Sabotage (18 page)

“A logical conjecture. And for God's sake, I hope you're right. If Baldr does indeed rest in the hands of middlemen, then we might still be able to keep it from truly dangerous hands.”

Victoria exchanged fretful looks with Avdeenko as she walked to his side. She had never seen him so forlorn. Fear was etched into the wrinkles around his eyes, which had begun to dampen.

“Uncle Fyodor,” she said, embracing him, “you've been so helpful. We'd better leave you now. I've made reservations at the Hotel Dostoevsky, and I don't want them to give our room away at this late hour.”

“You are welcome to stay here, Victoria. You, too, Mr. Hardy. That is, if you don't mind sleeping on the floor. I have but one mattress.” He looked embarrassed. “And one key.”

“Thank you,” Victoria said. “We wouldn't want to burden you. You probably need to return to the university in the morning. We don't have plans yet. Not knowing where today would lead us, we left tomorrow open.”

“You've given us much to think about,” Austin added.

“Run off and sleep, then,” Avdeenko said as he led them out. “I will place some calls to Glitnir and begin an investigation of my own. Any leads I find, I will pass on to you. Believe me, something like this cannot happen without a fight on my end. If anything comes up, call me.”

“We will,” Victoria said. “Good night, Uncle Fyodor.”

Avdeenko closed the door and heaved a sigh. He poured the remaining tea, drank it, and crashed on the sofa.

Despite all the security measures, he couldn't help but think Clare had been careless to let the satellite escape him.

Planning a course of inquiry, Avdeenko reviewed the calls he would make the next day. Then, grudgingly, he let himself sleep. On his shelf, the wolf idled in the dust. It hadn't missed a word.

 

FIFTEEN

On the street outside the apartment complex, a swarthy man waited in the front seat of a rental car. You found the first two bugs, he thought, but not the third.

He clicked off the recording device and removed his earpiece, watching the apartment's entrance. Soon two young figures exited the building and flagged a taxi at the corner. They were next, he decided. After admitting to holding the passkey, they had told him exactly where they'd be spending the night.

When the taxi drove away, the man climbed out of his car and rang the bell. Probably assuming his recent guests had forgotten something, Avdeenko buzzed open the main door.

The man called the elevator. When the unit started its ascent, he took a 9mm Makarov from his pocket and in one smooth motion began screwing in a silencer. When he reached the top, he knocked on the physicist's door. He heard scuffling feet and shifting deadbolts.

The door opened.

A face as handsome as his seldom elicited panic, but the man at the door was dizzy and trembling. The curly-haired physicist tottered backward, staring down the hole of the Mak's barrel.

“Good night, Dr. Avdeenko.”

*   *   *

The taxi pulled alongside the Hotel Dostoevsky and dropped them off. Austin tipped the driver before he drove away. They entered the lobby and checked in at the reception desk.

“We have a reservation for two, one night,” said Victoria.

The receptionist was a young brunette wearing a tag that read “Svetlana.” She was pretty, hiding glances at Austin beneath ripples of chestnut hair. “Name, please?”

“Clare,” Victoria answered.

The receptionist scrolled down on her computer. “Victoria?”

“That's right.”

“How many beds?”

“Two,” she blurted.

The receptionist repressed a grin.

“Smoking or nonsmoking?” Svetlana asked, venturing another glimpse at Austin. Victoria's female instinct told her the receptionist was mentally undressing him. She felt a little irritated, only because she couldn't wait to get to sleep, and the receptionist seemed to be working slowly.

“Nonsmoking.”

Victoria signed a paper and handed over the black Centurion Card.

“I see it's your dad's,” Austin said, glimpsing the name.

“He lent it to me,” she said. “Tell me you didn't believe a poor, starving grad student actually owned one.”

“You never know when it comes to poor, starving daughters of billionaires.”

Svetlana set two keycards on the counter. “For your room,” she said. “Our restaurant serves a buffet breakfast from seven to ten-thirty a.m. Would you like a bellboy to help you with luggage?”

