said. “Maybe he wanted to turn her baby boy into a demon not even a mother could love. This kid is nothing like that picture Catherine has been carrying around with her.”
“Then she’ll have to deal with Luke after we find him.” He handed the photo to Venable. “We managed to find that skeleton after having experts go over the photo with a fine-tooth comb. This photo has more to work with than that grave. A large two-story house, stone, with turrets that look Victorian. And there’s a lake or body of water in the background. Get your people to work on it and find that place.” He reached for his phone and dialed Eve again. No answer. He turned on his heel. “Soon.”
“Where are you going?”
“The farmhouse.”
Venable followed him. “I sent Billings to check it out.”
“I know you did. Why haven’t you heard back from him?”
“It would take time to get from downtown Moscow to-”
But Joe was already gone.
Venable hurried after him.
Savrin house was a huge stone structure that appeared to be part two-story, part split-level due to the fact that it was balanced on the side of a craggy hill. Its Victorian turrets seemed more in keeping with English architecture than Russian. The peculiar structure towered over a clear blue lake that seemed to stretch endlessly into the horizon.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” Russo asked as he pulled into the driveway. “It once belonged to Nikolai Savrin, a rich manufacturer who married an Englishwoman from London and brought her here. He built the house for her, and they lived here for forty years. Now, isn’t that romantic? Czadas had an English mother who was killed in a massacre during the wars. When Rakovac decided to buy a house for him and Luke, Czadas insisted that he wanted this one.” He shrugged. “Crazy. Who would guess Czadas would be sentimental about anything? But then Czadas isn’t the most stable person. It’s a wonder Rakovac has been able to control him all these years.” He added mockingly, “At any rate, Luke is lucky to be able to live in such a fine place. I’m sure he’d be devastated to have to leave it.”
It was impressive, Eve thought, but not in a good way. The terrain was all wild grasses and rocky ground. The house appeared very old, the windows long and narrow, the stones crumbling. “You say Mikhal Czadas still lives here?”
“Yes, when he’s not moving around the countryside causing havoc. He has the same violent nature as Rakovac.” He got out of the car. “Only Rakovac has managed to channel it to his benefit. Mikhal doesn’t have his adaptability. He still occasionally raids the villages here in Russia that were settled by the Republic of Georgia’s archenemies, the Ossetians. He’ll be a revolutionary until the day he dies.” He chuckled. “Which may be soon. He’s
