Dark Tribute--An Eve Duncan Novel

by Iris Johansen

  “I’m not crazy.” His lips thinned. “But I’m superior to you in every way. Or I’d slice your throat right now and cheat myself of the pleasure later.”

  The chords were grating unbearably on Cara’s nerves. She should be able to ignore it, but she couldn’t. The concerto was controlled, painfully disciplined, and the young violinist’s fear seemed to be rising as the music rose. Cara couldn’t stand it. “Turn off her music,” she said through set teeth. “Please.”

  “Such a sensitive soul.” His eyes were glittering with malice. “Are you feeling close to poor Marian?” He was pulling her toward the front door. “Let’s get you a little closer.” He opened the door and pushed her outside. Cold wind was suddenly pulling at her hair and plastering her shirt to her body.

  Night sky.

  No stars.

  Mountains. Hills. Wilderness.

  Trees.

  He was dragging her forward. “Come along. She’s waiting for you.”

  Through the veil of pine trees she saw that she was on the edge of a huge canyon looking down at an abyss hundreds of feet below.

  The wind whipped her face, and she thought any minute it would sweep her down into the abyss.

  “Do you hear her call you?” Svardak asked softly. “Perhaps if she still had her violin, she’d play for you. She’s probably lonely. She’s only been down there two days.”

  She couldn’t take her gaze from the darkness below. “You threw her down there?”

  “Why not? She was dead, wasn’t she? I’d already taken the blood, and I had no more use for her.”

  “Why not? She was innocent.”

  “She was an unskilled amateur who stole the glory from those who deserved it.” He scowled. “And I don’t like you criticizing me. You will not do it.” He shoved her against a pine tree, untying her hands, looping the rope around her body and tying her to the pine. “See how you like keeping Marian company out here.” He was standing before her, the wind blowing his thin hair back from his face. He gestured to a shadowy figure in an anorak standing watching a short distance from the cabin. “Don’t bother thinking Abrams will help you. You can scream, but my guards know better than to interfere. It’s really only you and Marian alone together. It’s cold and windy, isn’t it? It’s always windy here. You’ll probably be stiff and frigid by morning. If you beg me, I might let you come back inside.”

  “Or you might not.” She was already shivering. “Did you offer that option to Marian Napier?”

  “Perhaps. I don’t remember. I had her for more than a month, and it was difficult to keep track of what I did to her.” He smiled. “But I do know it wasn’t on the first night. I knew you would be special.” He turned and started back toward the house. Then he stopped and glanced over his shoulder, his dark eyes gleaming maliciously. “Do you remember I mentioned you might run into your beloved Joe Quinn on one of your strolls?” His gaze shifted to the canyon. “I was thinking of that place that Marian makes her home now.”

  She went rigid. “Joe? Why? That doesn’t make sense.”

  “It makes perfect sense. I’ve been making plans. If I’m to keep you as long as I intend, I can’t have him interfering. Policemen can be so bothersome.” He opened the front door. “Just another thought to keep you warm through a long, cold night.”

  The next moment, the door had slammed behind him, and he was gone.

  No, not quite gone. He had turned up Marian Napier’s violin CD full blast so that it was loud enough to reach her and once more make the music a painful assault.

  She was alone.

  She didn’t feel alone. She was surrounded by that sharp wind, nightmares of blood and horror, and the knowledge that Svardak was just beyond that door. He was probably waiting for her to call out to him so that he could prove to himself how weak and vulnerable she was.

  And there was no doubt she was vulnerable, she thought wearily. But that didn’t mean she had to bow down to this Svardak when he was probably going to kill her anyway. She had come close to dying many times during her early years, and she knew that men as evil as Svardak couldn’t be stopped unless you had weapons to fight them. They just went on and on, re-creating themselves like one of those monster transformers in the comic books.

  And she had no weapons or skills. She wasn’t Jock, who was trained as an assassin, nor Joe, who was an ex-SEAL. She was only a musician.

