until someone visits?”
Sheila looked away.
“An unreasonable question. Forgive me. It is obvious that I must hurry. Please roll
Doctor Rubenstein to her computer.
Staranov followed. “Mr. Romanidze is a computer necromancer, Doctor, though
perhaps not in the same class as you. It is he to whom you will provide the information
required.” He pointed at Romanidze. “Commence and do not allow her to
procrastinate.”
Staranov beckoned for the remainder of his entourage to join him at a seating
arrangement near the foot of the stairway. They sat in silence as Staranov listened to
Romanidze pose questions.
She was able to squander fifteen minutes before Romanidze called to Staranov. “She is stalling.”
“A reasonable move on her part. Roll her over here.”
Romanidze rolled the chair into the center of the seating arrangement.
“Now, computer magus, the good Doctor did not appreciate the earlier advances. Are you perhaps a more sophisticated lover than he?”
Romanidze grinned. “I shall demonstrate!”
“Please do.”
He grasped Sheila’s hair with one hand, while he kissed her lips and jammed his hand into her crotch.
Sheila bit him.
Romanidze jumped back, wiped a hand across his mouth, and looked at the blood.
Larson ran to the spiral stairway and started down.
“You bastards! She doesn’t know anything. I’m the one you want.”
Dreshchensky tripped Larson as he left the stairway, then jammed his foot on his neck.
“Oh, is that you, Mr. Larson?” Staranov said. “You fit Mr. Cooper’s description perfectly.”
Larson twisted to look at Cooper, who turned away.
“Make Mr. Larson comfortable in that straight back chair.”
Dreshchensky held his Browning on Larson, while Romanidze looked for something to restrain Larson.
Staranov gestured toward a pair of floor lamps. “Improvise! Use the wires attached to these lamps.
“To the automobile, Vera Davidovna. Some tape from your kit of wonders. Render Mr. Larson speechless. We do not require his participation in our conversation with Doctor Rubenstein.”
Staranov waited until Larson was taped. “So, Mr. Larson, very chivalrous of you to come to the Doctor’s aid, but you would have me believe that it is you—rather than Doctor Rubenstein—who is wise in the ways of the predictor? Not a bit of it, Mr. Larson. You are but a huckster—a buyer and seller of things.
“Now, Doctor, Mr. Larson’s tardy arrival smacks of a plan. Did Mr. Cooper’s telephone call alert you to our possible arrival? To the point that Mr. Larson hid in preparation for an attack at some opportune moment?” He paused. “No. You could not have known how skillful our computer expert would prove to be in finding your location. Did you have some more immediate information regarding our visit?”
Sheila looked away.
Staranov grasped an ear and began to twist.
“Yes, yes!”
“How?”
“The woman at the store.”
Staranov whirled to face Romanidze. “You failed? And did not tell me?” “I—I was not certain.”
Staranov slapped his face. “Now, fool, we must face the possibility that the
authorities have been informed!” He turned back to Sheila. “Did you call the police?” Sheila closed her eyes.
“Never mind. We must assume so. Or the old woman did. Speed is indicated.” Staranov’s face softened. “Roll Doctor Rubenstein’s chair to Mr. Larson’s chair.
Face to face, knees touching.”
He retreated to survey the scene. “Perfect! Now, gather around. A combination of
labor and amusement begins.
“I believe, students, that sexual manipulations with Doctor Rubenstein alone would
have been successful, but with the arrival of Mr. Larson, I have an opportunity to employ
some of the special studies from my school days—but wait!” He bent over Sheila’s
chair. “Before we begin, will you tell me the secrets of the predictor’s operation?” Sheila spit in his face.
“Aha! An additional display of courage from our subject! We applaud, but must
nevertheless proceed.”
Sheila had been avoiding looking at Larson. Staranov adjusted Sheila’s head so that
she faced him now. “Important for the two of you to be in touch, even though Mr.
Larson will not be speaking.
