Red Dawn Rising (Red Returning Trilogy) (32 page)

With the door to the basement left open. Hans could hear the conversation Sonya began with Ivan.

“Cyrus Neale just phoned. His house is being watched. He is sure of it.”

“Rubin took Hafner to that house today, did he not?”

“He did, sir.”

There was a long silence. “Get Rubin on the phone.”

“That contact information is on my flash drive with everyone else’s. Give me a minute.”

“Where do you keep that?”

Hans strained to hear. “In a cigarette case inside my purse.”

“That is no place to keep such critical information.”

“We have moved around too much to keep it in the safe at my apartment. But don’t worry. I will secure it once we reach the boat, where I also have a duplicate.”

Ivan returned to the basement. “When was the last time you spoke to Cyrus Neale?” he asked Hans.

Hans decided it was best to cooperate. He needed time and opportunity. “He called me this afternoon.”

“What did he say about Jeremy Rubin’s visit?”

“That he didn’t trust him or his friend.”

“Why have you not told me this?”

Hans looked down at the straps around him. “Something about being slammed into a chair and tied up put a real damper on conversation.”

Ivan ignored his sarcasm. “Why did Cyrus not trust them?”

Before Hans could answer, Sonya called for Ivan.

“Get up and come with me,” Ivan told Hans, then turned to the man guarding him. “Untie him and bring him upstairs.”

When the man released Hans from the chair, a sharp pain radiated through his right shoulder and he winced. Ivan watched him carefully but ignored the show of discomfort. “You might be of use to me yet. Cyrus has never spoken to anyone but you and Sonya. I don’t think he likes her. Imagine that.” Hans knew the ruthless woman was feared, even hated, by many within Ivan’s network, though she remained fiercely loyal to the cause. “You will speak to him now.”

Upstairs, Hans was directed to a chair at the kitchen table and shoved into it by the man still holding a gun on him. Instantly, Hans’s full attention was drawn to the open handbag across the table from him. Taking
his
seat, he leaned forward as far as possible for a better look inside, then shifted his eyes quickly away before the guard took notice.

Sonya inserted a flash drive into a laptop on the kitchen counter and pulled up the necessary contact information.

“Get Cyrus on the phone first,” Ivan told her, and turned to Hans. “You are his overseer. He will speak more freely with you.”

Sonya closed the laptop. Hans saw the flash drive still protruding from the side. She punched in the number and hit speaker, then handed the phone to Hans.

The man picked up immediately. “Cyrus here.”

“This is Hans. Tell me why you think someone’s watching you.” He looked up at Ivan and Sonya hovering over him.

“I’ve seen the same car in different spots on my street,” Cyrus said. “Then it leaves and another arrives. It’s been going on all afternoon.”

Ivan mouthed the word
Rubin
.

“Tell me about your visitors today.”

“Didn’t like either one of them, especially the guy with the hood on his head. He didn’t even speak. I know he’s some kind of big-deal spy of yours and couldn’t let me see him. But it gave me the creeps.”

“What about Jeremy Rubin?”

“Okay, I guess. Kind of nervous.”

“What do you mean?”

“He kept watching the other guy and fidgeting, you know.” He paused. “Hey, are you ready to do this thing or not? Tell that big boss of yours I’ve got the explosives all loaded up and ready to fire. Good thing I decided to dock my tug someplace else. Whoever’s watching the house probably doesn’t know where it is now. But I tell you what, I’m plenty tired of waiting for the action. Fish or cut bait!”

Ivan mouthed a word that made Hans’s pulse quicken.
Tomorrow
.

Hans relayed Ivan’s message and reminded Cyrus to keep his phone on him at all times and watch for the signal. The call ended, and Sonya retrieved the phone.

Ivan abruptly walked into a study off the kitchen and closed the door. Sonya looked after him, her face clouded. Hans didn’t take his eyes off her
as
she retrieved the flash drive and returned to the table. Feigning disinterest while cutting his eyes toward the purse, he watched her open a flat, silver cigarette case, drop the small drive inside, then shove the case back into her purse. She was about to snap it shut when Ivan flung open the door and announced, “Call Rubin now! Tell him I want to meet with him and it is imperative he bring Ben Hafner. Make certain he understands that. Then give him very clear directions to the warehouse. Tell him to be there promptly at noon tomorrow.”

A highly agitated Ivan motioned the guard to come into the study as if any further threat from Hans had been suspended. Now, only he and Sonya remained in the kitchen. Hans couldn’t believe such an opportunity had been handed to him. He would have to act quickly. Any minute, Ivan might regain his better judgment and order Hans retied.

His eye on the purse, he asked, “Sonya, may I have a glass of water, please?” Then he slowly stood as if to retrieve it himself, all the while listening to the conversation inside the study. He heard only sentence fragments from Ivan. “On the roof … first sign of backup … call immediately.”

“I’ll get it,” she barked at Hans.

Hans risked further movement toward the purse, but Sonya was too preoccupied with calling Rubin to notice. Closer. Almost within reach now. He stopped suddenly when she turned and handed him a glass with barely a splash of water in it, then clamped the phone to her ear.

Hans remained where he was and drank slowly, gauging his risks.

After a moment, Sonya turned away and spoke briskly into the phone. “Jeremy Rubin?” It was, and she proceeded to relay Ivan’s exact orders, taking great pains to make them clear.

