“In the meantime,” Connor said, “I’d like to talk with each of you—away from the confusion here.”
Larson gestured at the doorway with the hanging hinges. “There’s a kitchen table.”
“Good.” He pointed at Kostov. “I’d like to begin with you, Colonel.”
“I have some hearsay regarding you, Colonel, but please identify yourself.” Kostov did so.
“And why you’re here.”
He explained.
“And what happened here.”
He repeated his story.
“Did you know the three people you killed?
“I knew one. The others were his associates.”
“You had enough information to warrant your actions?”
“I did. Two of them were professional torturers, here engaged in torturing Doctor
Rubenstein.”
“Professional torturers?”
Kostov explained.
“The other two?”
“One was a thug in their mafya cell here and the other was a computer technician.
Also a member of the cell.”
“Did you have to kill them?”
“It was clear to me that the lives of Doctor Rubenstein and Mr. Larson were to be
ended. They had guns, we did not.”
“It appears that your hands were more powerful than their guns.”
“I was fortunate in the movements they made.”
“How did you learn—”
“Spetsnaz training.”
“I know about them.” Connor leaned back. “How do you thi nk your Spetsnaz training ranks with that of our Special Forces?”
Kostov frowned. “I hope we never have an occasion to find out.”
Connor nodded. “Right. I think that’s all for now, Colonel. Will you be reporting this incident to your people?”
“As soon as the government awakens in Moscow.”
“What will the results for you?”
“I do not foresee any blame attached to me by my superiors—unless, of course, you do.”
He nodded. “Please ask Mr. Larson to come in.”
Larson took the chair Kostov had left. “ One moment,” Connor said. He walked to the doorway. “Quincy, get someone at the Bureau on the phone. Tell them we have some international implications here.”
Connor smiled at Larson. “Now, Mr. Larson, please tell me what you know.”
His story matched Kostov’s until the time he was shot and fainted.
“I’ve heard about the woman,” Connor said. “You’re sort of a protector?”
“Business associate.”
“When can we talk to her?”
“Any time, I think, but she won’t be able to add anything.”
“We’ll wait a while.”
Connor and Larson returned to the living room.
“Getting late, Mr. Connor,” Soper said. “What’s next?”
“We’re waiting for the crime scene people to finish.”
“When—”
“Whenever it is, Ray. Take a seat.”
“But—”
“You know the drill. When our people are finished with the bodies, bag them and drop them in Atlanta.”
“So I—”
“Sit!”
Kostov raised his hand. “Excuse me, Mr. Connor, but can you tell me what will happen to the bodies?”
“They’ll be fingerprinted and autopsied. After that we’ll contact your embassy to collect them.”
“The embassy will not be pleased.”
“I can imagine a certain reluctance, but—”
“These are scum—known scum. The embassy would doubtless appreciate your disposing of the bodies yourselves.”
“We’ll see.”
Larson and Kostov sat watching the precise actions of the crime scene technicians for the next half hour, then Larson stood. “Mr. Connor, I’m concerned about Colonel Kostov’s position in this.”
“ This is a death investigation involving multiple victims, with one body missing. You don’t need me to tell you the circumstances are strange at best. We’ll conduct the investigation jointly with the FBI. The—”
“ Excuse me, but my concern is about Ivan. If he needs an attorney, I want to call mine for references as soon as he gets to the office.”
“I wouldn’t hurry on that, Mr. Larson. I’m not the last word, but I don’t think the Union CountyTowns County district attorney will want to prosecute.”
“When will I know?”
“Soon. Plenty of time to call your attorney afterward, if you need to.”
“Okay, with that out of the way, do you have any objection to us getting some sleep?” Larson pinched the fabric of his pink golf trousers. “It’s hard to believe that Ivan and I were at a golf tournament in Birmingham when all this began.”
Connor nodded
Kostov stood. “I would like to sleep, Sam, but I must rise at one to call Moscow.”
“One A.M?” Connor said.
“Nine o’clock there. I would not like for the organizations to which I am assigned to learn about this incident from any other source.”
“I’ll set the alarm in my room,” Larson said.
Chapter 35
August 23
It was one-thirty when Kostov completed his calls.
“And?” Larson said.
“I am to report to both offices, FSB first, as soon as possible.”
Larson looked at Connor. “You heard?”
“I’ll explain the circumstances to the FBI troops as soon as they arrive. We’ll get the
district attorney on the phone right after. Ought to be able to let you go in the next few hours.”
Kostov nodded. “Now I would like to sleep.”
Larson followed him to the stairway.
The processing continued through the night.
At dawn, Bacci hurried to the house. “Hey!”
“Hey, yourself, Bacci,” Pilcher said.
“The guy that was supposed to be at the bottom of the cliff?”
“Yes?”
“He’s gone.”
“Gone? How long have you known?”
“Just minutes ago. I could finally see the rocks and there was nothing there.” “Maybe Bubba was right,” Pilcher said.
