Charade (8 page)

Sasha laughed. “Aren’t you forgetting something? They taught me all kinds of karate at that fancy school you sent me to. I can take care of myself.”

Big Frankie grinned. “I remember how you’d come home and practice those fancy kicks on Rocco and the other men. We were all so proud of you.
Sore, but proud.”
He cleared his throat, visibly weighing his next words. “If you were to attend this party, would you be taking a young man along?”

“I wish. Unfortunately, there’s no one in my life at the moment.”

He seemed surprised,
then
shrugged. “In any other situation, I’d escort you myself, but I’m involved in some court proceedings. Your cousin Mark was scheduled to attend, but he’s in the hospital—”

“Oh no!
What’s wrong?”

“Lead poisoning,” her father admitted with a sheepish smile, using the family euphemism for a gunshot wound. “He’ll be fine, but can’t travel for a while.”

Sasha pursed her lips, sobered by her father’s confirmation of Allison’s information. “He was planning to attend? In other words, you’re backsliding? After all
your
hard work to make the family business legitimate? What went wrong?”

“My domestic business is ninety-five percent legitimate,” he assured her. “A little high-class money laundering from time to time is our only vice here at home. But Asia and Eastern Europe have been a gold mine for us for years, Sasha. We’d never survive if we didn’t dip our buckets in that well from time to time.”

Hoping her disappointment didn’t show on her face, she asked lightly, “Are you dipping your bucket in the Kestonian well?”

Frankie nodded. “I was going to send Rocco in Mark’s place, since he’s my most trusted man. But quite frankly…”

Sasha smiled. “He’s a talented cook and great at scaring guys to death, but seriously, Dad. You can’t expect him to represent you in delicate negotiations.” Lowering her voice, she suggested slyly, “Why not send me? I could advance my own business at the gala, and represent you in your dealings with Mr. Zelasko.”

When Frankie stared at her, she wondered if she had gone too far. Then a grin spread across his face. “It was enough of a miracle that you came home at all. But is it possible you’re considering—”

“No, no, Dad!” She shook her head frantically. “That’s Mark’s destiny, not mine. I’m all about the glitz and glamour, remember?”

When his face fell, she laughed and hugged him. “The good news is
,
I’ve been running a successful business for almost five years.
Half talent, half sales-womanship.
Give me a few juicy details that will make you indispensable to Kestonia, and I’ll do the rest.”

“And Rocco will go with you for protection.”

“I hope you’re kidding,” she drawled. “I want to make a splash in the fashion world, not a belly flop. You know how much I love him, but seriously.
Rocco as my date?
I don’t think so.” She flashed a confident smile. “I’m going alone. Just do what you do best, okay? Tell that Zelasko fellow that you’ll string him up by his balls if anything happens to me in his godforsaken country.”

Frankie roared with laughter. “You may have gotten your looks from your mother, but you got your guts from your old man. You know that, don’t you?”

“You’ll make the arrangements, then?”

He shrugged. “Let me give it some thought. And in the meantime, let’s go try some of Rocco’s calamari.”

“So
that’s
what that heavenly smell is! Yum, you’ve got yourself a date, Big Frankie.”

Over the next few hours—and a six-course meal—Sasha received an education, Bracciali-style, about her father’s business. True to his word, his domestic holdings were almost completely legitimate. But internationally, he was so deep into money laundering and “protection,” it made her head
spin
.

And the thought of what Jeff Crossman would do with this information made that swimming head even dizzier.

Except Jeff already knows,
she assured herself more than once during dinner.
That’s why he felt so sorry for you, and saw you as such a dupe. But try not to think about that, because this works for Teal.
Right?

After dinner, Big Frankie supplied the last piece of the puzzle when he rejoined Sasha in the living room to announce, “Our people are in touch with Zelasko’s people. There was some grumbling about the late notice, but it sounds like it will work out. The only question is
,
do you know what you’re doing?”

“I can’t miss this ball, Dad. It’s the fashion event of the millennium. Maybe even the last of its kind. I’m so grateful to you for helping me get there.”

