by Cap Daniels
Gwynn froze with her pen hovering above her pad. “Did she just say ‘trouser soldier’?”
Anya chuckled. “Yes, she did, and she is just getting warmed up.”
Skipper said, “I’m on a roll here, so try not to interrupt. When Colonel Boris, or whatever his name is, figured out what was going on, he went on a manhunt. Now, the details are a little shaky from here, but it went something like this. He discovered Viktor trying to fence a necklace that had been in the colonel’s family since Ivan the Terrible was in charge. Needless to say, the necklace was easily recognizable. The good colonel pulled his Makarov—that’s a Russian pistol for the slow learners in the back.”
“Wait a minute,” White said. “We’re talking about Maxim’s murder here, but it was Viktor who was trying to sell the necklace.”
Skipper sighed. “I told you not to interrupt. I’m going to land the plane. Just let me fly the approach first.”
White threw up both hands in silent surrender, and Skipper continued rolling.
“Viktor, being a cat burglar, was fast. He apparently hit the back door like a jaguar. Is a jaguar the fastest cat? It doesn’t matter. Suffice it to say, he was fast. The pissed-off colonel gave chase but couldn’t quite keep up. Viktor made several ducks, dives, and dodges on his exfil route, but what the colonel didn’t know was that Maxim had driven his brother, Viktor, to the shop, and he was waiting in the car around the corner, smoking a cigarette and singing whatever Russian horndogs sing. When the colonel came around the corner and saw Maxim behind the wheel of the car—remember, Maxim and Viktor might as well be twins from fifty feet away—Colonel Frozen-Pole emptied his Makarov into the wrong Volkov brother. Or maybe it was the right brother. I guess it depends on which one he wanted to kill—the jewel thief or the one responsible for the czarina’s baby bump.”
White scratched his chin and ran a hand through his hair. “How did you get all of this information in twenty-four hours?”
“It didn’t take twenty-four hours. I only started on it just after lunch today, but I’m still not finished. When the colonel figured out which brother he’d killed, he had the other one, Viktor, sent to the Gulag. Okay, it wasn’t really the Gulag, but it was prison. I just like the word Gulag and try to use it whenever possible. Somehow, Viktor ended up getting out of prison and finding his way to America.”
“Wait a minute, though,” Gwynn said. “What about baby Anya, the ballerina?”
“Oh, yeah, I almost forgot that part. It turns out Maxim wasn’t only the baby daddy to the colonel’s wife, but his own wife, Irina, was pregnant, as well. So, as Paul Harvey would say, now you know the rest of the story. Gotta run. Bye.”
The three were left, jaws agape, staring at a dead phone.
White said, “How did she . . . ?”
Anya pocketed the silent phone. “It is what she does. I told you she would help us.”
25
MAGICHESKAYA SHKOLA
(MAGIC SCHOOL)
Like a good employee, Anya strolled into the diamond mine just before 9:00 a.m. to find Viktor Volkov’s office door standing open. He rose when he saw her make her entrance and motioned for her to come into his inner sanctum.
“Good morning, Viktor. You are in good mood today.”
“Come in, my angel. Have you had your tea?”
“Yes, but I would like another.”
He poured them steaming mugs from the bar behind his desk and slid one across to his angel.
He held the mug to his lips and took a small taste. “I have to apologize to you.”
Anya did the same. “Why would you apologize to me? You have done nothing wrong.”
“Yes, I have,” he said. “I have a bit of a paranoid personality. It comes with the business. I had some people do a little digging into your background without telling you.”
Anya shot a wary glance into her mug, fearing it may be the final cup of tea in her short life. “And?”
He leaned back in his chair. “I learned some interesting things about you . . . some things you didn’t mention.”
She curled her toes inside her shoes, trying to focus the stress into her feet instead of letting it show her face. “What have I not told you?”
“Your real name, for one thing.”
Anya swallowed hard. “Of course my real name is—”
“Tatiana, I know,” he said. “And you’re actually an American citizen already.”