  A musician who sounded so sorry for herself that she was suddenly filled with self-disgust, she thought. There was nothing “only” about being a musician. It was magical. It had purpose. It merely had certain drawbacks.

  Like the ability to stay alive.

  She was getting colder. She couldn’t be sure how low the temperatures would dip tonight. It was April, but she must be somewhere in the mountains, and that could mean that the weather could plummet to below freezing. The wind would make it even worse. These clothes she was wearing wouldn’t ward off hypothermia. She just had to pray the temperatures didn’t plunge that low.

  First, make certain the ropes that bound her were secure. He’d tied her so quickly that there might be a way to free herself. She began wriggling, struggling against the confines of the ropes around her body. They gave only a little, allowing only very limited movement. No possibility of freeing herself. Though she might be able to keep her circulation going if she moved frequently.

  But she had to accept that she was going to remain here until Svardak freed her. It might be wise to surrender now and live to fight another day. But she had an idea that it might not be wise at all. For some crazy reason, Svardak wanted her to be a worthy adversary. And she had no doubt that he was totally insane after what she’d experienced tonight.

  But he must be able to hide it well if he’d been able to get past hotel security and into her suite to do that horrible damage. And then there was that poor girl Marian, whom he’d kidnapped and killed. None of it would be easy unless he was able to appear normal on occasion. Cara felt again that terrible sadness she’d experienced when she’d first heard Marian play that Mendelssohn concerto. She had been trying hard to do what that bastard had wanted her to do. Yet he had found Marian boring and inadequate and had no compunction about killing her. She was not proper “tribute.”

  Tribute. Cara didn’t even know what that meant. But if she didn’t find out and use it to escape Svardak, then she’d probably die.

  And Joe might also die. She knew Joe would be searching for her. It was clear Svardak knew that as well. Joe might be caught in a trap as she had been swept up at her hotel.

  Or Jock could be at risk. Svardak didn’t know about Jock, but that didn’t mean he was safe either.

  The thought sent a bolt of frantic fear through her.

  No! Both of you stay away. Let me fight this alone.

  Last night, she had been full of hope because she had thought that all she had to worry about was convincing Jock they could have a life together. How could it have changed this quickly?

  Well, life had changed, and she had to change with it. Her mind was suddenly brimming, full of Svardak’s words and images. Think about them while she was trying to fight off the cold.

  Tribute.

  A violin with blood pouring from it.

  Anna, a woman Svardak had not wanted to talk about.

  Marian Napier, that poor frightened, young violinist who Svardak had tormented and eventually killed.

  All terrible visions, but she had to remember so that she would be able to put this picture together when she confronted Svardak again.

  It’s really only you and Marian alone together.

  Her gaze was drawn helplessly to the darkness of the abyss a few yards away. Marian was down there, lost in the darkness. Had he taken her music from her when he’d used her violin in that horrible way? No, Cara had to believe the music went on even though what people called life did not. Nothing else made sense to her. Beauty and nature and the sounds of all heaven and earth had to continue.

  “Did you find th
at, Marian?” she whispered. “I hope you did.”

  No sound but the wailing of the wind through the canyon.

  What had she expected? It must be because she was feeling so desperate that she wanted to believe this horror could not be totally without some kind of hope. She leaned back against the tree, huddling to retain what body heat she had left. “He’s a terrible, terrible man. I wish someone had been here for you. But I’m here for you now. Neither one of us is alone.”

  Just the sound of the wind whipping through the deep gorge.

  But she could still hear the strains of Marian’s Mendelssohn concerto pouring from the house.

  Why was she feeling that the heartbreaking pain and fear in Marian’s music that had previously torn Cara apart had vanished? The notes were there, the terrible vulnerability was there … but she was no longer feeling the woman’s pain.

  An answer? Imagination?

  No way of telling.

  She was just feeling that she was not as alone as she’d been only minutes before.

  “He wants to hurt me as he did you,” she whispered. “He might do it. But maybe we can fight this part of it. I’ll think about you, not about the horror, but about the music, because in the end that’s what both of us are about. Okay?”

  Did the wind in the abyss sound a little less sharp and cruel?

