by Tom Savage
Nora shut the door and locked it. She moved the armchair over to the bed and sat, consulting her watch: 9:20. The dim light of the table lamp beside her was enough for her to read Dr. Marino’s simple instructions. She glanced over at the night table, noting the two bottles of pills there. The antibiotic was to be taken twice a day for twenty days, the pain reliever as needed, but only after the drips were removed.
She watched Jeff sleep, reviewing her new information. Ham Green had been excited about his news, but he’d sobered considerably when he heard about Jeff. Ham had learned of the incident in the alley almost before it happened, which didn’t surprise Nora in the least, but he hadn’t known that Jeff had been injured until Nora told him. He’d listened to Nora’s update of the medical report, relieved to hear that the cut was superficial. Then they’d discussed how to handle the news from Russia, and Ham had agreed to Nora’s plan.
She leaned back in the armchair and closed her eyes. The words and images she’d absorbed in the last week marched around in her head, a formless mass of truths, half-truths, and outright lies. She’d met several people here, and she’d been told quite a few stories. It was time to analyze them, make important decisions about them. She had only tonight, really; tomorrow was the last act, and she wasn’t ready to perform it. But she would be: Glancing over at her husband on the bed, she made that silent vow to herself.
Nora was a list-maker. She seemed to have the kind of mind that needed everything to be spelled out in an orderly fashion. It was the teacher in her, she supposed. In her new “career” with her husband’s outfit, this had already proved to be a good thing. Eighteen months ago in London, she’d reached a point in her investigation where the only thing to do had been to write it all down. That list, scribbled on a legal pad in her missing husband’s empty London apartment, had helped to prepare her for what came next. Well, not really—nothing on earth could have prepared her for the final scenes in that particular drama. But now she needed to try this approach again.
She didn’t have a computer here, or her iPhone, and the convent’s simple guest rooms weren’t exactly stocked with complimentary hotel stationery. Jeff’s secure smartphone would be among his things here, but she’d never once touched it and didn’t think it wise to start now. There might be paper in the lounge, but Galina and her friends were there, playing that weird card game. Her shoulder bag didn’t have anything except—
The photographs. This morning in the convent office, Nora had used Mother Agnes’s printer to make copies of the three photos she’d taken in Galina’s room: the letter in Russian and the paperback novel’s front and back covers. Patch had the photo files in his camera, and he’d sent copies of them to Ralph Johnson in New York, so Nora didn’t need these physical copies anymore. The blank backs of the pages would be perfect. She took the photocopies and a pen from her bag and returned to the chair, using the night table beside it as a desk.
When she finally began to write, it wasn’t a time line or an organized list. She simply wrote down the most important points of her case as they occurred to her.
1. Alpine Bank in Zurich, then the ambassador’s wife, Mrs. Anderson, in Rome.
2. Malinkov arrived Venice Wednesday. Galina said his visit was a surprise, but Malinkov said Galina asked him to come. He left Venice Friday morning, returned a few hours later. Now at the Danieli—probably staying in her room.
3. Galina said Sergei and Juna watching/following her in Moscow ever since incident at dacha. She never mentioned Rudi or Pavel.
4. Sergei aimed but didn’t fire, reported Galina’s escape on cellphone (Yes sir, No sir) but no immediate Russian response. Juna followed me twice, stole file from my room. Vera said Sergei and Galina grew up together in St. P. and he might be in love with her. Juna expecting big payment soon.
5. Note in dressing room, moving scenery out and back in—perfect timing!
6. Malinkov hired Luigi Donato to follow Galina. Why?
7. Natalia and Vera concur about director, Lovanko.
8. Spielberg, Fincher, Nolan, Paramount, CAA.
9. Why mention forest? (Russian police confirm. Yay, Nora!)
10. Why alcoholic homosexual? (Misleading.)
11. Why Pavel Oblomov? CHECK ON DETECTIVE DONATO!!!
12. Newscast from Hotel Danieli—WHERE WAS SERGEI?
13. VERA GUBALOVA COULD BE IN DANGER!!!
14. $56M, the amount mentioned in the letter from the bank in Panama—How much is that in rubles?