She breathed a sigh of relief but wished White had told her about changing her first name from Anastasia to Tatiana. “Yes, I am American citizen. See?” She pulled her plastic flag from her pocket and spun it between her fingers.”
“Cute. You’re a regular Betsy Ross,” he said.
She turned her brain inside out, but she couldn’t remember that name, so she took a gamble. “That is me, Betty Ross.”
Volkov laughed. “Well, Tatiana, how would you feel about getting out of the office today?”
“I don’t know. I would have to ask my boss, and he is terrible man.”
Volkov’s laughter continued. “Forget about him. Have you ever been to Nova Scotia?”
Still unsure if her background check was as clean as Agent White promised, her hesitance to answer left the beginnings of a frown falling over Volkov’s face.
Allowing her cover as an actress to take over, she said, “I have been to only the airport in Halifax, but this is all I know of Nova Scotia.”
He slapped both palms onto his enormous desk. “Then today shall be an adventure, and maybe you’ll even learn a few new tricks.”
“We are going today to Nova Scotia?”
“Yes, the airplane is waiting as we speak.”
“But I do not have my passport. I will need to first go to my apartment.”
Volkov waved off her concern. “Nonsense. You’re with me, and when you’re with Viktor Volkov, nobody checks for passports.”
* * *
The drive to Teterboro took about half an hour, and after making their way through two security gates, they pulled inside a hangar where a Hawker jet waited with the stairs deployed and a red carpet rolled out on the hangar floor.
The driver held open the rear door, and Anya stepped from inside.
“There is restroom inside your hangar, yes?”
Volkov motioned toward the rear of the vast space. “Yes, of course. They are back there, but we also have a lavatory on the airplane.”
Anya looked between the back wall of the hangar and the airplane. “I would be more comfortable here if you do not mind.”
He checked his watch. “We’re already behind schedule.”
“I will be quick. I promise this.”
Before he could insist, she walked away, feeling for her phone. Inside the relative safety of the stall, she furiously typed a text message for Gwynn.
Viktor is taking me to Nova Scotia from Teterboro, and he thinks my name is Tatiana. His airplane is Hawker jet N111VV.
She pressed send and quickly deleted the text. If she were a sheep being led to slaughter, she wanted the DOJ to know where to find her body . . . if Nova Scotia was their true destination.
Anya climbed the stairs into the cabin of the Hawker and was surprised to see Volkov wasn’t the only occupant.
“Good morning, Anya. It’s nice to see you again.”
The woman she’d known as Veronique a few days earlier had lost her French accent, and instead of two-thousand-dollar shoes and the elegant wardrobe of an aristocrat, she wore jeans, hiking boots, and a flannel shirt.
“Is nice to see you again, also, but I do not think your name is still Veronique.”
The woman smiled and patted the seat beside her. “Come join me. I’m Veronica, but I enjoy being Veronique from time to time. I hear I’m not the only actress in Viktor’s stable.”
Anya took the offered seat. “I am sure you are better actress than me, but I am determined to become American star.”
Veronica forced a warm smile. “You and a billion other
beautiful girls. Once we’re at cruising altitude, I have a few things to show you.”
Curious, but less concerned for her life, Anya buckled her seatbelt and raised a finger for the flight attendant.
“Yes, ma’am. What would you like?”
“May I have blanket? I detest cold.”
The uniform-clad young lady reached into a locker and produced a pair of blankets. The first was a lightweight cover, and the second was a heavier fleece-lined throw.
Anya pulled the heavier one onto her lap. “Thank you.”
“You are welcome, ma’am. Is there anything else?”
Anya spread the blanket across her legs, snuck her phone from her pocket, and slid it between her thighs. “No, thank you.”
The woman closed and sealed the door just as the jet began to move forward. The tow tractor pulled the gleaming white airplane from the hangar and onto the ramp. Minutes later, the engines whistled to life, and one of the pilots closed the cockpit door, separating the cabin from the brains of the craft.
