“You’ve lived in the United States for most of your life. You’ve enjoyed a good life here.”
“Amazing, is it not? The country that was my sworn enemy has treated me better than Russia ever did. I admit, a man can get used to the best vodka, the money, the women, the thrill of power. The world changes, and so do your dreams. It’s the ultimate irony, Alexandra. The child who wanted to be a soldier became a dancer. And, in the end, the ballet dancer became a Russian soldier - albeit a secret one.”
Another doll! Now that he knows I know the truth, he cannot let me live.
He talked on, his voice quivering with emotion. “Now, all I long for is to see my sister, and visit my mother’s grave. And very soon, to return home...”
“Then do it, Ivan!” she said fiercely. “No more deaths on your conscience.”
He began to pace back and forth in the shadows. “You dare to condemn me? Intelligence is not a game, Alexandra. You’re being intellectually dishonest if you think the United States has not spied on my people for years as well. I have tried to protect my people. Most children and older people in Russia still go to bed hungry every night. The West dangles the money that could feed my sister’s family, then pulls it away.”
He threw out his hands. “How can a Russian allow such outrage? How can I refuse to help my people now, when I promised I would, so many years ago?” He gripped her arm. “Do you think I love my sister any less than you loved your sister?”
They stared at each other. “No,” she said finally.
“We are not so different, you and I.”
“You’re wrong. I’ve never lied about who I am. I cannot believe you’ve gotten this far...”
“Anyone can defeat a polygraph with 400 milligrams of meprobamate.”
Her body felt strangely heavy. “Was it worth it, Ivan? Did you find what you came for?”
“No.” He was standing by a collection of painted Russian lacquer boxes. He chose one, opened it, and extricated a small object. Then he held a winged Firebird brooch to the light.
Another brooch? she wondered in confusion. It had to be the copy. She’d brought Eve’s Firebird brooch with her, as instructed. Pinned securely inside the waistband of her trousers...
“Who gave you that?” she whispered.
“The Shestidesyatniki. ‘Men of the Sixites,’ hard-liners back in St. Petersburg bent on revenge and deeply mistrustful of the West. This brooch is the signal, to awaken the Firebird.”
He gazed down at the brilliant stones. “The Firebird has been caged in St. Petersburg for more than 40 years. Waiting. Finally, it is time to set her free.”
He thinks he has the original brooch.
But it had to be the copy - Tatyana’s brooch. She touched her waistband, watched him slip the Firebird duplicate into his pocket. “I must leave you now, Alexandra.”
She’d run out of time. He wasn’t going to tell her anything more. She had to act now. Where was the blasted ski-pole? No matter. Her hand found the fireplace poker. He was only steps away from her. She gripped the heavy poker in her hand and raised it.
“Murderer,” she whispered, her words fading in and out. Dizziness swamped her, and she staggered. “All I want from you is to know why! Why did my sister have to die?”
His face paled, and words in Russian tumbled from his lips as he stared at her. “Evangeline? You think I killed her? No. I never touched her!”
“Someone tried to blackmail her with photographs the day she died. You must have sent the note, told her to meet you that night by the river. You filthy murderer.”
“The river?” His face wavered in the shadows. “I never contacted her,” he said. “Whatever my sins, Alexandra, I do not hurt innocent women.”
“My sister is dead because of you.”
“I am no murderer,” he whispered.
She held the poker like a sword, ready to attack.
But the pain in his eyes confused her. She could feel the panic snaking down her back. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. Could he be telling the truth?
He stood his ground, waiting for her to strike him. For a long moment they stared at each other, frozen in a terrible tableau.
She opened her fingers and dropped the poker. The metal struck the hard floor with a loud clanging echo. “I must know what happened to Eve,” she said. “Damn you, Ivan, why did you -”
But the room began to spin and she felt herself sinking.
She flung out her hand. Her crystal tea glass spun across the table and shattered on the floor.
He caught her as she fell.
