Resuming his inspection by flashlight, he saw granite ledges running lengthwise on both sides, presumably to be used as benches. The main attraction sat in the middle of the floor, a large stone tomb, about four feet high, three feet wide, and more than six feet long. Much too big for an infant. Big enough, in fact, for a large man. Or plenty of other things.
The lid was a slab of marble, the name engraved on top. Vlado ran his fingers beneath the overhanging edges. It looked heavy enough but didn’t seem sealed in any way. He gave a test lift with one hand, but it didn’t budge. Then he placed the flashlight on the ledge and grunted, pulling up with both hands, lifting the slab a few inches and sliding it over, just a fraction. It would be difficult but not impossible. Before getting started he took a final inventory, listening carefully for noises outside. Still quiet.
Lifting with all his might, he began swiveling one end of the slab slowly toward the ledge behind him. It began to ease free with a gritty, grinding sound, as warmer air from inside the tomb curled up around his fingers, an eerie tickling sensation. He hoped there wasn’t a child’s body inside, no matter what else he found.
He shuffled sideways a few feet, still holding one end, his shoes scuffing on the grit. Then he lowered the lid as gently as possible onto the ledge before stepping to the other end to repeat the trick, finishing with the lid balanced lengthwise on one of the bench ledges, nearly half of it overhanging precariously. With the flashlight resting low on the other side of the room, the inside of the tomb remained deep in shadow. Vlado was sweating and could feel the strain in his arms and shoulders. But now came the moment of truth.
He stepped to the other side, retrieving the flashlight, then pointed the beam inside. The sight was electrifying: two planked wooden boxes, nailed shut, with recessed metal handles folded down on two sides. The black stenciled lettering on top was in Vlado’s language. STATE BANK OF CROATIA. There was no coffin. No body.
He felt for a moment like an exultant pirate. He wanted to shout, to pound someone on the back and roar with laughter. He hadn’t felt this giddy in quite a while, but now it was more important than ever to remain quiet. The crates were nailed shut. He’d need the crowbar again, and he’d left it in the grass outside the door.
Pushing open the door he felt the fresh, wet air on his face. It was still quiet out here. Then the brightness of a flashlight beam exploded into his face, blinding him for a second, and before he could move another step he saw two dark silhouettes loom up suddenly from either side. A hand clamped across his right arm, and he heard a metallic click, letting him know his visitors were armed, followed by a voice, speaking in English.
“Nice of you to get us started.” Harkness again. “And how convenient to find you literally at death’s door, which is where you’ve been heading all along. Step back inside it, please. So I can conclude my business and get the hell out of here.”
Vlado turned, and the other man swiveled the light. Vlado could now see that it was Matek, saying nothing. Even in the darkness something about him seemed different. Harkness held the gun. Before stepping through the door Vlado considered bolting—anything but going back in there at gunpoint. But the nudge of a barrel in his back convinced him otherwise. A strong smell emanated from Matek. Sweat and effort and worry. Blood, too. The man was breathing hard, a rasping that said he’d had a rough time.
“C’mon, now. Inside.” Another shove with the barrel. “Keep your hands behind your back, where I can see them.”
Back inside, their voices were now hollow, stony.
“If you would empty your pockets, slowly please, and carefully place the contents onto the floor. Particularly any firearms you might have.”
Vlado had nothing with him but a pencil, a few scraps of paper, and some coins, but when this was all he produced, Harkness poked his own hand in to make sure.
“Nice of the tribunal to send you into the world so well prepared,” he said. “I can’t tell you how much it pains me to see you here, Vlado. Just as headstrong and meddlesome as advertised. But you’ve at least earned yourself a look, I suppose. Besides, I need your help.”
“Sorry. It’s not what I’m paid for.”
“Fine. Then I’ll shoot you. Your choice, family man. Just let me know when you’ve made up your mind.”
Vlado had been telling himself for the past few seconds that Harkness wouldn’t do him actual harm; that the man might be ruthless and manipulative but wasn’t a killer. Now he knew otherwise, and should have all along. He looked again for an opening, any chance to kick or lunge, but Harkness was keeping himself cleverly beyond range, and seemed as alert as ever. Gun raised. Pointed right at him.