“Now, Doctor, I shall make a preliminary observation. First, Mr. Larson finds your
safety of importance. The attempted rescue, the attempted eye contact since. I know too
little of your relationship to theorize for my students here, but I would not be surprised to
discover that Mr. Larson is in love with you—whatever that term means.” He paused.
“What may surprise you—and the group—is that I surmise that you love Mr. Larson as
well.”
“Nothing could be further from the truth!”
“As I have explained to you, I am empathetic. We shall see if my therapy causes you
to realize your true attitude.” He smiled. “You see, I am going to determine how much
pain you will allow Mr. Larson to suffer before you give me the secret.” Sheila looked away.
Staranov slapped her face. “Eyes on Mr. Larson, Doctor. Do not alter my
arrangements. Respect my science. If you cannot hold your head as I wish, someone
will be happy to aid you.”
She turned back.
“Excellent. First, we shall lay some groundwork vis-à-vis your regard for Mr.
Larson. Tell us what you think about when you see Mr. Larson’s trousers bulge—there,
at the crotch.” He grinned at Larson. “I imagine that your bulge is quite attractive in
certain circles, Mr. Larson.
Larson’s face was contorted.
“Well, Doctor?”
Sheila squeezed her eyes closed.
Staranov grasped the lashes of her right eye and raised the lid. “If you try to foil me
by closing your eyes, I shall have Vera Davidovna attach your eyelid to your forehead
with a thumbtack.”
Sheila opened the other eye.
“Now, as to Mr. Larson’s bulge?”
Sheila looked away.
Staranov grasped both of Sheila’s breasts and squeezed.
She screamed.
Larson strained against the wire.
“Doctor, when I speak to you during this critical time, you must answer. Otherwise, I
shall not know how well I am progressing. You see? Save the bruising of your lovely
breasts by accommodating me with answers to my questions.”
Sheila stared at him.
Staranov slapped both sides of her face.
She screamed.
Larson strained.
Staranov frowned at Larson. “Naveeva, I am not pleased with the appearance of Mr.
Larson’s restraints. Fetch me something more sturdy.”
Naveeva rose and opened the door leading to the kitchen.
Kostov crawled back from the edge of the balcony, then rushed to the stairway at the rear of the house. “The predictor, Doctor. Give me its secrets!”
“No.”
Staranov smiled. “Very good. Communication is established and you have avoided
fresh mistreatment.” He smiled. “My n ext step will be to have my associates remove your clothing. Bare bodies—”
“No!”
“My course work at my Ooneeverseetyet indicated that nudity tends to produce new levels of understanding and awareness. Witness the soul-blossoming effects that nudists swear by.”
He faced Larson. “I imagine that Mr. Larson’s hungry eyes—” He frowned. “Wait! You t
wo are not already lovers, are you?”
“No!”
“Oh, good. I wonder at the likelihood of such a circumstance, but I shall accept your statement. According to my professors, the effects would otherwise have been much lessened.
“Mr. Larson’s hungry eyes will feast on what is apparently a lovely body. He will be able to actually view what Mr. Romanidze was mining for earlier. And you will be able to see Mr. Larson’s manhood and know first hand just how much Mr. Larson enjoys the view of your beautiful torso. I am very pleased. This is sharing of knowledge at its very best.” He paused. “But, wait! What if his manhood is not erect? What would that mean vis-à-vis his regard for you?” He looked around the room for appreciation and cackled. “I await the answer with interest.”
Naveeva was walking down the long corridor that connected the service rooms when she heard Kostov’s step. She twisted her face to him. She was drawing a breath to scream when Kostov drove his extended fingers of his right hand into her throat, then slammed the other hand into her solar plexus. When she had folded over herself, Kostov stiffened the right hand and struck the back of her neck. She crumpled to the floor, her dress riding up to expose huge gray bloomers.
Kostov looked at the face. The maniacal look remained.