“About what?”
“He said the bears would get the guy.”
“Guy must have been alive,” Connor said. “Bears don’t eat carrion.” “Who told you that?” Deland said. “Bears’ll eat anything that won’t eat them.” “Whatever, we’ve got to get down there. Bacci and Deland, you’re it.”
Connor waited for the report before he woke Larson.
“Gone? How?”
He shrugged. “Maybe bears, but there aren’t any signs of them.” He paused. “The
only thing we found was a dark spot on one of the rocks.”
Kostov joined them. “There is no information as to what became of him?” “No. And in this part of the world, we may never know.”
Two FBI agents arrived at eight forty-five.
“Nice road,” Special Agent Donohue said.
Pilcher laughed. “Nothing but the best for you.”
“What do we have?” Special Agent Armitage said.
Connor explained what had happened. “And a UFAP is in order.”
“UFAP?” Larson said.
“Unlawful flight to avoid prosecution. If he’s alive and running, maybe we can pick
him up.”
Larson nodded.
Donohue raised his finger. “Did I hear right a minute ago, Connor? You promised
this Russian colonel he wasn’t going to be prosecuted?”
“It was me,” Pilcher said. “I told him I thought not.”
“Don’t be defensive, Quincy. You may be right, but we’ll have to check with
Atlanta. Maybe higher. Info to Interpol and maybe even liaising with our man in Moscow, but to me this seems to be just closing the files on some undesirables.” Don
ohue looked at Armitage.
“Strikes me these folks were lucky to have had the colonel on hand.”
Larson smiled, but there was no expression on Kostov’s face.
“I’ll get started,” Armitage said. “Wonder who has the duty in Atlanta this morning.
It’ll start his day off just right.”
“In the meantime,” Donohue said, “I’ll wake up the DA.”
Half an hour later, Donohue, across the room, hung up. “You heard?” Connor nodded and hung up an extension. “Good news, Colonel. The DA isn’t planning to prosecute.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re leaving for Moscow when?”
“As soon as I can. Today?”
Connor frowned. “I’ve never released anyone who was leaving the country. You’ll be coming back to your assignment?”
“I believe so, but if not, I shall nevertheless return if my presence is required.”
“Stay in touch.” Connor hesitated again. “Do you need a ride to town?”
“Please.”
“Bacci!”
Larson walked with Kostov to the GBI Ford.
“What’s the plan?”
“Rent an automobile here. Drive to Atlanta. Delta to Kennedy. Aeroflot to Moscow.”
“Want me to handle informing TMT?”
“That would be excellent. I am in a hurry and you know the story as well as I.”
“I’ll tell them you’ll be in touch from Moscow.”
“Perfect.”
Larson extended his hand. “No way to begin to—”
Kostov took the hand. “There is no need.”
Larson returned to the house.
“Now, Mr. Larson,” Donohue said, “it’s time for sleeping beauty.”
“I don’t think—”
“We understand she’s been in her room since the incident. That ought to be—” “You don’t know what she went through.”
“True. But we’ve got to hear her side of the story. And who knows, maybe the
telling will be cathartic.”
“I doubt that.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Larson, but we have to move on. You bring her down or we’ll have
to.” “I’m awake. Come in.” She had showered. The damp red hair hung loosely down her back. She was wearing another version of her summer uniform.
“You look clean and rested.”
“I scrubbed until I ran out of hot water.” She shuddered. “It wasn’t enough.”
She pointed at his shoulder. “How bad is it?”
“No tennis for a while, but I’ll be fine.”
“What about Ivan?”
“A minor wound. He’s already left for Moscow.”
“Really? Is he in trouble?”
“Not here and he doesn't anticipate any trouble at home. He expects to be back soon.”
“Good. I owe him a great deal.“
“You’ve got go talk to the GBI and the FBI now. They’re waiting to hear your side of the story.”
“The details? Sam, I can’t tell—”
“You won’t have to give them any details. Ivan gave them a complete description of what happened and my version corroborated it.”
“All of the details?”
“Yes.”
“Sam, I didn’t want anyone to—”
“Be sensible, Sheila. Ivan didn’t kill those people because they made fun of your apple pie!”
Donohue and Connor watched Sheila descend.
“Damn!” Donohue said, “you didn’t tell me what she looks like.”
“Didn’t know.”
Connor extended his hand. “Good morning. I’m Agent in Charge Connor of the
GBI. This is Special Agent Donohue of the FBI.”
Sheila took the hand and nodded.
“If you’re feeling well enough, we’d like for you to tell us what happened here.”
Her statement was brief. Connor smiled. “You’ve confirmed what the others told us. We’ll have a statement for you to sign later.”
“That’s it, I think,” Donohue said. “What’s your thinking about security, David?”
“Why security?” Sheila said.
Donohue looked at Larson. “You didn’t tell her?”
Larson shook his head.