Matek, on the other hand, still hadn’t opened his mouth, and Vlado now got a good look at him. His expression was glum, defeated, a countenance suggesting that this was anything but a willing partnership.
“Pero, why don’t you lean in and pry the top loose on that first crate. Vlado, back away, and put your hands on your head. Move an inch and you’ll have a very ugly hole in your chest. Faster, Pero, and no tricks. You’ve already seen where that leads.”
As Matek bent over with a wheezing grunt, Vlado saw a dark, wet stain under his left armpit. Harkness saw Vlado looking.
“Don’t worry about him. Tried to pull a knife on me, so I had to set him straight. Nothing fatal. He’s still pouting about having to share.”
That was a laugh. As if Harkness would really go through with such an arrangement. Vlado figured Matek would be killed the moment they got clear of here. He wondered if Matek realized that as well. Perhaps the old man was also hoping for an opening, a final chance. If so, then it would be two against one, if only for a moment.
Matek merely grunted in reply but seemed to recover some of his energy as he glared at Harkness, covetously eyeing the gun. Then he began working at the lid of the first box, using the crowbar Vlado had appropriated.
“Just pry it open on one side,” Harkness ordered. “We’re nailing it shut as soon as we’ve seen what’s in there.”
The wood snapped free, and even Matek couldn’t keep from gasping, though he’d doubtless known what was inside. The flashlight beam glinted off neatly stacked gold bars that rose nearly to the brim, a dazzling color in this darkness.
“Just as advertised,” Harkness said. Then he poked a hand inside, as if feeling for something that might be wedged at the sides. He came up empty. “All right. Shove that lid back on. We’ll nail it in a minute. Next one, please.”
Matek, still without a word, worked painstakingly at the second lid. Harkness was transfixed, and Vlado slowly began to lower his hands from behind his head. One inch. Then another. Then another. Harkness looked up quickly, swiveling the gun, the barrel coming to rest a few feet from his chest. The pitch of his voice rose by an octave. “Next time you do that, you’re dead. No more testing.”
The nails of the second crate screeched and groaned, and the lid hinged open. But the sight this time was a shock, even if Matek didn’t act a bit surprised. The box was nearly empty. No more than a few rows of gold bars were stacked at the bottom.
“Jesus Christ, Pero, you profligate old bastard. What’d you do, spend fifteen years trying to corner the local market in Limoncello?” But Harkness sounded more amused than upset. He was more interested in a fat, dog-eared brown envelope wedged upright to one side.
He pulled out the envelope, the papers practically spilling from one end. It looked like a hundred or more pages. So there it was, Vlado thought, more fascinated than he had been by the gold. Somewhere in that pile, most likely, were the documents that had changed his father’s life. That had, in their way, helped bring him into this world, he supposed. And now they might well usher him out.
“It’s what you should have given us from the beginning, you welshing old thief.” Harkness put down the flashlight a moment, still aiming the gun with his other hand. Then he pushed the envelope against his overcoat, folding it lengthwise in a one-handed motion before stuffing
it into a wide pocket. “Now, gentlemen. Time for the real work. Pero, go and get the truck.”
Unbelievably, Matek did just that, disappearing for several minutes before Vlado heard the roaring engine as the truck poked in through the cemetery gates and began crawling across the lot. Only his greed could have kept him going like this, Vlado thought. Almost any other man would have simply driven down the mountain and gotten out of there. Either Matek actually believed Harkness would split the take, or else he still held out hope of outsmarting the man, as if he held one last trick in reserve. Or perhaps it was simply the fatal hubris of a man who’d never yet been outfoxed.
Vlado, who’d waited in silence up until now, decided to get straight to the heart of the matter. “Tell me,” he said to Harkness. “Are you going to kill me when we’re done?”
“Just keep making yourself useful and stay quiet, Vlado. You know I’m not the sloppy type. But you want to know the real shame in this? I wouldn’t even be here now if it weren’t for you. Popovic was supposed to be here, doing the dirty work. But you went and spoiled that, didn’t you. Then Matek slipped the leash and everything went to hell. Though it’s funny how things have a way of working out. Here you are, handy for the heavy lifting, while Matek has already accommodated me by taking care of the worst of the chores.”