He dragged the body to the laundry, then climbed the rear stairway and crawled to the edge of the balcony. Staranov was cradling Sheila’s head in his hand and smiling. “I have a problem, Doctor. Perhaps you can help me.”
She lowered her eyes.
Staranov punched her in the abdomen.
She doubled over. “Ugh!”
“Attention-getting, is it not Doctor? Women of your age tend to be very protective of their abdomens. You must keep the lodging for baby Larson safe and sound.” He paused. “Does the thought of avoiding a new blow to your abdomen encourage you to talk?”
Sheila spit in Staranov’s face again.
He wiped the spittle from his chin, then licked his fingers.
He closed his eyes, then jerked them open and looked around. “Where is Vera Davidovna?” He crossed to the door and yelled. “Where are you, woman? You may rummage through the Doctor’s possessions if we have time, but first we must learn the secret.”
There was no response.
Staranov pointed at Dreshchensky. “Find her! And hurry back with the binding.”
Kostov crept down the back stairway again. Dreshchensky searched the labyrinth extending in both directions from the kitchen. Shouting Naveeva’s name produced nothing.
He found the door he had first approached and stepped outside. He was glancing at the remains of the sunset when Kostov crushed his windpipe, then broke his neck.
Kostov caught the body and dropped it at the base of the outer wall, then took the Browning from the corpse’s coat pocket. He tiptoed to the kitchen to the kitchen door.
No one was watching Cooper. “Taking a leak,” he said over his shoulder. No one noticed his departure.
Staranov pointed a t Romanidze. “Our associates have gone astray. Find them and bring back rope. Also with a sharp knife.”
Kostov heard the footsteps approaching the kitchen door.
He pulled the Browning from his waistband, stepped back two paces, and ran at the door.
His momentum took the door off its hinges. He and the door knocked Romanidze to the floor.
Kostov glanced at the toppled figure, then looked at Staranov. “I believe that—”
Romanidze’s bullet passed above Kostov’s shoulder and through a window on the far side of the room.
Kostov shot him twice in the chest.
He pointed the pistol at Staranov. “As I was saying, I believe—”
Staranov twisted away, extracted the little revolver from his trouser pocket, and fired at Kostov.
The bullet took Kostov in the left thigh. He stumbled, but regained his footing.
Staranov kept the revolver pointed at Kostov. “Place your weapon on the floor and kick it away.
Kostov did so.
“Now, whoever you are, you may continue telling me of your beliefs regarding me.”
Kostov didn’t respond.
Staranov grabbed Sheila’s hair and thrust his pistol against her temple. “Now!”
“I am Kostov, formerly of the Second Chief Directorate. I believe that you are K. Y. Staranov and that I had the pleasure of arresting you and several of your noxious associates in 1993 or so. Leningrad. A charge of torture to extract money from a Siberian refugee family. I didn’t recognize you at first. Your face—”
“Has been adjusted.” Staranov turned his face to the side and posed. “Do you like it?”
“Prekasnyj.”
“Lovely?”
Kostov chuckled.
“Very amusing, former policeman. And I remember the incident well.”
“But someone had the charges dropped.”
“Of course. There was not a bit of truth in the allegations.”
“Of course not.”
“Now, former policeman, how do you find yourself on this most interesting mountaintop eight thousand kilometers from the Rodina?”
“I am seconded to the Finance Ministry, here on official business. Tell me, how did you manage to enter this country?”
“Thanks to friends from the old Tenth Chief Directorate, now a part of Galavna-ya Bohl, we are all Israeli merchants, buying and selling.”
Kostov laughed. “Israelis? You do not look much—”
“Reflect, former policeman. Half of the Israeli population was born in the old Soviet Union.” He paused. “But that aside, what is your official business here?” “I have been engaged in recovering certain funds belonging to our government.” “Ah! It is you who frustrated our efforts at the trust in Alabama.”
Kostov nodded.