15. Christie, Sarnoff—interesting reading material.
Nora studied her list for several minutes. She pulled out her cellphone, rising and moving over to the window, as far away from Jeff as possible without leaving the room. She parted the curtains and gazed out at the sleeping convent, the garden wall, the charcoal sky and black lagoon. She didn’t see any movement tonight, but she knew Aldo and Jeff’s other Italian friend were out there, standing guard all through the night.
With a sigh, she made the first phone call.
Chapter 43
Nora called Hotel Danieli and asked for Vera Gubalova’s room. It was now ten-thirteen, and she hoped Vera was in her room and awake.
She was; she answered on the first ring. “Allo?”
“Hello, Vera, this is Joan Simmons.”
“Oh! Oh, please to wait one moment.”
Nora heard voices and laughter in the background; at least two other women were in the room with Vera. Good. She heard Vera making shushing sounds and saying something in Russian. When all was quiet, Vera came back on the line.
“I am not alone,” Vera whispered, “but it is good because the two girls who share with me the room speak no English, so they will not hear what I say. Oh, Joan, the most terrible—”
Nora cut her off. “I know about Pavel, Vera; that’s why I’m calling. I saw the news on television. I’m sorry about your friend, but I was worried about you. Are you all right? Did you get in trouble for going out this afternoon?”
“Trouble? No, nobody in the company knows I am out this afternoon. I come back to the hotel just when they hear about Pavel, so nobody notices me come in, yes? Everyone is crying and so sad. He was a good man; why does anyone want to kill him? It is terrible!”
“Yes, terrible,” Nora said. She was relieved—Vera clearly hadn’t made the connection between Pavel’s death and her own illicit excursion. Nora decided not to enlighten her. “Vera, when are you going to Paris, do you know?”
“Yes, we go tomorrow morning. We are flying, and the rooms and clothes are flying too! They usually go in the trains, but we must have the first show in Paris tomorrow night, so the rooms and clothes are flying. We have lost two days—I hope we have enough of the time to be ready.”
Nora had to translate in her head. Rooms and clothes: scenery and costumes. “Everything will be fine, I’m sure. Listen, Vera, I saw General Malinkov in the television news today. Is he at the Danieli?”
“Oh yes! He stays in Galina’s room, but Galina did not come back. He is going back to Moscow tomorrow when the planes are flying again. Joan, he knows I go outside today! I do not know how he knows this. He finds me tonight and asks me where I go, but I say this is his mistake; I did not go out of the hotel. He gets mad and frowns at me, but I do not care. I do not like the general.”
Nora thought quickly. “Okay, Vera, I want you to do something for me. I want you to stay in that room with your friends until tomorrow morning when you go to the airport. I want you to stay away from General Malinkov. If he bothers you again, find Rudi, okay? Rudi, not the others. Find Rudi.”
“Okay, Joan, I do this. I like Rudi best, anyway. And now Sergei has gone away, too, so we are getting new people from Moscow in Paris. More new guards.”
“Sergei is gone?” Nora said. “Where is he?”
“This we do not know. Pavel is killed and Sergei is gone. I do not know what goes on here.”
Nora thought a moment. “Is Juna with you?”
“Juna? Yes, Juna is in th
e hotel. Why do you ask of Juna?”
“Never mind,” Nora said. “I must go now, Vera. I hope to see you again soon. Have a good time in Paris.”
“Yes, thank you, Joan. I will like Paris, I think. We did not get the lobsters tonight because of Pavel, but they have lobsters in Paris, yes?”
“They’re famous for them. Enjoy your lobsters. Goodbye, Vera.”
“Goodbye, Joan!”
Nora lowered the phone, glancing over at the bed. Jeff wasn’t snoring now, but he was breathing evenly. She placed her second call, to Venice Information. The operator spoke English, so obtaining the number wasn’t difficult. She called the number, expecting a recorded message; ten twenty-five was hardly within business hours. She was surprised when the phone was answered on the first ring, just as Vera had done.
“Pronto,” said a raspy male voice.
Nora held her breath, wondering what to say.