  “I want you to know that in spite of him, you performed the Mendelssohn very well. The beauty was there beneath everything that he made you do. That’s why it was hurting me so much. I don’t believe I do justice to Mendelssohn. Tchaikovsky seems to suit me more.”

  Was she talking to herself, or Marian Napier, or just the music itself?

  What the hell? It could be that she was starting to experience the first signs of hypothermia.

  If she was, then she would fight it off as long as possible. She started to shift, to move, to open and close her hands. She would do what she could and hope to make it through the night.

  And it would not be so bad to have the company of someone else who loved the music as much as she did …

  CHAPTER

  4

  “What have you found out?” Jock asked, when Joe answered as he was driving away from the lake cottage. “Any word from Interpol about Kaskov’s present location?”

  “Not yet. He doesn’t appear to be at his Moscow estate.”

  “Appear? I need definite.” He paused. “Has Eve called you yet?”

  “No. Should she?”

  “Don’t get protective. Yes, I upset her. But she upset me as well. She made me show her the photos.”

  “I knew she would.” He paused. “What did she say?”

  “She said she didn’t believe it was Kaskov.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Monster. I suppose I don’t have to explain to you what she meant.”

  “No.”

  “Well, she had to explain it to me. And I didn’t like what she said. But I’m still going after Kaskov because I have no other choice.” His hands clenched on the steering wheel. “And Interpol just struck out. I have to get someone who can find him now, not later.”

  “By all means. Choice?”

  “Dima Palik. He has his ear to the ground in half the countries in Europe and particularly Moscow and sells that information to the highest bidder. I’ve worked with him a number of times before.”

  “I’m familiar with his work,” Joe said harshly. “Do what you have to do. But notify me as soon as you hear anything. Do you hear me, Jock? You don’t go off on your own.”

  “I hear you. Have you been able to run anything down about that violin?”

  “It’s only been a few hours. They have to be careful not to destroy any forensic evidence from the blood as well as the violin itself. But you were right, there seems to be something inscribed inside the left F-hole when they can manage to safely clear the blood away.”

  “Safely?” Jock swore beneath his breath. “There’s nothing safe about any of this. Get them to do their damn jobs.”

  “That’s what they’re doing,” Joe said quietly. “Just not the way we want it done. I’ll give them just a little longer; and then I’ll go in and see that it’s done our way.” He didn’t wait for a reply. “Now, I’m going to hang up and call Eve and make sure you didn’t do any damage. I’ll call you when I find out about the violin.” He ended the call.

  More nothing, Jock thought with frustration. Blind alleys all the way. But it couldn’t go on. He couldn’t permit it to go on.

  He pulled over to the side of the road and accessed the number for Dima Palik.

  Palik answered in three rings, and he did not sound pleased. “I don’t wish to be involved in this, Gavin. I deal in information, not services. Find someone else.”

  “Really?” Jock stiffened. “It seems you might already be involved if you refuse a job before it’s offered. Which means I have no intention of finding someone else. What’s happening, Palik?”

  Silence. “You’re a good customer, but I won’t be made a go-between for anyone. The man in the middle invariably gets chopped. I intend to lead a long and prosperous life.”

  “You won’t live more than the very short time it will take me to get to you,” Jock said softly. “If you don’t tell me what the hell you’re talking about, Palik. I don’t have much time, and I’m not going to waste a second of it. I do hope you don’t make the mistake of thinking that I’ll allow you to survive if you cause me a problem in this.”

  Another silence. “I shouldn’t have answered the phone. I just wasn’t certain how you’d react later if I didn’t.”

  “Palik.”

  “Okay, but you keep me out of it from now on. He’s not going to care what happens to me, but you protect me.” He added harshly, “Go ahead, you want to know. Ask the question.”

  “There’s only one thing I want to know, and evidently I’m not going to have to ask. Only Kaskov could intimidate you to this extent. Did he tell you to set a trap for me?”

