Black Harvest (The PROJECT) (9 page)

Iosif waited, afraid to move.

Zviad shook himself like a great northern bear. He reached down for the vodka, put the bottle to his lips and drank. His mind began planning, calculating. This was now a matter of honor. Bagrat. How had he let this happen?

Once it was known a woman had done this there would be loss of respect. There would be jokes, trouble. An example would have to be made. And who had fired the shots? Who dared?

"Tell me what is known."

Iosif cleared his throat. "Bagrat was under guard. Someone, a man, posed as another Interpol cop. He used a silenced weapon. No one knew anything until a nurse found the guard outside Bagrat's room. No one heard the shots."

"Bagrat and three cops."

"Yes, Boss."

"Go to Greece. Take three men, good ones. Find the woman. Find out anything you can. And Iosif."

"Yes, Boss?"

"I want this woman. And the man who did this. We are clear?"

Iosif was very clear. He was on the chopping block. His only hope was to find the woman or book a one-way ticket to somewhere obscure and far away from Moscow.

"Yes, Boss. Clear."

"Iosif."

"Yes, Boss?"

"Don't come back without her. Go."

Iosif went. He closed the study door behind him. Zviad's wife stepped from the shadows where she'd been listening.

Bedisa had been born and raised in Georgia. She had heard the conversation. She knew honor demanded revenge. She knew Zviad was obsessed with respect. The woman, whoever she was, was as good as dead. She would wish for death many times over if Zviad found her.

She brushed her long black hair back over her shoulders. The movement accented her full breasts. She put her finger to her lips. Iosif watched her. They could hear Zviad pacing back and forth in his study, cursing. His heavy footsteps vibrated out into the hall.

She went to Iosif and ran her fingers over his face, stroked his crotch, kissed him.

"Are you insane?" he hissed. "What if he comes out?"

"He will not come out. I will go in and calm him."

Iosif had been sleeping with Bedisa for the last six months. At first he'd wondered why she'd chosen him, or why he'd let it continue. Perhaps it was the danger. Discovery by Zviad would have been terrible. The fear added an adrenaline rush to their furious and inventive sex.

The sex. Bedisa was not like any other woman he had ever known. She was unique. What she could do with her body, with his, astounded him. She was beautiful, not the kind of woman who normally found Iosif attractive. He knew he was no prize for looks. Iosif was hopelessly in love with her.

After a month she'd begun to talk about Zviad. About Iosif as the new boss. About what they could do together if Zviad was not around any longer.

Zviad was as paranoid as he was shrewd. He had a servant taste his food. He was always protected. He never ventured far from Moscow, though sometimes he went to his villa near Tbilisi, surrounded by bodyguards. He was not an easy man to kill. Bedisa knew Iosif couldn't just kill him and take over. It had to look as if someone else had done it. Otherwise there would be vendettas.

Her voice was soft, almost a whisper. "Find the woman. Then lure Zviad to wherever she is and kill him. We'll never have a better chance."

Iosif nodded. "I don't know..."

Bedisa ran her hand down over his crotch, cupped him and squeezed. She ran her tongue into his ear.

"All right."

"Good."

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

In Virginia, Harker listened to Nick on her speakerphone.

"No one heard the shots?"

"The first anyone knew was when a nurse found the dead guard. The room was a bloodbath. The Greek cop we were working with was killed. Not much loss there."

"What did the killer look like?"

"Like a cop. He had Interpol ID. The duty nurse had seen one just like it not long before. She thought he was with the others. The receptionist downstairs said he was well-dressed, polite, short hair and cop looking."

"What does that mean?"

"Hard. Cold eyes, like he'd seen too much. Those were her words. The eyes bothered her. He showed her Interpol ID also."

Across the ocean, Nick waited.

"This doesn't feel like a gang hit, someone in competition with the Georgian bunch."

"Silenced weapon, phony ID, clean getaway. More like an agency of some kind. Mossad, CIA, like that."

"If it's an agency, why kill their own agent? "

"Good question. This guy was no ordinary kidnapper. His brother runs the gang. I think he's after Alexander's loot. Someone had to steer him to Greece. Selena thinks we might discover who it was by feeding out information. See what turns up."

"Where would you start?"

"I'm not sure. Gelashvili shouldn't know about us, so why go after Selena? How did he get a photo of her? And who ordered the killings in Greece? Not Gelashvili. There has to be more than one player here."

Sometimes Harker closed her eyes and thought of her father when she needed inspiration. How would he read it? She pictured him sitting in his study in Colorado, sipping bourbon in his green chair. She could almost hear his voice. She remembered when she'd come home after finishing her second year of college. Worried about choosing the right direction for her future.

"What do you think I should do?"

"What do you want to do?"

"That's not an answer."

