“We have Ely.”
“And I have Cassiopeia Vitt. I’d say she has another ten minutes or so to live.”
“We solved the riddle.”
“Lots of talk. From you and Vitt. Anything to back it up?”
“Oh, yes. We’ll be at the grave before nightfall. But you’ll never know.”
“You’re in my Federation,” she made clear.
“Except that we were able to enter, take your prisoner, and leave with him without you ever knowing.”
“But you made a point to tell me.”
“The only thing you have that I want is Cassiopeia. Call back if you want to bargain.”
And the call ended.
“YOU THINK THAT WAS SMART?” STEPHANIE ASKED THORVALDSEN.
“We have to keep her off balance.”
“But we don’t know what’s happening there.”
“Tell me what I don’t know.”
She could see Thorvaldsen was worried.
“We have to trust that Cotton is handling things,” he said.
ZOVASTINA FOUGHT THE FEELING OF UNEASINESS THAT SWEPT through her. These people fought hard, she’d give them that.
She freed a knife from its leather sleeve. “Your friends are here. And they have Ely. Unfortunately, contrary to what Thorvaldsen may think, he has nothing I want.”
She stepped close to the bundle of rope. “I’d much prefer to watch you die.”
MALONE SAW AND HEARD EVERYTHING. ELY LUND WAS APPARENTLY on the phone. He saw how Cassiopeia had been affected, but he also realized that someone else had come onto the call. Henrik? Stephanie? They were surely with Lund by now.
He could wait no longer. He rushed from his hiding place. “That’s enough.”
Zovastina stood with her back to him. He saw that she’d stopped her assault on the ropes.
“The knife,” he said. “Let it go.”
Cassiopeia watched him with a look of anticipation. He felt it, too. A bad feeling. Almost as if he’d been expected.
Two men stepped from the trees, weapons trained on him.
“Mr. Malone,” Zovastina said, as she turned toward him with a grim look of satisfaction on her face. “You can’t kill us all.”
PART FIVE
SEVENTY-FOUR
VINCENTI STEPPED INTO HIS LIBRARY, CLOSED THE DOOR, AND poured himself a drink. Kumis. A local specialty he’d come to enjoy. Fermented mare’s milk. Not much alcohol but quite a buzz. He downed the shot in one swallow and savored its almond aftertaste.
He poured another.
His stomach growled. He was hungry. He should tell the chef what he wanted for dinner. A thick slab of teriyaki horse steak would be good. He’d come to like that local specialty, too.
He sipped more Kumis.
Everything was about to unfold. His intuition from all those years ago had proven correct. All that stood in the way was Irina Zovastina.
He stepped to his desk. The house was equipped with a sophisticated satellite communications system, with direct links to Samarkand and his corporate headquarters in Venice. Drink in hand, he saw an e-mail had arrived from Kamil Revin about a half hour ago. Unusual. Revin, for all his joviality, distrusted any form of communication save face-to-face, with him controlling the time and location.
He opened the file and read the message.
THE AMERICANS WERE HERE.
His tired mind snapped alert. Americans? He was about to hit “Reply” when the study door burst open and Peter O’Conner rushed in.
“Four helicopter gunships bearing down on us. Federation.”
He darted to the windows and gazed west. At the far end of the valley four dots pricked the bright sky, growing larger.
“They just appeared,” O’Conner said. “I’m assuming this is not a social call. You expecting anyone?”
He wasn’t.
He returned to the computer and deleted the e-mail.
“They’ll be on the ground in less than ten minutes,” O’Conner said.
Something was wrong.
“Is Zovastina coming for the woman?” O’Conner asked.
“It’s possible. But how would she know this fast?”
Zovastina would never have imagined what he was planning. True, she distrusted him as he distrusted her, but there was no reason for any show of force. Not now, anyway. Then there was Venice, and what happened when he’d moved on Stephanie Nelle. And the Americans?
What didn’t he know?
“They’re swinging around to land,” O’Conner said from the windows.
“Go get her.”
O’Conner dashed from the room.
Vincenti slid open one of the desk drawers and removed a pistol. They’d yet to hire the full security contingent the estate would ultimately require. That would all be done in the coming weeks, while Zovastina occupied herself preparing for war. He’d planned to use that diversion to its fullest.
Karyn Walde entered the library, wearing a bathrobe and slippers. Standing, on her own. O’Conner followed.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“Better than I have in months. I can walk.”
Already, a doctor was en route from Venice who would treat her secondary infections. Lucky for her, they were remediable. “It’ll take a few days for your body to start a full recovery. But the virus is right now being assaulted by a predator against which it has no defense. As, by the way, are we.”
O’Conner assumed a position at the window. “They’re on the ground. Troops. Asians. Looks like they’re hers.”