  “No, I dealt with Nikolai, and he’s intimidating enough for me. He just called today and told me to expect a call from you very soon. He said that if you offered me a job, I was to take it.” He paused. “And if part of that job was to find Kaskov, that I was also to accept it.”

  “And you’re saying that’s not a trap?”

  “Nikolai said that Kaskov had assured him it was not. He just wished to facilitate your finding him in the least amount of time. And in the safest manner for Kaskov possible.” Palik added sourly, “Nikolai was most adamant that Kaskov remain safe. It surprised me since Kaskov is probably more protected than Putin. What did you do to Kaskov?”

  “We’ve had a few encounters. We have a mutual acquaintance that brings us together.”

  “I don’t want to be present at the next encounter. You’re on your own after I text you the address Nikolai gave me. It’s not really an address, just a general location. Nikolai said that they’d get in touch with you when you arrived.”

  Jock pulled up the text with the address. “Coal Town, West Virginia? Not what I expected.”

  “Nor I,” Palik said. “I checked it out when Nikolai gave me the address. Less than three thousand people. Most below the poverty level. Not exactly up to Kaskov’s standards. The entire area would fit in that opera house he patronizes in Moscow.”

  “He must have a reason,” he said absently. “He always has a reason.” And if Kaskov was still in the U.S., then that reason must be important to him. “Did he give you any other message for me?”

  “Isn’t that enough?” Palik asked. “I expect you to pay me, you know. I might not have had to do the work, but the risk is there anyway.”

  “Aye, the risk is there.” The risk of dealing with Kaskov was always present, and he couldn’t blame Palik for backing away from him. “But I’ll need you anyway. Purely on the fringe … but when I call for information, I want you to be ready to give it to me.”

  “I thought it was going to end up that way,” he said,
disgusted. “As long as you don’t pull me into Kaskov’s world. It’s a bit too nasty even for me.”

  “I need you close. Where are you?”

  “Paris.”

  “Too far. I want you in New York by tomorrow.”

  Palik sighed. “I’ll be there.” He hung up.

  Coal Town, West Virginia. Jock gazed down at the text. It was as unusual a location for Kaskov as Palik had said. When Kaskov wasn’t conducting his very criminal activities, he was a complete sophisticate. He was a patron of the symphony, the Bolshoi Opera, and various other cultural organizations in Moscow. He would have no business in a small town in West Virginia. So why was he there?

  Because it was probably within six to eight hours driving time of Atlanta?

  Guesswork. But it was also guesswork why Kaskov wanted to draw him to that small town. He had chosen to use Palik to do it because he knew as much about Jock as Jock did about him. He’d realized that Palik would be Jock’s choice when he was on the hunt.

  And he’d wanted to be sure that Palik would have the answers immediately, so that Jock would be able to reach him with top efficiency and speed.

  But Kaskov had not been the only one to push Jock to look deeper, to go faster.

  Hurry, Eve had said. You have to hurry, Jock. He’s a monster …

  * * *

  “What a fool you are,” Svardak said roughly. He untied the ropes binding Cara to the pine tree and jerked them off her. “Look at you. You’re nearly frozen. You could have spoiled everything. I don’t even have the tribute yet.”

  “You’re the one—who is—a fool.” Her teeth were chattering and she could barely speak. “You—tied me—to that tree.” So cold … She was shaking. She didn’t know how long she’d been out here, but it had been many hours. She didn’t think it had gone below freezing, but she couldn’t be sure of that either. She’d only been aware of the night, and the wind, and the need to force herself to move. “But nothing is your—fault? No, of course not. Did you blame Marian, too?” He was pushing her toward the house, and her feet were so heavy and cold, she could barely keep her footing. “Why didn’t you just let me stay out there for the rest of the night? I could have done it. Marian and I are both stronger than you.” She was so dizzy, she wasn’t sure what she was saying, but she had to let him know that he couldn’t destroy her as he had Marian. It didn’t matter any longer to her if she could figure out a strategy that would save her or not. She just couldn’t let him win. “And if you decided to pitch me down into that canyon, I would still be stronger. Because there’s the music … There will always be the music.”