Kat shrugs. “And you can spend the rest of your life hunting down copies of the file so that picture of you with blood on your hands doesn’t end up as someone’s screen saver.”
Yulya brushes raindrops off her shoulder. Kat might have penetrated a layer, but nothing yields in her expression.
“But it’s bigger than that, isn’t it,” continues Kat. “They’re rigging the oil and gas figures, pretending the price has to be high because there’s not enough around. But there’s plenty. RingSet’s getting rich, buying up airfields and ports.” She waves her hand in the direction of Byford.
Yulya’s eyes follow, but she doesn’t move. “Suzy was killed because she chose to walk over a cliff,” she says. “The CPS is inevitable. Suzy didn’t like it. She couldn’t stop herself. But you can, Kat. I’m spelling it out and giving you a choice.”
“I’m not cutting a deal with you,” says Kat.
“I’m not asking that. I’m asking you to save your own life. You tell me one major change in history that hasn’t involved people getting killed. It doesn’t exist, Kat. This isn’t about you, me, or Suzy. It’s about something none of us can stop even if we want to.”
“Says the killer,” Kat replies.
“You shot two men on Friday night,” snaps back Yulya, stiffening.
“Suzy wasn’t a hired gun. Those men were.”
Yulya’s eyes cloud. “What are you, Kat? Think hard what you do for a living.”
Kat says nothing.
“The picture in the file,” says Yulya tightly, “was taken two years ago. The man I shot was about to kill not only me but others. You of all people should understand killing in self-defense.”
Yulya takes a step forward. She’s almost close enough for Kat to strike. Kat works out how she could do it in one blow.
“If your real purpose is to find Suzy’s killer, then I can give him to you,” says Yulya, leaning closer. “But if you’re chasing a higher moral issue, like Suzy, then I will become your enemy.”
“Is that what it is for you?” says Kat. “A high moral issue?”
Yulya swallows. Her voice drops. “Your father would have understood. These past years, you in the West have been getting richer. And we in the poorer countries have been getting poorer. That’s the terrible evil the CPS is going to reverse.”
The gun hangs more loosely in Yulya’s hand. A strand of hair falls on her face. She hooks it back, waiting for Kat to respond.
Kat doesn’t.
Yulya shakes her head. “If someone took a picture of you killing those men on Friday, you’d want it back. That’s all I’m asking.”
Yulya’s eyes are rock steady. The position of her feet, balance, the casual way she holds the pistol signal that, like Kat, she’s ready for violence at any moment.
Kat shrugs. “You know, Yulya, you’ve told me something. I want to tell you something. I’ve got a federal homicide charge waiting for me back in Washington for what happened on Friday. I have no place to go that’s safe, and I’m pretty much alone here. So if you want to make a deal, we need to include me getting off that rap.”
Yulya smiles nervously. “You think I have more power than I do,” she says.
“Then use up favors, because it’s no good for me to give you the file, then have nowhere to hide.” As Kat talks, she imperceptibly shifts her weight to position a strike. But she must be tired, or Yulya’s too good for her. Yulya’s face tightens. Her fingers grip the pistol butt.
Kat continues, “I haven’t got it. But I can get to it if you give me time.”
Yulya half opens her mouth to reply. Kat moves a fraction to begin her attack. But Yulya raises her gun hand high above her head and two, maybe three people—difficult to tell in this light—appear from behind her.
Kat recognizes at least one of them from the bank of the Thames. Behind him, another man carries Liz Luxton along the walkway, her feet dragging on the slatted wood. Liz’s hands are tied in plastic cuffs. Her mouth is taped. Two others carry Mike Luxton as if he were a corpse.
They drop him at Kat’s feet. His hands are cuffed, too. Blood runs down his face. It’s congealed around his nose. His right eye is closed. His left eye flickers, looking up at Kat, saying he’s sorry.
THIRTY-SIX
Tuesday, 10:43 p.m., BST
Yulya hands her pistol to one of the men who carried Luxton. She walks straight into Kat’s space and hits her across the face with the back of her hand. Kat absorbs the pain without moving.
“I gave you a very nice chance, Kat, and you lied to me. After how well you did on Friday night, I’m surprised at your choice of new friends. You’re too good for them.”
The gunman, holding Liz, keeps a weapon on Luxton. The two other men take Kat by the arms. One kicks her feet out from under her. They lower her to the walkway, lay her on her back, and spread-eagle her arms and legs.
“The two men you killed were Alex and Vadim. These are their colleagues.” A gunman stands astride Kat and lets her see him put on a latex glove.
Yulya continues, “Vadim was the one whose mouth you probed and found the SIM card. A disrespectful way to treat the dead.”
The man kneels across Kat and forces open her mouth. His breath is stale and smells of bars, tobacco, and linseed. His eyes are brown and expressionless. He’s neither enjoying nor hating, just doing his job.
He puts his right hand under Kat’s jaw. “Open,” he says in a rough, accented voice. Kat obeys. His finger goes inside. She retches as muscle spasms fire in the back of her throat. He presses lymph nodes under her jaw. The pain is sharp and controlling. Kat goes quiet.
He probes more, finds nothing, looks to Yulya for instructions. She squats down, her face level with Kat’s. Bile dribbles from Kat’s mouth. She meets Yulya’s gaze.
“Kat,” says Yulya. “Meet Lev.”