After climbing out of Teterboro to the northeast, the pilots lowered the nose and settled the luxurious magic carpet into cruise flight at thirty-seven thousand feet for the short flight over the coast of New England.
As their speed increased, Veronica unbuckled her belt and slid forward in her seat. She held a fist toward Anya as if offering an unseen surprise. Anya instinctually stuck out her palm, and Veronica dropped one black marble into her hand.
“What is this?” Anya asked, inspecting the smooth glass orb.
“This is a prop. Think of it as a set of training wheels, for now.”
Anya shook her head. “I do not know this term, training wheels.”
Veronica looked up, wide-eyed. “You never had training wheels on your bicycle as a little girl?”
“I never had bicycle.”
Veronica’s expression fell. “Oh, I see. Well, never mind about the training wheels. I’m going to teach you to make your marble disappear.”
Anya held the ball between her fingertips. “So, this is school of magic tricks.”
“Yeah, you could say that. Watch me closely.” Veronica held her white marble between the thumb and index finger of her left hand. She passed her right hand over the marble, lifting it from between her fingers. With the index finger of her left hand, she magically tapped the knuckles of her right, and opened her fist to reveal the marble gone. She crossed her hands again and tapped her left hand with the index finger from her right and revealed her empty left hand.”
Anya smiled. “This is wonderful trick. But why do I need to see this?”
“You don’t just need to see it. You need to master it. It’s called the French Drop, and this is how it works.”
Veronica talked Anya through the sleight-of-hand mechanics of the simple trick. After a few dozen iterations, each a little better than the previous, Anya could convincingly make the marble vanish.
“Good,” Veronica said. “Now, let me show you a variation.” She placed the white marble, once again, between the thumb and forefinger of her left hand, passed the right over, apparently lifting the marble as she went. “Now, you tap the right hand.”
Anya leaned forward and touched the back of Veronica’s right hand. She opened her fist to reveal a single black marble instead of the white one she had begun the trick with.
Anya gasped. “This is better trick. Teach this to me.”
Veronica did, and soon, Anya had mastered the more complex movements of exchanging the black marble for the white one.
Veronica collected the marbles and pocketed them before producing two diamond-shaped pieces of painted glass about one fourth the size of the marbles. “Now, try with these.”
Anya fumbled through the clumsiness with the smaller objects until she had the mechanics of the movements but still lacked the smooth flow of Veronica’s hands.
Volkov stood from his seat and took a knee beside the two women. “How is your student coming along?”
Veronica turned to him. “Very well. She’ll be a master by the end of the day.”
Volkov turned to Anya. “Keep practicing, and Veronica will teach the advanced class on the flight home this evening.”
Anya asked, “Are you taking me all the way to Nova Scotia to learn magic tricks?”
Viktor considered her question. “Yes, that’s precisely what we’re doing.”
The flight attendant made her way through the cabin. “We’re starting our descent now. We’ll be on the ground in fifteen minutes.”
Volkov returned to his seat, and everyone buckled in. The landing gear came down, and the pilots made a landing so smooth it was almost impossible to know when the jet stopped flying and started rolling.
Anya leaned toward the window. “This is not Halifax.”
Volkov said, “No, it’s Yarmouth, about two hundred kilometers southwest of Halifax.”
She slid her hands beneath the blanket, feeling for her phone. She prayed the phone had found a local connection and that her thumb strokes were close enough to send the desired message.
She typed Yarmouth Veronique Volkov, and pressed what she hoped was the send key. The sleight-of-hand she’d learned on the flight made her manipulation of the cell phone far less clumsy.
The jet rolled to a stop and was, once again, towed into a waiting hangar. The flight attendant opened the door and deployed the stairs. Veronica led the way from the plane, followed by Anya and then Volkov. A white Range Rover waited just beyond the wing tip, and Viktor ushered the women toward the vehicle.
Anya wasn’t surprised to see who was behind the wheel when she slid onto the rear seat. “Hello, Sascha.”