“Pronto,” the man said again. “Agenzia Luigi Donato; parla Signor Donato. Come posso aiutarla?” He waited. Nora could hear him breathing, and that was enough. He was definitely breathing, and that’s all she’d wanted to know. She broke the connection. Then she called Ham Green, who also answered on the first ring.
His first words were “How’s Jeff?”
“Sleeping comfortably. He’ll be okay. Malinkov is going back to Moscow in the morning, according to Vera Gubalova.”
“Right,” he said. “I’ll call my friends over there and let them know.”
Nora said, “Also, Vera says Sergei is missing. He’s not in the hotel with them.”
There was a pause while he considered this. “Okay, you be very careful tomorrow, Nora.”
“I will. I’m still wondering about that letter I found in Galina’s room. Any word from the bank in Panama?”
“Not yet, but Johnson is working on it. I’m sure the money isn’t there anymore. It’s probably vanished from Panama, like it vanished from Zurich. And you were right—the Zurich transfer was delayed until Friday. They waited a whole week, just like you said.”
“Wow! How did you get that information from a Swiss bank?”
Ham uttered a mirthless chuckle. “It wasn’t from the Swiss bank; it was from the bank in Panama. There’s a transaction history in their letter. The funds arrived in Panama at seven o’clock Friday morning, Panama time.”
Nora thought back. “What’s the time difference between Zurich and Panama?”
“Six hours,” Ham said. “I thought you’d notice that. The transfer occurred at exactly one o’clock Friday afternoon, Venice time—exactly three hours before the extraction.”
“The failed extraction,” Nora said. “She must have miscalculated.”
“She did indeed,” Ham said. “The bank in Panama opens for business at ten, so she probably asked Zurich to send it at the start of the Panama working day Friday, which would have been four in the afternoon in Venice, just as she’s being hustled away to the plane. Clever woman—but not clever enough. The Panama bank’s computers begin each day’s electronic business at seven in the morning, their time, so the Zurich bank’s automatic transfer would have gone through then. She was off by three hours. And the moment the transfer was completed, the Zurich bank would automatically notify the account owner, Malinkov, who was just landing in Moscow at that point. He saw what she’d done and jumped on a plane back to Venice. He thought he’d find her going onstage for the second performance; he obviously knew nothing of the defection plan.”
“Wow,” Nora said. “If Malinkov finds Galina now—well, as my daughter would say, it’ll really suck to be Galina. I think Malinkov got Pavel Oblomov to follow Vera from the hotel. She thought she’d slipped out, but they were obviously watching her. Pavel followed her to me, and he would have followed me to Galina. It was lucky for all of us that Jeff was there. I just wish it had been luckier for Jeff.”
“He’ll be okay, Nora,” Ham said. “Now, what’s up with the new extraction? Are you all set?”
“Yes, I think we’ll be able to deliver her safely to Camp Ederle. We’re going to—”
“Pal?”
Nora froze when she heard the voice from the room behind her. She whirled around from the window, staring. Jeff was sitting up on the bed, blinking over at her.
“I’ll call you back, Ham,” she said. “Sleeping Beauty just woke up!” She switched the phone off and went over to the bed. Jeff was inspecting the hardware on his arms, following the tubes up to the rack beside the bed, blinking at the hanging bags of medication. She stared down at him, grinning, nearly speechless with relief. But not quite. She managed to whisper, “How—how are you feeling, darling?”
He raised a hand to the taped gauze on his torso and winced. “Ouch. I’m okay, I guess. I will be, anyway. How are you, Pal?”
“Oh, Jeff!” she cried, reaching out to touch his face. Then she leaned down and kissed him.
“Ouch,” he said again. His eyes were half open and his voice was slurred from the drugs. “Call him back, Nora—there’s something I want you both to know.”
Nora sat on the edge of the bed, grasping his hand. “Let me guess—You didn’t kill Pavel. I know, darling. I’m way ahead of you. Oh, Jeff!”
She was about to kiss him again, but the sudden, startled look on his face stopped her.
“Wait,” he said. “Killed? He’s dead? What are you talking about, Pal?”