“By killing Andric, you mean.”
Harkness seemed momentarily taken aback. Then he recovered, forcing a smile. “So, they’ve found the body, then, and already made an ID. Impressive.” His voice wasn’t so smug now, and he glanced down at his watch. “Which branch of police?”
Nice to know there were a few things he hadn’t found out about, such as Torello, for example. No sense telling him now. Vlado merely shrugged.
“Not the carabinieri, I hope, or they’ll be here with armor. All the more reason to work quickly.”
Matek had completed the drive up the grassy service road, coming up the lane of cappelle before stopping just short of the entrance. As he opened the door, Vlado could see the cemetery entrance, but the caretaker’s hut was still dark and quiet.
“Get in here, Pero. There isn’t much time.” Harkness was all business now. No more joking. “Get a grip on that first crate now, both of you. Use both hands. Drop it and you’re dead. Take a hand off before I say so and you’re dead.”
They bent into the tomb, gripping metal handles on either side of the box, then they groaned and heaved, pulling upward. Matek obviously was having the tougher time, and for a moment as they looked across the top of the crate their eyes locked, and something seemed to pass between them, if only a shared recognition of their misery. Anything else was unreadable, and the moment passed. They had the first crate nearly out, and as soon as it had cleared the top of the tomb they began scuffling toward the door. The handles were burning into Vlado’s hands, but he didn’t dare remove a hand now.
“Good. Keep it moving. Steady. Just push slowly through the door and watch your step.”
They were back into the night air, a relief from the claustrophobia of the cappella. Still no noise but the hiss and grind of light traffic. Vlado darted a glance to either side, nearly losing his footing.
“Keep your mind on your work,” Harkness barked. “You’re not going anywhere without a bullet in the back. And don’t think you can rouse the caretaker. He’s having a fine time drinking down in the town, courtesy of the U.S. Treasury.”
With another heave, they shoved the crate into the back of a small truck with a canvas cover. It was unmarked, not from any of the agencies Vlado and Pine had checked earlier in the day. They slid the crate back a few feet, then turned toward the cappella. Harkness was a good ten feet away. If Vlado was going to make a move, now was the time.
“All right, back inside. And to answer your earlier question, Vlado, no, I’m not going to shoot you. So breathe easy.”
A ruse? Probably, but it had the desired effect, giving Vlado just enough hope to keep him from trying anything stupid, like running, or rushing Harkness. He and Matek between them could possibly overpower the man, but the one who made the first move would pay the price, and neither wanted to give his life for the other.
They loaded the second crate, then Matek shut the gate of the truck.
“Back inside again,” Harkness said, following them into the cappella.
“Vlado, turn around and face the back wall, then slowly bring your hands down behind your back. Good. Pero, take this.” Vlado heard Harkness pulling something from his coat, wishing all the while that he’d taken his chances outside. His moment of uncertainty had cost him. “Wire his hands together.”
Matek worked slowly, the wire pinching into Vlado’s wrists. He was making sure the fit was tight. So much for expecting help from the old man, or any sort of teamwork. Now it was too late for any move, and despairingly he realized he’d been tricked, just enough. His stomach sank toward his bowels, and he flashed on an image of Jasmina and Sonja, silhouetted in a brightly lit doorway, slowly waving good-bye.
“Now turn around slowly and step into the tomb,” Harkness commanded. “C’mon now.”
It was awkward doing it with his hands behind his back, but Vlado just managed.
“Pero, step away, and don’t move. Vlado, get down on your knees.”
“You said you weren’t going to kill me.” His voice was shaking. He hated himself for it, for doing as he was told, for asking these stupid and frightened questions. All those people trooping like lambs into the death camps. He’d have done exactly the same, fooled to the end, thinking he was helping his family.
“I say a lot of things I don’t mean, Vlado. It’s all part of diplomacy.”