Frankie’s brown eyes glazed over with tears. “You’re my little girl. I’d do anything for you. Anything but endanger you. And somehow—”

“I’m a twenty-seven-year-old woman going to a party,” she reminded him playfully.
“Time to let go, Dad.”

When he winced, she added quickly, “I’ll be careful.”

“I still think Rocco should go.
For protection.”

“Puh-leeze
don’t
do that. I’m trying to make a fashion statement.”

Frankie hesitated,
then
said firmly, “I’ve already set the terms. If Zelasko lets you in, he also guarantees your safety. He knows better than to cross me.”

“So it’s all set.” She rested her hands on his shoulders. “You can’t imagine how grateful I am, Dad. I wasn’t sure about coming here today, but it’s been so…well, so right.”

“Except we never talked about what happened to your mother.”

Sasha drew
back,
truly stunned that he had taken this bold step. Was he willing to risk their lovely reunion?
To bring up the subject himself?
It didn’t make sense!

Without thinking, she whispered, “Not now.”

“I know.” His eyes pleaded with her for trust. “It’s too soon. It’s a miracle that you’re willing to come here at all. And I’d never jeopardize that. Not for one instant. But someday…”

Sasha winced,
then
nodded.
“Yes, Dad.
Someday we need to have that talk.”

“And when that day arrives…” He reached into the pocket of his black blazer and pulled out a mini tape recorder. “It’s all here.”

Sasha shook her head instinctively. “I don’t want it.”

“My stubborn little angel.”
Frankie patted her arm. “Take it.”

“But, Dad—” she scanned his eyes anxiously “—what
is
it?”

“It’s the truth. When you’re ready, you’ll listen. And then we’ll talk.
For hours.
We’ll talk and cry and talk. I’ve hoped for a chance to give this to you. So please take it.”

“Dad—”

“If you’re never ready, so be it. I’ll be selfishly grateful. But if you decide you need to hear it, I’ll be grateful, too, because the lies will be gone, and the truth will be the only thing between us.”

Tears blurred her vision as she tried to imagine what that could mean. The truth would be the only thing between them? Didn’t that confirm that her father had in fact killed her mother? Not that she had ever doubted it, but there had been some comfort in the fact that he had denied it.

Did he honestly intend to stop lying to her?
Now of all times?

“I don’t want it, Dad.”

“Then throw it away,” he advised sadly. “I won’t try to stop you.”

A slow, painful panic seeped into her soul. “Just tell me to my face, then. Right here, right now. I can take it.”

“No,” he murmured. “I thought when you first arrived that you were ready, but you’re not. I see that now. Go to your fancy ball, sweetheart. Have the time of your life, dancing with all the handsome men. And then when you’re ready, listen to the tape. After that, if you’re willing to take your rightful place by my side, I’ll be the happiest man on earth. And if you never speak to me again, I’ll still cherish this day we had together. It’s more than I thought you’d ever give me.”

Sasha stared at him, alarmed by the finality in his tone, and chilled by the hope in his offer. Did he really think she’d take over the family’s criminal enterprises one day? Was she
that
good an actress?

That good a liar?

What kind of daughter was she, to put this man through so much?

He killed Mom,
she reminded herself frantically, but somehow, that wasn’t enough. Not for this.

Stuffing the tape recorder into her purse, she grabbed his hands into her own and insisted, “Whatever else happens from here on out, it doesn’t change the fact that we had this nice day together.
Right?”

He cocked his head to the side. “Is there something else, Sasha? Something you’re not telling me?”

“Did I tell you I love you?” she asked with a teary-eyed smile.
“Because I do.
I always will.” Brushing a kiss across his cheek, she added firmly, “I’ll listen to the tape on the plane. And when I get back, we’ll talk. Take care, okay? And give Mark my love.” Noting his pained expression she hugged him and insisted, “Don’t worry. I got my guts from my old man, remember? I have a feeling they’re going to serve me well in Kestonia.”

Rocco insisted on driving her home, which was a godsend because his nonstop chatter distracted her from other, more sobering thoughts.