“Ah! Ah! Yes, it all connects for me.” He frowned. “But why are you murdering your countrymen in a conflict with miserable Americans over a computer program?”
Kostov didn’t respond.
Staranov lowered his voice. “You can join us. I guarantee that you will be welcomed to Galavna-ya Bohl. Rather than dying, you can leave here in glory.”
“I decline. You, on the other hand, are facing serious problems. Your aides are dead and—”
Staranov’s face fell. “All?”
“All. And you, as well, are eight thousand kilometers from home. I cannot guess what might be accomplished on your behalf if you surrender, but whatever it is, it is the best course for you.” Kostov stretched his hand toward Staranov. “Let the woman go. Give me the gun.”
“You joke.”
“Give me the gun!”
“I think not, policeman. Shall I tell you why? I have fallen from grace within Galavna-ya Bohl. The gentle mercies of the American authorities do not appeal to me. And should I somehow return to Moscow without the predictor to smooth my homecoming—well, there is no choice.” He crouched behind Sheila’s chair, then fired four times at Kostov.
Kostov dove for Dreshchensky’s Browning, rolled away, and shot at Staranov.
The impact turned Staranov sideways. He hand covered the dark hole in his side. “You have shot me! Me! Staranov! Shot!”
He stumbled toward the south door, then looked back at Kostov. “If I am denied, all will be denied.” He aimed the revolver at Sheila.
Sheila covered her face and screamed.
He fired.
Larson launched himself into the path of the bullet.
Staranov ran through the doorway.
Kostov hobbled after him.
Staranov glanced at the place where the SUV had been parked, then ran in the opposite direction, toward the rock pile.
He looked back at Kostov when he reached the edge of the cliff, his eyes bulging. He fell, then regained his feet, then stumbled over. There was a long, piercing scream. “Pomogite-mne!”
Kostov limped to the edge of the rock pile. There was a dark shape on a flat rock ten meters below him.
He looked
for a way to climb down. There was none. He hobbled back toward the house.
Inside, he tore his trouser leg open. “Minor wound.” He righted Larson’s chair, then ripped the tape off his mouth. Larson grimaced, but didn’t open his eyes.
Kostov untied the lamp wires and lowered Larson to the floor. Sheila was still sobbing.
Kostov released the belt.
She slumped forward, then uncovered her face and pointed at Larson. “What’s wrong
with him?”
Kostov didn’t reply.
She covered her face again and sobbed.
Kostov raised Larson’s face. He lifted one eyelid, then the other, then lowered
Larson’s head to the floor again. He returned from the kitchen with two dishtowels. He placed the first on Larson’s wound and drew the shirt to hold it in place. He stuffed the second on the wound in his leg and pulled the torn trouser leg over the makeshift bandage.
Sheila uncovered her face. “Ivan, tell me! What’s wrong with him?” “Was Staranov correct about you and Sam, Doctor?”
“What? You heard?”
“You are mortified at what these people did to you? More importantly, you are
mortified that Sam heard and saw it, are you not?”
“I am not! And if he hadn’t made that operatic rush down the stairway, none of this
would have happened.”
“None?” He shook his head. “It was indeed not intelligent for him to give himself
away, but I think that for him there was no other decision. You were in danger and he
had to act.”
Larson shook his head and stood. “Where’s the guy? Where’re the rest of them?” “It is finished. They are all dead, except for the American. He seems to have
departed.”
“Staranov?” Sheila said.
“His body is lying in the rocks at the bottom of the cliff.”
He removed the towel from Larson’s shoulder. “The bleeding is slowing.” He
replaced the towel.
Sheila stared at Larson. “What happened to you?”
He looked at her, then looked away.
“Pardon my intervention, Doctor Rubenstein,” Kostov said, “but I feel I should point
out to you that while you were busy hiding your beautiful face, Sam launched himself
between you and the gun. He took the bullet Staranov meant for you.” He pointed at his
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