This was the moment. Hans backed slowly to the table, one hand on his glass, the other behind him, reaching, searching inside the open purse. When his fingertips fell on the flat, cool metal, in one fluid motion he slid the cigarette case out of the purse and into his right back pocket.

In the midst of her instructions to Jeremy Rubin, Sonya turned sharply toward Hans as he calmly placed his empty glass on the table and returned to his seat, careful not to put any weight on his right hip.

When she ended the call, she shot one wary glance toward Hans, then walked swiftly to the study. His heart slamming against his chest, Hans pulled the silver case from his pocket, removed the flash drive, slid the purse toward him and plunged the case inside, careful to leave the purse open as before. He had just pushed it back to its original resting place and leaned back in his chair when Ivan entered the kitchen.

“You have been of service to me after all,” Ivan told Hans without expression. “But you will remain here under guard until I tell my men what to do with you.” Ivan ordered his aide to retie Hans.

Hans quickly slipped his closed and sweating hand into his right coat pocket and released the flash drive as the aide approached him. “So tomorrow is the day?” Hans asked, straining for calm.

Ivan scrutinized him through narrowed eyes. “You were never cut out for this, were you, Hans? I should have realized that long ago. But you tried. And some of your efforts will pay off for us. You will have your revenge, and I mine. Perhaps you will hear the explosion from here. After that, the whole country will run to ground for a hole to hide in.” A trace of regret flitted across his face. “If you had not failed me, you would fly away with us tomorrow, over the flaming river and out to the ship.”

Chapter 35

W
hat will your courts do to the Architect if you bring him in alive?” Evgeny asked Ava as they cruised toward the South Street Seaport.

“That’s for all those people with law degrees to figure out. Not a music teacher.”

He hitched a half grin at her. “Oh, so that’s what you are now? No longer the CIA doyenne, the stainless-steel spymaster? You think you can just crawl back into your old life of pleasant little concertos and forget what you saw out here?”

Ava stared straight ahead. “Forget? No, I never will. But I’m trying. Music has always helped me do that.”

“What sort of music do you think the Architect listens to while he plots mass murder?” He felt her scrutiny.

“What’s on your mind, Evgeny?”

He turned hard eyes on her. “He must not live long enough for court of any kind.”

It was almost midnight Sunday when they parked beside the Rococo-style apartment building. Evgeny remembered the acidic meeting with
Andreyev
there just over a year ago—and the humiliation of failure. Now, he was glad Liesl Bower had escaped him that night. He’d been blinded by patriotic promises from men whose mighty words had soon rung shrill and hollow, whose motives had spun out of control.

He’d had Liesl clearly in his sights that night. Three men on her heels, certain of the capture. Then she turned the corner and disappeared. “God held that door open just long enough for me to escape.” That’s what Liesl had told him. Would he ever believe it?

“What floor?” Ava cut into his thoughts.

“Fourth.”

When the elevator opened onto the small lobby, still wrapped in ruby-flocked wallpaper, Evgeny went straight to one of four doors and listened. Ava reached for her handgun and stood to one side of the door, her back to the wall. Evgeny knocked lightly. No answer. Then again. Still no response. He retrieved a slim, flat rod from his bag, telescoped it a couple of feet, then slid it under the door. The camera on the tip of the rod picked up no movement, no sign of occupancy, at least not in an area dimly lit by one floor-level night-light. With two more instruments from his bag, he tediously unlocked the door.

Silently, they moved as one unit into the foyer of a fanciful dwelling clad in velvets and satins. The prisms of an elaborate pink chandelier caught enough lamplight from the street to cast a rosy wash over the living room—wholly inconsistent with the mission of those who’d passed through.

After a room-by-room sweep, Ava lowered her gun. “Looks like a brothel,” she said finally, fingering a purple lampshade trimmed in gold fringe.

Evgeny was too anxious to begin the search to respond aloud.
A house of ill repute
, he thought.
How fitting
.

As he handled the Architect’s belongings, he tried to imagine the mind of the man. Was it as deliberately pretentious as this apartment? A mere confection? At what point did it shift into cold blood?

Careful not to turn on lights visible from the street, should Ivan approach, Ava searched the living room and kitchen by flashlight while
Evgeny
headed for the two bedrooms. After a while, they still hadn’t found anything of substance. While Ava sifted through linens and toiletries in the guest bath, Evgeny tackled the closet in the master bedroom. They had no profile of what they were looking for, just anything that would identify and help locate the man they hunted. En route to the apartment, Ava had requested an FBI search for the deed, tax records, utility billing, and any other lead to the apartment’s owner, which she suspected was a dummy corporation, as with the UN apartment they’d already investigated. Evgeny was certain the effort was futile and had told her so. The Architect might have light-headed taste in decorating, but he was no dummy, corporate or otherwise.

In the master closet, Evgeny rummaged through a footlocker that held an assortment of tourist information—maps, menus, sports schedules, Gray Line tour routes, shopping guides, historic-site pamphlets, and a printout of a website for a heliport on the East River. Evgeny sat back on his heels and stared at that last item, then turned it over. Handwritten on the back were the words
Bell helicopter 429
and a serial number. From there his eye landed on a scribbled date. Tomorrow’s.

Hearing Ava approach, he quickly folded the paper and shoved it into his coat pocket.

“Anything in here?” she asked as she entered the room.

“Nothing,” he called, emerging from the closet. “We should go.”

But she remained where she was. “Is this the last lead you have?”