Chapter 44
Nora Baron had priorities, and the first one was looking out for her family. She raised a finger to touch her husband’s lips, indicating that he should be quiet. She set up the pillows behind him and gently settled him back against them in a semi-seated position. She checked the drip connections in his arms and glanced up at the IV apparatus. All three bags were nearly empty, so the needles could be removed soon. Sister Michael had written her cellphone number on the doctor’s instruction sheet with a message in Italian that included the phrase arriverò a mezzanotte. She was coming back at midnight, just over an hour from now.
The nuns had left a pitcher of water and a glass on the night table, and a bedpan on the floor under the bed. Nora poured a glass of water and held it to his lips. He drank it all down and asked for more, so she poured again and helped him drink it.
“Ah, that’s better,” he said. “Now, what’s happened?”
Nora smiled and shook her head. “No, you first. Tell me what happened in the alley.”
“Well, that Pavel fellow sure packed a punch. I came up behind him and got him in a headlock, but he got out of it and gut-punched me, knocked the wind right out of me. I grabbed his legs and yanked, and he went over. That’s when I shouted for you to go to the vaporetto—you heard me, right?”
“Yes, I heard you,” she said, “and I ran like hell. Meanwhile, back in the alley…”
“Well, I saw people walking toward us in the distance, so I moved into that side alley. He jumped up from the ground and came at me, only this time he had a knife in his hand. Big thing, like a bowie. We danced around a bit, and I got two shots to his face. He fell to his knees, so I kicked him, you know, where it does the most damage. That laid him out in this fancy doorway, and then I made a big mistake—I moved in for the knockout punch. I shouldn’t have gone so close to him. Next thing I knew, my stomach was on fire. My coat was open, and he’d cut right through my sweater. That’s when I saw red—and I don’t just mean the blood on my sweater. I guess I hit him a few more times, and he went down in the doorway and stayed down. I heard people coming, so I ran. I turned to look back as I rounded the corner to head south to the Grand Canal, and I saw a man running toward him along the alley. It was that other SVR guy, the one with the dark crew cut.”
Nora nodded. “Sergei.”
“Is he the dark one? So the blond is Rudi? I didn’t know which was which. Anyway, I called Aldo while I ran, and he told me to get to the nearest landing, Giglio. I made it, but only just. The pain was getting worse, and I kept losing my vision; I even fell down once. Aldo grabbed me
and got me in the boat. I don’t remember much after that. I know I called you—”
“You told me everything was fine,” Nora reminded him.
“Well, gee, Pal, what was I supposed to say? ‘I’m bleeding like a stuck pig, but don’t worry, baby’? You know how you get when you see blood, so I lied. I think I passed out at some point—next thing I knew, we were tied under the convent. Aldo was going to carry me, but I was afraid it would attract any passing polizia, so I told him to pretend we were drunks. He knows these really great drinking songs—”
“Yes, I liked the one about the lady named Betty. I’m sure Mother Agnes liked it too—she let you in the gate.”
“Oh, gosh, she heard us?” He blushed. “I don’t remember any of that. Who sewed me up?”
“The convent’s consulting physician. It’s not bad; he says nothing inside was damaged. You’ll be fine in a couple of weeks.”
Jeff nodded. “Good for me. But are you sure Pavel is dead? I didn’t hit him that hard, Nora. I put him down, but I didn’t take him out, I swear.”
“I know you didn’t kill him,” Nora said. “Sergei did. Pavel was strangled, and Sergei intends to pin it on you.”
He leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes. “Wow.” He opened his eyes again. “Wait a minute—why the hell would an SVR agent strangle another SVR agent? I mean, why didn’t this Sergei guy come after me—I’m the enemy. I was hurt; I would’ve been an easy target. But he killed Pavel? That doesn’t make any sense.”
Nora stood up from the bed. “Actually, it makes a lot of sense, once you know the whole story.”
Jeff grinned. “Which you are now going to tell me, right?”
“Well,” she said, “it all started—”
She was interrupted by a soft knock on the door. She looked at her watch: 11:22, too early for the nurse. She went over to the door and opened it.
“Hi,” Frances whispered. Patch stood in the hall behind her. “We just came upstairs. Galina’s gone to bed, and we wanted to know how—”