She felt him lower her to the sofa and cover her with a woolen blanket.
Now, she thought. He’s going to kill me now.
Sounds, movement, and then she heard his voice, from a great distance. “You will sleep, Alexandra. Just for a short time. I am taking your phone and car keys. I know who has your niece. I will find her for you. But I cannot let you stop me. It is time for the Firebird to act.”
“Why Eve?” she whispered.
“I did not want her death, Alexandra. So unthinkable, so wrong! But she surely would have betrayed our cause.”
She tried to think. How could she stop him? Think!
Tatyana…
Gathering all of her strength, she grasped his arm. “In the end, Ivan, someone has betrayed you.”
He pulled away from her. “Only you, Alexandra. No one else knows the Firebird’s identity now. Except for you.”
He touched her cheek in farewell. “There is an old Russian proverb - Another man’s soul is darkness. I have nothing more to lose.”
“But you do,” she gasped. “Your Firebird is alive...”
He froze. “Impossible.”
“Tatyana, she -”
She felt his hand grip her shoulder. “What do you know about Tatyana?”
With a huge effort, she forced the words through smothering thick clouds. “Tatyana’s... restaurant. Palace - of the Firebird. New York.” Now the darkness was washing over her in huge waves. “Brooch. Led me to her...”
He staggered as if he’d been struck by a bullet and whispered one word. “Tatyanovich.”
“She’s alive, Ivan.”
“Nyet, nyet. I saw her die.” She saw him shake his head from side to side as if to banish images too horrible to witness again. “You will not stop me with your lies.”
His voice sounded as if it came from under water.
“I must leave you, Alexandra. But the drug is not strong, it will not last long. Just long enough... It is time for the Firebird to act. I am a Russian. First, last and always. Finally, I am going home.”
A rustling sound, the glint of silver arrows in the light. Heavy, halting footsteps, a door closing. From a distance, the sound of an engine.
Don’t leave me here. She tried to call out, but the words were lost. Tell me where to find Juliet…
Nausea. Spinning blackness.
A sound waking her, cold air on her face.
Her mind drifted. A dark silhouette. Ivan? No. Footsteps, steady and sure. Coming down the spiral stairs.
Coming down?
The sweet, terrifying scent of musk cologne.
Wake up! Get away!
Silky, whispery voice. “Where is it?”
Rough hands. Touching her.
Try to scream. No sound.
Open your eyes!
Strong fingers, pulling at her waist. Tearing at the brooch.
“Yes! You did well, Shura. And now I leave you to your fate.”
A scraping sound, the acrid smell of a struck match.
A loud whoosh.
She opened her eyes. A tall shadow. The glint of a gold ring, the shape of a bird’s wing.
She couldn’t move.
The wildcat mounted on the wall burst into flame.
CHAPTER 51
“Fire and ice within me fight, beneath the suffocating night...”
A. E. Housman
Panov smiled as he slipped his four-wheel dr
ive into gear and headed down the mountain.
The Firebird brooch burned in the zipped pocket of his parka. Alexandra Marik had brought the brooch to Stratton after all – and secured his future. Her brat niece had been the perfect threat. It had been a mistake to let her see him on the gondola… but after tonight neither one of them would be a problem any longer. And after tomorrow tonight, it would no longer matter…
He took the first hairpin turn too fast, skidded sharply on the snow and ice. Careful. Don’t risk it all now. Not now, when you are so close to having everything you’ve dreamed of.
Now, the only problem was Ivan.
Panov down shifted, shook his head. Ivan had to carry out his orders, everything depended on him. And he would do so. Because by now, Ivan had to know that Panov had Juliet Marik. Ivan would do as instructed, because he believed that both women would be safe once he completed his mission.
By the time he found out the truth, it would be too late. And he would be blamed for their deaths.
Just follow Ivan to New York, Panov told himself. Get away from this damned mountain. And do what you have to do.
By tomorrow night at this time, it would all be over.
He squinted into the spiraling snow and sped into the next turn.