“The man Staranov is missing.”
She faced Larson. “Why didn’t you tell me.”
Larson shrugged. “I wanted to wait until you—
“He’s gone,” Sheila said, “therefore, the question of security.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Connor said.
She looked over the head of the two men at the windows beyond. “All right.” She hesitated. “I haven’t behaved very well since the incident, lying around like Aunt Pittypat with the vapors, but I have myself under control now. I don’t think guards are indicated. You couldn’t keep them here for long and I don’t want them anyway. I’ll be all right. Mr. Larson will be here. Thank you for your concern.”
Larson waited until the dust at the top of the road settled, then called Hazlett. Hazlett was laughing as he answered. “I looked in the sports section for a write-up of the tournament yesterday. I found a description of the event, but I didn’t find your names. Please tell me it was an error. I’m sure—”
“We missed it.”
“But I know you were back from Mexico. Tell me—”
“How we spent Monday and today is the reason for this call.” He described the events at Mountain House on August twenty-second and twenty-third.
“Killed three people!”
“Yes. Self defense. In defense of me and Doctor Rubenstein and himself.”
“Where is he?”
“He talked with his boss, Kudrin, and somebody at the security service. They told him to come home immediately. He left this morning, flying out of Atlanta.”
“Will he be back?”
“He thinks so. He said he’d call you from Moscow when he knows what’s going on.”
“Well, I’ve got to tell Richard. Keep us informed.”
Chapter 36
The sun was setting as she led him to their window seat. “I’m fine now.” She closed here eyes.
Larson watched her face for a long moment and then looked across the shadows across the mountains. “The days are already shorter.”
“Yes. Can’t be long until we see some color.”
“Champagne?”
She smiled. “I guess we do have something to celebrate.”
Larson finished his third glass, then looked at the bottle. “We’re out. Yo u want some more?”
“Please. I think there’s one more.”
He refilled their glasses, then put his arm around her shoulders. She shrunk, but didn’t move. He leaned behind her, parted the long red hair, and kissed her neck.
She shifted away and turned to him. “What are you doing?”
“I’m doing what most people do when they’re together and in love.” He looked at her and cocked his head. “Is that a problem?”
“It is.”
He put his glass on the tray and leaned back. “Tell me about the problem.”
“I’m not recovered from the past few hours.”
“You just said you were.”
“And love-making—it’s been such a long time.”
“For me, too—as my supposed friend, Colonel Kostov, was kind enough to point out.”
“I need time to think.”
“About what?”
“It. My romance with Daniel was—was—”
“I believe you once described it to me as quote, mad, passionate love, end quote.”
“I did not say that!”
He smiled. “My mistake. Go on.”
“Our relationship was—was—well, you’ve had so many affairs you—”
“Easy, now.”
“In additional to your marriages, how many affairs—liaisons—amours—intimacies— whatever you call them on your scoreboard have you had?”
“Yours w
as somehow chaste, while mine were all sordid?”
“Mine was based on love. Yours was pure rut.”
“Rut? You don’t have the slightest idea—”
She threw her glass at him, missed, and ran to the stairway.
Larson finished the third bottle of Mumm’s.
August 24
The sound of his door opening woke him. He looked at the clock radio. Three-thirty. “Sam?”
He sat up. “Yes?”
“Pardon me for waking you, but I wanted to apologize and it wouldn’t wait until
morning.”
“Okay. I apologize, too. We can talk about it tomorrow. Later this morning.” He
fell back. “Today. Breakfast. Good night.”
“I want to talk right now.”
“Now?” He reached for his robe. “Be right down.”
“Sam, I—”
“I apologize for making the move on you. Bad timing.”
“Move? Oh, that. I didn’t drag you out of bed to talk about that. I want to talk about
the foundation.”
“Right now?”
“Yes. Please. The past few hours have given me a new point of view. I want to talk
about the foundation and you.”
“You mean what you expect of me?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, go. If it’s so important to you, I guess I’d better know about it. What’s it
called again?”
“The Rebecca Mathilda Hagedorn Stern Rubenstein Memorial Foundation for the
Eradication of Gaucher Disease.”
“Might be a record for length of name. Tell me about the disease and why you care.” “It’s a pretty dry—at least the first part.”
“It’s okay—gives me a reason to stare at you.”
She breathed deeply. “Gaucher is caused by a deficiency in the enzyme
glucocerebrosidase. That’s spelled—”
Larson raised a hand. “I’ll take your word for that.”
“It’s an autosomal recessive disorder—meaning both parents must have the
malfunctioning gene in order for their child to have the disease. It isn’t a widespread
problem, but my family has a personal interest.” She paused. “The Rubensteins have
Type I. This type primarily affects Ashkenazi Jews whose ancestors came from central
and Eastern Europe. Because of this concern, Uncle Aaron and Aunt Rebecca decided
not to have children. No children, no problem. But Aunt Rebecca herself was afflicted
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