Here I am, Vlado thought, the pain and chill of the tomb’s stone floor drilling into his knees. He’d helped Harkness keep things neat by lowering himself into a place where his blood would pool in the blackness and he would be sealed for eternity, a hermetic disposal with the witting assistance of the victim. So, as Harkness eased the gun forward, Vlado decided on a final move, no matter how futile.
“Pero, please step back,” Harkness ordered.
His words were nearly drowned out by the roar of an engine. A flicker of headlights darted through the opening in the door.
“Pero, see what the hell it is,” he said tersely. “If it’s the goddamned caretaker, he’s going in there with Vlado.”
Matek pulled the door wide while Harkness glanced over his shoulder. Vlado inched forward on his knees, but Harkness swung the barrel back in his face, no more than a foot away. “Hold still!” he hissed. “Pero, who is it?”
“Two cars. Coming this way.”
“Fuck!” Harkness glanced away again, and this time Vlado was close enough to lunge, trying awkwardly to strike like a snake, rising from his knees and bending at the waist while pressing his soles against the rear of the tomb for leverage. His head butted Harkness in the thighs, teeth against the wool of the overcoat, but the impact wasn’t enough to knock him down. Harkness stumbled then turned, his face enraged, the black barrel again in place as he tilted his head slightly as if to aim. He squeezed the trigger with a blinding flash just as an arm fell on the gun from the side—Matek, seizing his moment. A dart of flame creased Vlado’s left cheek, and he felt the sting of splintering marble against his forehead as the slug crackled and bounced through the echoing roar, as if someone had tossed a lightning bolt into the cappella. Harkness twisted the gun free from Matek’s grip and shoved through the door, bursting into the cemetery like a horse from its stable, coattails flying.
“Fermare! Polizia!” a voice shouted on a loudspeaker. Vlado’s ears were still ringing from the gunshot. Headlight beams were swinging wildly in their direction now, and he threw himself across the low wall of the tomb, then clambered awkwardly to his feet, his adrenaline on full throttle, though his hands were still bound painfully at his back. Out the door he noticed Matek off to one side in the shadows. Twenty yards to the left a dark shape bobbed among the tombstones, on the outer edges of the h
eadlight beams.
“Fermare! Fermare! ” the loudspeaker cried again, but Vlado had already ducked out of the blinding glare and was running after Harkness, head forward for balance with his arms behind him. He sensed dark figures somewhere to his left and rear, coming after them. The grass was slippery, and he nearly lost his balance, clipping a foot on the edge of a low-lying marker. Harkness was barely visible now, but Vlado could still see the gun in one hand. The man was in good shape, but being younger helped, and Harkness stumbled slightly as he, too, caught his foot on some low-lying stone. He must have heard Vlado huffing closer, because he glanced over his shoulder, his pale face flashing in the dimness. The voices of the police seemed to be receding. They must have been closing in on the truck, perhaps chasing down Matek or preoccupied by the cappella.
They were now on a rising slope, Vlado surging at an odd angle, barely keeping his balance but now within ten yards, driven forward by his anger. He saw Harkness pause, then turn, the gun outstretched, so he swerved wildly, stumbling to the right as the muzzle flashed, accompanied by a boom echoing into the hills. He dove toward Harkness’s ankles as he lost his balance completely, knowing that the next round would likely be from too close to miss. He felt the man’s legs buckling beneath his chest as he collapsed, still lunging forward. They hit the wet ground hard, and Vlado felt his breath taken away. He scrambled up the body in an awkward crawl, hands still behind his back, Harkness groping for something, perhaps the gun. Vlado flinched at a second flash, but this one was much smaller, and he saw that Harkness had pulled out a cigarette lighter and was stretching it toward the edge of the old brown envelope, which lay just beyond him in the grass. The flame lit the scene with an amber glow, showing the whites of the man’s eyes, rolled forward toward his target. The corner of the envelope was just catching fire as Vlado crawled toward it. Harkness squirmed beneath him, reaching far enough to grasp the envelope and flick it forward a foot. But the motion blew out the flame, and as the spinning envelope came to rest Vlado fell in a heap, his chest collapsing atop Harkness’s head. The smoke from the envelope was musty in his nostrils.
The Small Boat of Great Sorrows Page 33