He turned with anticipation in his eyes. “Hello, Ms. Anya. Where is your friend?”
“You mean Gwynn?”
He smiled and nodded.
“I am afraid she is working today, but I think she would like to see you again soon.”
He extended his hand, offering a card. “Have her call me anytime. I’d love to see her again, as well.”
Anya took the card, gave it a cursory glance, and slid it into her pocket.
When Volkov was ensconced in the front seat beside his partner, Sascha pulled from the hangar and through the airport gate. The two-lane road was worn but sound, and the Land Rover gave them a smooth, comfortable ride across the rugged pavement.
“Where are we going?” Anya asked.
“We’re headed to a place called Melbourne Lake to Dr. Sascha’s laboratory. I think you’ll find it fascinating.”
The residential area near the airport soon gave way to tall evergreens and low green scrub brush. The scenery reminded Anya of the road leading from the chaos of Moscow to Sparrow school, tucked into the forest north of the massive city. The thought of what she endured in the dark, cold woods sent chills down her spine, and the bitter taste of hatred for the men who’d made her do things no teenage girl should ever have to experience left her mouth dry. Suddenly, Viktor Volkov was one of those men. The desire to draw her blade, insert it above the clavicle on the right side of his neck, and carve out his trachea was almost too much to resist.
26
PEKARNYA
(THE BAKERY)
The assassin breathed in measured cadence: in through her nose and slowly out through her mouth until the need to tear the life from within Viktor Volkov for sins he’d never committed waned.
The paved road became gravel, and soon, a majestic shallow lake appeared through the trees as the stands of timber opened onto a wetland plain spreading to the southwest. The countryside was breathtakingly beautiful, with the few drifting white clouds in the endless blue sky reflecting from the glasslike surface of the serene lake.
Sascha pulled the Land Rover from the gravel drive and onto a concrete approach to a locked gate. A few keystrokes Anya couldn’t see sent the first gate rolling along its tubular track, and they pulled forward into a sally port between gates. When the first gate had fully closed, Sascha entered a different c
ode into the waiting keypad. Anya tried to imagine which tones corresponded with which keys, but she couldn’t work it out. Soon, the second gate slid away just like the first one had, and they drove through.
Anya surveyed the security and counted four Belgian Malinois patrolling dogs along the perimeter of the five-meter-tall fence with coiled concertina running the length of the top. As they approached the only building inside the compound, she counted six security cameras with the tell-tale bulbous dome of motion detectors beneath each one.
They pulled beneath an awning on the northwest side of the building and came to a stop.
Veronica emptied her pockets into a plastic tray on the seat next to her and whispered, “Take everything out of your pockets, especially your cell phone. We’re not allowed to take anything inside.”
She pulled her jeweler’s loupe and locking tweezers from her pocket and deposited them into the tray. As she pulled her cell phone from its position, she thumbed the screen to life and noticed a one-word text from Skipper.
Tracking.
She deleted the conversation as covertly as possible and added the phone to the contents of the tray. Next came her knives, all four of them, which garnered a look of suspicion from Veronica.
Anya caught her staring and said, “I have many things to cut.”
Veronica shrugged. “I like to pretend to be French, so who am I to judge?”
With their pockets bare, the two women stepped from the vehicle and waited for Sascha to enter yet a third code and provide a thumbprint to a scanner beside the keypad. The locks built into the heavy steel door clicked, releasing at least three bolts. The foursome stepped inside to yet another sally port and repeated the entry security process.
Finally inside, Sascha turned to Volkov. “You’re sure about this?”
Viktor silently nodded his approval, and the scientist led the way into a small but extremely well-appointed laboratory.
Anya committed every inch to memory as they traversed the room. Eighteen boxes shaped like microwave ovens lined three of the four walls. Although they resembled microwaves, they were much heavier, and instead of keypads to select cooking time, a collection of electrical lines and plumbing ran from each of them. They were like nothing she’d ever seen.