“We're traveling light,” Austin said. “It's all on our backs.”

“Americans?” He nodded. “Have a pleasant stay. Your room number is 405.”

“Thank you, Svetlana.”

They heard a slight giggle as the elevator doors closed.

Austin and Victoria went up to the room and sprawled out on their beds. With little discussion they brushed their teeth and took turns showering, then lay under the covers in silence. Austin shut off his thoughts, his mind awash with exhaustion. He practically jumped into a disturbed slumber.

*   *   *

Vasya parked his car near the back of the hotel, and pulled down the flaps of his black fur cap. He flicked on his pistol's safety and concealed the gun in an inner pocket of his trench coat.

He brushed aside the doors, passed through the lobby, and walked directly to the second floor.

He found what he was looking for. Starting at the farthest end of the hall, he collected all the used room service food trays from the corridor. He found three, then did the same on the third, fourth, and fifth floors. Soon he had gathered a large stack.

Along with each serving dish came a small glass vase containing an orchid. He removed the flowers from each tray and put them in one vase, forming a bouquet. He took the vase with him.

Returning to the lobby, he pinched a business card from the front desk before going back to his car. In the parking lot, he flipped open his cell phone and dialed the number on the card.

“Thank you for calling Hotel Dostoevsky,” answered a voice in Russian. “You have reached the concierge. How may I help you?”

He replied. “Hello, I am just arriving in your back lot. I have some heavy bags. Would you send someone to help me carry them?”

“Right away.”

Vasya leaned against his car, roll-tapping his fingers across its fender. The lot was empty. Not a soul in sight. Idle minutes in the cool air tempted him to light a cigarette. Before he had the chance, a young bellhop appeared wearing a crimson double-breasted jacket with golden buttons.

“You called for help with your baggage?”

“I did,” Vasya said. “Let me pop the trunk.”

He pushed a button. The latch clicked, and the bellboy lifted the rear open. He looked surprised.

“Sir, I don't see any bags.”

Facing the empty trunk, the bellboy froze as cold metal dug into his spine. His knees buckled slightly and his legs quavered, the metal prodding him forcefully. He sensed a capable hand behind the trigger.

“Strip down.”

The bellboy began to shake. “You want money? I have two thousand rubles in my wallet! Oh, God, please!”

“Shut up and strip.”

The boy's quivering fingers made it nearly impossible to unfasten the buttons. Sweaty palms didn't help. His assailant waited patiently as he undressed. Had he been facing the other direction, his fear might have boiled over into full-blown terror at the sight of his attacker disrobing, too.

Vasya flung his trench coat into the car. Keeping the muzzle steady, he slipped on the bellboy's uniform.

“Get in the trunk,” he told the boy.

Crouched in the trunk, the boy curled into a ball.

“Are you going to kill me?”

“Not if you are quiet.”

The trunk's slam squelched his sobs. Now in uniform, Vasya tucked the handgun away and returned to the lobby. He passed the concierge desk, picked up the vase of orchids, and approached reception.

Folding his new white gloves on the counter, he said, “Hello, Svetlana.”

The brunette studied him without recognition. She seemed to be noticing his apparel's ill fit, but forgave the shortcoming as soon as she got lost in his smile. She let a few seconds pass to take in his features at her own pace.

“I didn't know we'd hired a new bellman,” she said.

“Just part-time, during the nights,” he said.

She let linger a beguiling grin. “Do you need help with something?”

“I am to deliver these flowers. A man ordered them to surprise his girlfriend. It was just the two of them, young Americans. I don't remember their room number.”

Svetlana looked a tad doubtful, but he sensed she was easily swayed. “Are they a couple? The lady asked for two beds.”

“Maybe the flowers are supposed to help with that.”

She shrugged. “They checked in a few minutes ago. Room 405.”

“Do you have a spare key in case they've gone out? I'm to leave the flowers on the nightstand.” Seeing her mistrust, he added, “The young man asked as a special favor.”