The Judge raised his glass and drank, the amber liquid making smoky swirls over the ice. He'd been drinking more lately, since her mother had become ill.

"Yes it is. An answer. You know I can't decide for you. I'd always hoped you'd take up law. But maybe that's not for you."

"It might be. I just don't know"

"What else would you do?"

"I thought medicine."

The Judge laughed. "From the frying pan to the fire. You think law is tough...but you'd be a good
d
octor
. Why medicine?"

"Maybe it sounds naive, but I want to make a difference."

"Law doesn't make a difference?"

"Of course it does."

"Okay," her father had said. "Let's try something. Sometimes I do this when I can't decide what's right. Close your eyes."

She'd closed them.

"Picture yourself as a
d
octor
. Go ahead. Check how it feels in your body, good or bad or neither one."

After a minute she opened her eyes. "It feels like...nothing."

"Okay, keep your eyes closed. Now picture yourself as someone who upholds the law, defends it, practices it."

She'd done it and a wave of heat had passed through her, an inner excitement. She'd opened her eyes.

The Judge had nodded. "See? Now you know what to do."

"Nick."

"Still here, Director."

"Go to Sofia. Our only lead is the inscription in the tomb. I'll clear you into Bulgaria and make it official."

"That means everyone will know who we are."

"Think of it as a way to smoke out whoever's making trouble."

"If I liked bait, I would've taken up fishing."

"You'll handle it. I'll send Ronnie to fish with you."

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Ronnie came in on British Airways via London/Heathrow. He had the look people get when they've just spent too many hours in airports and planes. He hugged Selena. He nodded at Nick. Ronnie didn't shake hands. It wasn't the Navajo custom.

"Never been to Bulgaria before. Anybody start shooting at us yet?"

Nick smiled in spite of himself. "Taxis are over there. We're at the Hilton."

"Kind of high profile."

"We're in the open. Everything's official. The Greeks and the Bulgarians know we're here. For all I know, the Chinese, the Indians and the Pakis. For sure, the Russians. Maybe it will bring someone out of the woodwork. So we might as well enjoy it."

"Works for me."

They got in the cab. "You got a weapon?"

"Yup." he patted his bag.

None of them had been to Bulgaria. Sofia had open air cafes along the boulevard, like every city in Europe. There were ornate apartment buildings, offices and parks. Electric trolley wires ran in ordered webs overhead, like many cities in Europe. Nick couldn't quite put his finger on it, but Sofia was different. Maybe it was the colors on the buildings. Maybe it was the architecture.

They drove past an enormous building.

"Nevsky," the driver pointed. "Very holy."

The cathedral was huge. It had five or six enormous domes that Nick could see. Most of the domes were green with age. Rows of arched windows lined the ground level. It reminded him of a gigantic wedding cake. If he'd had any doubts he wasn't in Western Europe, Nevsky Cathedral removed them.

They met in Ronnie's room. It was a nice room, high up. The hotel was like big city Hiltons everywhere. Except for the room service menu and the hot water on the right, it could have been in St. Louis.

Sofia was set in a broad valley under the shadow of a mountain identified by the tourist guide as Mount Vitosha. From the window of the room they could look out over the city and valley below. The Balkans rose above the valley and formed an ominous wall across the horizon. Snow covered the peaks. Clouds passing in front of the sun threw changing shadows across the slopes. Nick turned away from the hypnotic view.

"Okay. We're here, where the spring and two rivers cross. What now?"

"There used to be a public bath where the springs are. It's a museum now. The only other clue we've got is the reference to Erinys."

"Erinys?" Ronnie went to the mini-fridge, took out a bottle of water, sat on the bed.

"The destructive side of Demeter. Not someone you wanted to meet."

"How do we track it down? You have an idea?"

"It's research, like always. That inscription is from around 146 BCE or so. A lot of Greeks lived in Bulgaria then."

"Not now?"

"Not anymore. The culture is Slavic. Records from that time are lost but there must have been a shrine or temple for Demeter or Erinys. Maybe we can find out where it was. Whoever wrote that inscription would have known about it, assuming it really is a message about the urn."

Nick sat down. "What do you want to do first?"

"Try the libraries and museums, starting with the springs. You and Ronnie can take in the sights."

"Better if we stay together. The bad guys found you in Greece. They could find you here."

"They're not going to go after me in a library or a museum."

"No? Why not?"

"Well, too public?"

"Public doesn't matter. These kind of people don't worry about public."

She knew he was right.

"So we all go to the museum. I hope you're ready to get bored."

"Hey," Ronnie said. "I like museums. Maybe they'll have a Bulgarian dinosaur."

CHAPTER TWENTY

Alexei Ivanovich allowed himself a smile. Korov had displayed his usual efficiency. Zviad Gelashvili was enraged by the death of his brother. Rage and anger were desirable. People who allowed their anger to control them made mistakes.