Rocco Andretti was the Mafia version of a jack-of-all-trades—a former hit man turned bodyguard who could have been a chef. His loyalty to her father was beyond question, and while that meant he was also fiercely loyal to Sasha, she had no doubt what he’d do to her if he ever found out she was an FBI snitch.

Still, he was entertaining, especially when he told her about her father’s new girlfriend, whom Big Frankie hadn’t thought to mention over dinner. The woman—Annette Jarrett—was an old friend of Sasha’s mother, and since she was also the sister of Rocco’s wife, the bodyguard was delighted with the match.

Sasha liked the idea, too, since she didn’t want her father to be lonely. But still, it would be strange to have another woman in her father’s house.

This new piece of information was a lot like her lovemaking session with Jeff or the tape in her purse, she decided finally. She simply couldn’t afford to think too deeply about it until Teal was safe. She needed to refocus her energies on her upcoming trip, and so, as soon as Rocco had delivered her to her apartment safely, she sent him away, then pulled two medium-size suitcases and a garment bag from her closet and placed them on the bed.

Her father had told her not to pack until they got official confirmation from Vlados Zelasko that Sasha would be allowed to enter Kestonia, but she wanted to be ready the moment permission arrived. Given the tight timeline ahead of her, the trip would be a nonstop, derriere-numbing combination of plane, train and limousine rides, which would give her plenty of time to catch up on her sleep and to read all about the toys the NSA had supplied to her via Allison.

They weren’t exactly James Bond-level gadgets, but still they were intriguing. The first was a bottle of pills that looked like aspirin but actually interfered with alcohol absorption, so that Sasha could keep her wits about her when plied with liquor, which apparently happened to guests with great regularity at official Kestonian functions.

It was also possible that the pills could help Teal, assuming the girl was being drugged, and assuming further that the Kestonians were using an intoxicant that was susceptible to the anti-absorption process.

A second bottle, this one labeled as airsickness medication, contained capsules filled with knockout powder she could slip into someone else’s drink. Fast dissolving, and even faster acting, they could hopefully get her out of a rough situation or two, especially since the subject would have a peaceful sleep and no direct memory of the events leading up to his or her nap.

The final items were more complicated, at least for Sasha. A pair of silver earrings studded with crystals doubled as tiny feed recyclers that could be used on the cameras in Zelasko’s surveillance system. The image shown on the monitors wouldn’t reflect what was actually going on in the area being surveilled. The NSA had
intel
about the system used in Kestonia, and Allison had explained that the video quality was quite poor, but still enabled the security staff to distinguish an intruder. Disabling the feed entirely in a particular sector of the fortress would be the only surefire way Sasha could explore without risk of being discovered.

Then there were packaged plastic bandages in various sizes, the type any traveler might carry in case of blisters or paper cuts, although some of the pieces were big enough to cover an enormous wound. The clear strips that peeled away from the adhesive bands were made of a sophisticated latex compound and could be used to copy fingerprints from a hand or a surface. The copy could then be used to trigger a print-activated security device. Similarly, the NSA had supplied silicon powder in a silver compact in case indirect prints were the only ones available.

Finally, there was a pen that could memorize a magnetic code from a key card and transfer it to the security strip on a phony credit card the NSA had supplied to Sasha. It was hoped that between this and the latex prints, she could gain access to Teal. According to reliable sources, Zelasko didn’t use retinal scans, which would have been much harder for a novice like Sasha to duplicate, nor did he rely upon memorized entry codes. Assuming that
intel
was correct, she had everything she needed to deal with his digital security system.

Because I can drink him under the table, knock him out, get his prints and codes and be halfway to Chicago before he wakes up?
she
asked the absent Allison.
I think you’re being just a tad optimistic, considering that science has always been my weak point.
And technology?
Fuggedaboutit.

The manuals for the pen, the latex and the earrings had been cleverly disguised as pages in a bestselling espionage novel Sasha could take on the plane with her and read in full view of curious onlookers. The NSA had also supplied her with a Kestonian-English dictionary and a travel book on Eastern Europe.