Svetlana punched some numbers, swiped a fresh card, and handed it to him. “Fine, here.”

His manner and appearance continued to charm. “For the sweethearts,” he said.

*   *   *

Treading gingerly, Vasya walked down the hallway and inserted the keycard. The room opened to darkness and the silence of sleep.

“Wake up,” he hissed.

There was movement under the sheets of both beds. Austin and Victoria sprang upright.

The intruder set the flowers on their nightstand. “Quietly rise, keeping your hands on your heads,” he told them.

Victoria rose to her feet by the closet. She had often experienced the harsh transition from nightmare to consciousness. This felt like the reverse.

“What's going on?” Austin said.

When Vasya's silhouette loomed over him and he felt the icy barrel on his cheek, it became clear. He studied the intruder's shape. The man was lean and small compared to the prowler in Dr. Clare's office.

“If I shoot,” whispered the man, “no one will hear. Do as I say, and you will live.”

They complied, but knew better than to trust the promise. Without light the man stood faceless, and the room seemed to close in around them.

“Stay there,” said the man. “I will not hesitate to shoot.”

Victoria stared straight at the man. “Who are you?”

“For your sake, I won't answer that.”

“What do you want?”

He ignored her. “I know what you're both thinking. You're imagining ways to best me—wondering if you should dial the front desk, or attack me and try to knock the gun from my hands. You will fail. Do only as I say.”

Victoria glanced at Austin. He seemed unfazed, and this calmed her a little. “Tell us why you're here,” he said.

The man backed away from their beds, giving them space. “I believe you saw my colleague a few days ago.”

“You mean the big hairy office creeper?” Austin said. “You and your friends have a knack for showing up uninvited.”

“In the office you found a small flash drive,” the man said. He sounded patient. “Do you remember any of the sentences stored on it?”

Austin's chest clenched with the realization that this was a test, and his answer would determine whether or not the assassin spared them. He had the feeling this man's guiding principle in killing was necessity. “I'd help if I could,” Austin said. “Believe me, your gun is persuasive. But the flash drive was password protected. We couldn't get in.”

The man's quiet told them he was judging the veracity of Austin's excuse. Austin felt glad the room was dark, so his face couldn't expose the lie.

“Give me the drive,” said the man.

“Is that all you want?”

“I won't ask twice.”

Anger brimmed inside Victoria, along with surprise as Austin reached into his backpack and retrieved the device. She was watching him relinquish their only hope of finding her father and bringing an end to this catastrophe. A voice inside her screamed in protest; how dare he just hand over her father's property!

She drew back her leg, preparing a kick to the man's groin. It would be so easy. He was almost within reach, as was Austin, and she could thwack either of them before they could make the exchange. But reason told her it was too risky to try to stop Austin. The man had warned he was prepared to shoot.

Austin handed over the flash drive. So he had deserted her. Loathing welled inside her, loathing toward the man with the pistol—but more so toward her double-crossing partner, who had so readily acquiesced. No fight, no questions, no thought to alternatives. The drive was gone.

The man dropped the flash drive onto the floor and stomped on it. The casing cracked. He squashed it again with his heel for good measure, then slipped the remains into his pocket. Victoria shuddered with revulsion toward both men. She had to stop this.

The man sensed her imminent attack.

“Don't do it,” he said.

She found the voice to be eerily contained.

“The information is destroyed. Accept it. Don't make me cause more damage.”

She retreated.

“Is that all?” said Austin, still sounding calm.

“Unplug your telephone. I don't want you calling the front desk before I get down there.”

Austin tore off the receiver and yanked several other cords from the wall. The intruder moved to the door. He stood not ten feet away from them, and still neither could see his face. “Do not come after me,” he said. “If you do, I will be forced to come after you.”

*   *   *

The man drove to a nearby alley, took off his clothes, and opened his trunk. He handed the uniform to the bellboy, who shivered.

“Please don't take my life! Please don't take it!”

“Drink this,” Vasya said, drawing a flask from his trench coat.