She stopped behind Vincenti’s desk. “No. You haven’t. Which is admirable.”
“What do you want?”
“Where’s Vincenti?”
“Gone. Left before your men arrived.”
She grinned. “There it is. Another thing you do so well. Lie.”
He shrugged. “Believe what you will. Surely your men have searched the house.”
“They have and, you’re right, Vincenti is not to be found. But you and I both know why that’s so.”
She noticed the lovely alabaster carvings that dotted the desk. Chinese figurines. She never really cared for Oriental art. She lifted one of the figurines. A contorted fat man, half-dressed. “During the construction of this obscene monstrosity, Vincenti incorporated back passages, ostensibly for servants’ use, but you and I know what they’re really used for. He also had a large underground room hewn from the rock beneath us. That’s probably where he is right now.”
O’Conner’s face never flinched.
“So, as I said, Mr. O’Conner, you have a choice. I’ll find Vincenti, with or without your assistance. But your aid will speed the process and, I must admit, time is of the essence. That’s why I’m willing to bargain. I could use a man like you. Resourceful.” She paused. “Without greed. So here’s your choice. Do you switch sides or stay with Vincenti?”
She’d offered the same alternative to others. Most were members of the national assembly, part of her government, or a rising opposition. Some weren’t worth recruiting, far easier to kill them and be done with it, but the majority had proven worthy converts. They’d all been either Asian or Russian or some combination. Here, she was dangling bait to an American and was curious how the lure would be received.
“I choose you,” O’Conner said. “What can I do for you?”
“Answer my question.”
O’Conner reached into his pocket and one of the troops instantly leveled a rifle. O’Conner quickly displayed empty hands. “I need something to answer your question.”
“Go ahead,” she said.
He retrieved a silver controller with three buttons. “Those rooms are accessed from doors throughout the house. But the underground room can only be entered from here.” He displayed the device. “One button opens every portal in case of a fire. The other activates the alarm. The third button,” he pointed across the room and pressed, “opens that.”
An eloquent Chinese cabinet rotated, revealing a dimly lit passage.
The warmth of victory filled her.
She approached one of her infantrymen and unholstered his Makarov 9mm.
She then turned and shot O’Conner in the head.
“Loyalty that shallow I don’t need.”
EIGHTY
THINGS WERE WRONG AND VINCENTI KNEW IT. BUT IF HE SAT tight, kept calm, and was careful, this could play itself out. O’Conner would handle things, like always. But Karyn Walde and Grant Lyndsey were another matter.
Karyn was pacing the lab like a caged animal, her strength apparently returning, fueled by anticipation.
“You need to relax,” he said. “Zovastina needs me. She won’t be doing anything stupid.”
He knew the antiagents would keep her in line, which was precisely why he’d never allowed her to learn much about them.
“Grant, secure your computer. Password protect everything, like we discussed.”
He could see Lyndsey was even more anxious than Karyn, but where she seemed fueled by anger, Lyndsey was gripped with fear. He needed the man to think clearly, so he said, “We’re fine down here. Don’t sweat it.”
“She resented me from the start. Hated having to deal with me.”
“She may have hated you, but she needed you, and still does. Use that to your advantage.”
Lyndsey was not listening. He was pounding on a keyboard, muttering to himself in a panicked frenzy.
“Both of you,” he said, voice rising. “Calm down. We don’t even know if she’s here.”
Lyndsey stared up from the computer. “It’s been a long time. What are those troops doing here? What the hell’s going on?”
Good questions, but he had to rely on O’Conner.
“That woman she took from the lab the other day,” Lyndsey said. “I’m sure she never made it back to the Federation. I saw it in her eyes. Zovastina was going to kill her. For amusement. She’s ready to slaughter millions. What are we to her?”
“Her salvation.”
Or at least he hoped.
STEPHANIE TURNED OFF THE HIGHWAY ONTO A PAVED LANE guarded by tall poplars lined like sentries. They’d made good time, driving the hundred and fifty kilometers in less than two hours. Ely had commented on how travel had changed over the past few years, road quality being a top priority for the Federation, along with tunneling. A new system had been blasted through the mountains, greatly shortening the distances from north to south.
“This place is different,” Ely said from the rear seat. “It’s been two years since I was here. This road was rock and gravel.”
“This asphalt is recent,” she said.
A fertile valley floor, checkered with pastures, spread beyond the trees, ending at stark rolling foothills that steadily rose into highlands, then mountains. She spotted shepherds tending flocks of sheep and goats. Horses roamed freely. The road stretched straight between the trees, taking them due east toward a distant gallery of silver flanks.
“We came here on an exploratory mission,” Ely said. “Lots of
She’d not heard any more from Malone, and she dare not try and reach him. She had no idea of his situation, other than that he’d apparently managed to free Cassiopeia and compromise Viktor. Edwin Davis and President Daniels would not be happy, but rarely did things go according to plan.
“Why is everything so green?” Henrik asked. “I always thought of the Pamirs as dry and barren.”
“Most of the valleys are, but where there’s water the valleys can be quite beautiful. Like a piece of Switzerland. We’ve been dry lately with warm temperatures. Way above normal for here.”
Up ahead, through the thin line of trees, she spotted a massive stone structure perched on a grassy promontory, backdropped by mountain spurs devoid of snow. The house rose in sharp verticals, broken by steep gables topped with black slate, the exterior a mosaic of flat stone in varying shades of brown, silver, and gold. Mullioned windows symmetrically broke the elegant facade, each outlined with thick cornices, reflecting ribbons of light from the afternoon sun. Three storeys. Four stone chimneys. Scaffolding wrapped one side. The whole thing reminded her of one of the many mansions that dotted north Atlanta, or something from
“That’s a house,” she said.
“Which was not here two years ago,” Ely noted.
Thorvaldsen stared out the windshield. “Apparently the new owner of all this is a person of means.”
The dwelling loomed about a half mile away, across a green valley that steadily rose toward the promontory. Ahead, an iron gate blocked the drive. Two stone pillars, like compact minarets, support a wrought-iron arch that displayed the word “Attico.”