* * * *
Alexandra fought to open her eyes. She’d been dreaming of Eve, calling her name. Where was she? Focus.
Ivan’s chalet?
Heat, pressing against her skin. She coughed, tried to sit up. She couldn’t breathe! Thick, choking fog. No, not fog.
The room smelled like…Smoke!
A wall of glass, flickering with orange light.
Something burning. JesusGod. Fire!
Ivan had left her to die in a fire.
The tea, she thought with stunned horror, fighting off the nausea. The tea had been drugged.
“Help,” she gasped. Her stomach heaved. Hot smoke rushed into her lungs as she rolled off the couch onto the floor. Get rid of the drugs. She stuck her fingers down her throat and vomited on the carpet.
She lay still for a moment, dizzy with nausea and exhaustion, then used every ounce of strength to pull herself to her hands and knees. Stay low, she warned herself. Smoke rises. Get away from the fire.
Getoutgetout.
The room was filled with a snapping, rushing sound. She swung around. Bright orange flames leaped across the curtains, the high windows burned scarlet against the night.
Black smoke billowed toward her and panic exploded in her chest. She tore the woolen scarf from around her neck, held it to her mouth. She needed water! She’d seen a pitcher. Where was it? Think!
There, on the table.
She inched across the floor, reached. Wracked by coughing, her fingers grazed the glass pitcher. She gathered her strength, lunged, found the handle, pulled it toward her. She drank deeply, then poured half of it over her head, the icy cold jolting her awake. Pouring the rest over the scarf she held against her nose and mouth, she began to crawl toward the door.
Blood pounded in her ears. Just get out.
“Aunt Zan! Aunt Zan, help me!”
Alexandra froze. The high, frightened voice came from a long way off, faint and terrified.
“Aunt Zan!”
Juliet’s voice!
“Jules!” she screamed. “Jules, where are you!” Again she was wracked by coughing, and she staggered to her feet, searching the smoke-filled room.
“Up here, I’m here.” A sob.
Her eyes flew to the spiral staircase, where flames were beginning to crawl like red snakes up the wall. She closed her eyes in horror. Juliet was somewhere up in the loft.
“I’m coming,” she gasped. “Hold on, Jules.”
“Hurry, Aunt Zan...”
Her groping hands found the steps.
GodGodhelpmefindJules.
Up, up. One step at a time. Fight the drug, the dizziness.
Gasping for breath. Red flames licking out, reaching for her. Just stay away from the wall! Metal hot, burning her hands. Stairs curving forever.
“Jules?” she screamed. “Talk to me.”
Silence.
“Oh, God, Jules.” She was crying now, coughing, gagging. Air, we need air, was all she could think. She knew that the smoke would rise, knew that she was climbing up into the choking blackness.
And Juliet was up there.
* * * *
The icy road twisted down the mountain. Ivan took the curve too quickly, skidded, shifted down. He was almost to the bottom.
Just be alive, Tatyanovich. Be alive.
Was it possible? He had to get to New York. To the Palace of the Firebird. He’d heard of it, of course. Somewhere in the theatre district. But he’d deliberately stayed away. Madness to risk any connection to a Russian Firebird…
His hands tightened on the steering wheel. Alexandra had mentioned a brooch. The brooch he’d given to Tatyana just before the fire, so many years ago? The copy? He had to know the truth.
Nothing else mattered.
Not true! Eve’s daughter mattered. That bastard Panov! Thinking he could use the girl to force him to finish Operation Firebird. He had to reach Panov, had to…
The last hairpin turn was just ahead. Be careful, his exhausted brain warned. Don’t risk anything now. He slowed, eased into the turn. The narrow road curved sharply back on itself, so that, for a moment, he was facing back up the mountain. Here, where the trees suddenly thinned, he always slowed for one final glimpse of his refuge.
His eyes searched the mountainside, followed the pinpricks of the gondolas up, up the mountain. It was dark on the mountain tonight, with the moon behind the snowclouds. Nothing to –
He inhaled sharply.
