He laid her limp body on the deck.
She was unconscious.
A stringed bow and arrow quiver was strapped to her shoulder. Certainly a story unto itself, he thought. He rolled Cassiopeia onto her side. “Cough it all out.”
She seemed to ignore him.
He popped her on the back. “Cough.”
She started to spit out water, gagging on each exhale, but at least she was breathing.
Stephanie climbed out of the lagoon.
“She’s woozy. But she wasn’t hit by any bullets.”
“Tough shot in the dark from a wobbly deck.”
He kept lightly pounding her spine and more water sprayed from her lungs. She seemed to be coming around.
“You all right?” he asked.
Her eyes seemed to reacquire their focus. He knew the look. She’d been popped on the head.
“Cotton?” she asked.
“I guess it would be pointless to ask why you have a bow and arrows?”
She rubbed her head. “That piece of-”
“Who was he?” Stephanie asked.
“Stephanie? What are you doing here?” Cassiopeia reached out and touched Stephanie’s wet clothes. “You pulled me out?”
“I owed you that one.”
Malone had only been told some of what had happened last fall in Washington while he was under siege in the Sinai, but apparently these two had bonded. At the moment, though, he needed to know, “How many are dead inside the Museo di Torcello?”
Cassiopeia ignored him and reached back, searching for something. Her hand reappeared with a Glock. She shook the water from it, drying the barrel. Great selling point about Glocks, which he knew from firsthand experience-the damn things were nearly waterproof.
She rose to her feet. “We need to go.”
“Was that Viktor in the boat with you?” he asked, irritation now in his voice.
But Cassiopeia had recovered her wits and he saw anger again in her eyes. “I told you earlier this doesn’t concern you. Not your fight.”
“Yeah, right. There’s all kinds of crap swirling here that you don’t know a thing about.”
“I know the bastards in Asia killed Ely, on orders of Irina Zovastina.”
“Who’s Ely?” Stephanie asked.
“Long story,” he said. “One that’s causing us a lot of problems at the moment.”
Cassiopeia continued to shake the fog from her brain and water from her gun. “We need to go.”
“You kill anybody?” he asked.
“Roasted one of them like a marshmallow.”
“You’ll regret that later.”
“Thanks for the counseling. Let’s go.”
He decided to delay her and tried, “Where was Viktor headed?”
She swung the bow off her shoulder.
“Henrik sent you that thing?” he asked, recalling the cloth bag from the restaurant.
“Like I said, Cotton, this isn’t your affair.”
Stephanie stepped forward. “Cassiopeia. I don’t know half of what’s happening here, but I know enough to see that you’re not thinking. Like you told me last fall, use your head. Let us help. What happened?”
“You, too, Stephanie. Back off. I’ve been waiting for these men for months. Finally, tonight, I had them in my sights. I got one. I want the other. And yes, it’s Viktor. He was there when Ely died. They burned him to death. For what?” Her voice had steadily risen. “I want to know why he died.”
“Then let’s find out,” Malone said.
Cassiopeia paced with an unsteady gait. At the moment she was trapped, nowhere to go, and she was apparently smart enough to know that neither of them was going to back off. She rested the palms of her hands on the deck rail and gathered her breath. Finally, she said, “Okay. Okay. You’re right.”
He wondered if they were being placated.
Cassiopeia stood still. “This one’s personal. More than either of you realize.” She hesitated. “It’s more than Ely.”
That was the second time she’d insinuated as much. “How about you tell us what’s at stake?”
“How about I don’t.”
He wanted desperately to help her and arguing seemed pointless. So he glanced at Stephanie, who knew what his eyes were asking.
She nodded her approval.
He stepped toward the helm and powered up the engines. More police cruisers passed, heading for Torcello. He aimed the boat for Venice and the distant lights of Viktor’s retreating craft.
“Don’t worry about a corpse,” Cassiopeia said. “There’ll be nothing left of the body or that museum.”
He wanted to know something. “Stephanie, any word on Naomi?”
“Nothing since yesterday. That’s why I came.”
“Who’s Naomi?” Cassiopeia asked.
“That’s
Cassiopeia did not challenge him. Instead she said, “Where are we going?”
He glanced at his watch. The luminous dial read 12:45 A.M. “Like I told you. Lots going on here, and we know exactly where Viktor’s headed.”
FORTY-NINE
SAMARKAND
4:50 A.M.
VINCENTI’S SPINE TINGLED. TRUE, HE’D ORDERED PEOPLE KILLED, one just yesterday, but this was different. He was about to embark on a bold path. One that would not only make him the wealthiest person on the planet, but also secure him a place in history.
Dawn lay a little over an hour away. He sat in the rear of the car while O’Conner and two other men approached a house shielded behind a thicket of blooming chestnut trees and a tall iron fence, everything owned by Irina Zovastina.
O’Conner drew near to the car and Vincenti lowered the window.
“The two guards are dead. We took them out with no trouble.”
“Any other security?”
“That’s it. Zovastina had this place on a loose leash.”
Because she thought no one cared. “Are we ready?”
“Only the woman who watches over her is inside.”
“Then let’s see how agreeable they are.”
Vincenti entered through the front door. The two other men they’d hired for tonight held Karyn Walde’s nurse, an older woman with a stern face, wearing a bathrobe and slippers. A frightened look filled her Asian features.
“I understand,” he said to her, “that you care for Ms. Walde.”
The woman nodded.
“And that you resent how the Supreme Minister treats her.”
“She’s terrible to her.”
He was pleased their intelligence had been accurate. “I understand that Karyn is suffering. Her illness is