Smoke across the snow-filled sky.
Fire.
“Pazhar!” he shouted in Russian, the words dragged from his very soul, as he watched the flames lick greedily at the black night.
Alexandra...
He shifted the car into reverse, then skidded to a halt.
Leave her, his head told him. You owe her nothing. She knows your identity. She will try to stop you.
The Firebird cannot risk being stopped.
Leave her. Get to Tatyana.
In the distance, sirens.
Spires of orange flame spun high above the pines.
She is up there, helpless.
I cannot face the flames again.
He dragged his eyes away from the fire and slammed the car into gear.
CHAPTER 52
“It shall be revealed by fire...”
I Corinthians 3:13
Dammit, where were they?
The road twisted whitely uphill into the darkness. Garcia gripped the wheel, cursing steadily, holding the icy curves.
Juliet. Red. Where are you?
Distant sirens drew his attention. Flashing red lights, speeding up the mountain. What the devil?
He swerved around a bend and saw the bright orange glow of the fire on the high ridge, streamers of flame red as blood against the black night sky.
* * * *
Metal burning her hands. Dancing red shadows on the stairwall.
One more step. Just one more. Keep going.
No more deaths. Not tonight. No one else dies!
Eyes stinging, throat raw. She could taste the fear in her mouth. Gasping for breath, Alexandra fell onto the loft landing. Choking orange clouds billowed over her.
“Jules!”
“Here, Aunt Zan...” Behind the door!
The hot knob seared her groping fingers.
Don’tletitbelocked.
The knob refused to turn under her frenzied fingers. She banged on the door, pushing against the wood with all her strength.
The key!
The huge metal key dangled from a hook to the right. Her fingers found the lock, swung the door open, crashed it closed behind her.
Less smoke here, but dark. “Jules,” she cried, “where are you?”
Silence. She saw a shape st
ir in the shadows. “Jules!”
“Here...”
The girl was huddled on a bed in the far corner, crumpled gag down around her chin, hands and feet tied with rope.
“Shit, shit,” murmured Alexandra, pulling frantically at the rough knots. “It’s okay, Jules, I’m here.”
“Something’s burning, Aunt Zan!”
“Don’t be scared, darling, I’ll get us out of this mess.” Somehow. “Damn these knots!”
Juliet’s fingers sprang free, reached for the cords bound around her booted ankles.
“Hurry, Jules, hurry!”
Smoke was seeping under the door in terrifying grey streams. Alexandra tore the blankets off the bed and pushed them against the crack of the door. She touched the wall, felt the heat scorch her fingertips and spun away. Her eyes searched the shadowed room as she helped her niece to stand. “Quickly. There must be another exit. How did you get here?”
“He called me at Juilliard...” gasped Juliet, wracked by coughing. “He told me that Ruby was sick. That you needed me.”
Alexandra’s eyes widened in confusion. “Ivan? But he -”
“I don’t know who! He was tall. Strong! He wore a mask…” The girl shook her head violently back and forth. “We came in through there.” She pointed toward a door against the far wall.
Not Ivan. No time to think now. Alexandra grabbed Juliet’s hand and they stumbled to the exit.
Locked. With all her strength, Alexandra pushed at the door.
Juliet ran back toward the bed.
Alexandra spun around as a blast of cold air hit her. Juliet was standing on the bed, forcing the dormer window open. “Hurry,” cried the girl. “This way. Follow me!”
Alexandra watched as Juliet swung her legs over the sill and climbed out onto the high snow-covered roof.
“Jules!”
She ran to the window and leaned out. The blast of icy air hit her with the force of a fist. The moon was behind the snow clouds, but the roof was lit by a hazy red glow. Above the sigh of the wind, she could hear the scraping sound of Juliet’s boots on the crusted snow, saw the glint of ice on the steeply pitched roof. Beyond the roof, the black void as the mountain fell sharply away.
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