One of the other men hands Yulya Suzy’s hard drive from Kat’s bag.
Kat is thinking several things. Once Yulya finds the SIM card taped to her back, she will kill her, Liz, and Luxton, unless Kat can convince her that at least one other copy exists. The only other copy she knows of is with Mercedes in Washington. The version on Suzy’s hard drive might be repairable, but not out here on the marshes. Either way, the longer Kat spins things out, the more time they all have.
“The drive’s damaged, but I could fix it.”
Yulya glances down to Kat, then across to Lev. “Is this the only copy?”
Kat nods.
“We’ll check.”
Lev squats down, his fingers pawing at Kat’s waistband, pulling out her shirt.
“Viktor,” says Yulya, signaling Kat’s feet.
Viktor crouches, pulls off Kat’s shoes, runs his hands over the soles of her feet, slots his fingers between her toes.
Lev tugs at her jeans. Kat slaps his hand back. He grips her hard. Another man holds down her shoulders.
“Twenty-four hours and you’re all dead.” It’s Luxton’s voice. Kat twists in time to see a boot kick him in the midriff. He goes silent.
“The more you resist, the rougher Lev will be,” says Yulya.
Lev pulls up her shirt. She’s damp with sweat underneath. The night breeze chills her. Lev holds her throat with his left hand and checks her torso with the right. His fingers push down on her breasts and run underneath. Fingernails scratch the skin. Kat lies completely still, eyes closed, and imagines the women holding hands in the Kazakh embassy as they were shot on Friday by men like Lev. Kat’s glad she killed them.
Lev withdraws his hand. Viktor lifts her buttocks. Lev pulls the jeans over her hips. Kat resists. Viktor hits her hard in the face with the back of his hand. Lev hooks his fingers into Kat’s panties.
Yulya crouches down by her and rests her hand with the 9mm on Kat’s shoulder, the gunmetal on her neck. Yulya’s mouth is next to her ear. Kat smells expensive perfume.
“They are men,” Yulya whispers. “Let them do their work quickly, before they get excited.”
She s
tands up and speaks in Russian. Lev and Viktor rip her jeans down to her ankles and turn her over onto her front. Her cheek presses against the damp of the walkway. The marsh breeze catches the sweat on her back, cools her, and brings a shiver. A hand rests on her buttocks. The tape holding the SIM card to her back is torn away. Viktor gives it to Yulya. Lev speaks in Russian, then in English. “Any more?”
Kat feels a hand move between her legs. She hears Luxton cry out. Then, barely a foot away from her, two shots ring out as slugs splinter wood on the walkway.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Tuesday, 11:06 p.m., BST
A searchlight comes on and hits Yulya in the face. Kat hears a familiar voice. “If anyone touches her, they’ll be shot.”
Nate Sayer walks in under the glare. “Stand up, Kat. Get dressed.”
Yulya squints with her hand up to shield her eyes.
The men move back from Kat. The light casts shadows of Lev and Viktor over her bare skin. Kat scrambles to her feet, pulls up her jeans, and smooths down her shirt.
“You okay?” says Sayer. His eyes have a look she remembers from childhood; impatience mixed with pity.
“Yeah.”
“They hurt you?”
“I’m fine.”
Yulya still has the 9mm. The SIM card is pressed between her palm and the butt. Her pupils are narrowed, her lips tight.
Sayer’s wearing light cotton summer pants pressed like a knife, a pink striped shirt, and a double-breasted navy blue jacket. He has his back to the concert hall. Behind him stands a uniformed U.S. marine aiming the M16 that fired the shots.
“Help him up,” says Sayer, looking down at Luxton. Two more U.S. marines walk forward from behind the searchlight. They pull Luxton to his feet.
“You okay, son?”
Luxton doesn’t answer. His bloodied right eye is enough to cause the marine with the searchlight to open a first aid kit.
Sayer picks up Liz’s walking stick. “Let her go,” he says to the man holding her. He obeys, steps away toward Viktor and Lev. Sayer hands Liz the stick. “You okay?”
Liz nods.
“You help your brother,” says Sayer. He points to Lev, then to Yulya. “You, all of you, go stand next to her.”
They move over. No one speaks. Sayer puts his hand gently on Kat’s shoulder. “Do exactly as I say,” he says, “and we’ll all get out of this okay.”
One of the armed marines steps forward and takes Liz’s arm.
“They’ll escort you out,” says Sayer to Liz and her brother. “Once you get to your vehicle, go wherever you want. But do not return here. Do not contact Kat.” He indicates to Luxton. “You okay to walk, son?”
Luxton’s eyes are cleared. He stares at Sayer, but doesn’t speak. A marine takes Liz’s right arm. She shakes him off, jabbing her stick onto the walkway.
“This is British territory. You can’t do this.”
Sayer doesn’t respond. He nods to the marine, who leads Liz along the walkway. Luxton follows.
The marine with the light disarms Yulya and her men while the other officer covers them. “You next,” Sayer says to Yulya. “Take my advice. Get out of this country, and don’t come back.” Sayer moves to one side of the walkway to let them pass.
Yulya takes a step forward. She shows no resentment, no surprise on her face.
“I need the card,” Kat says quietly, only loud enough for Sayer to hear. He doesn’t reply and grips her elbow.
“Nate, she palmed the SIM card. She’s got it there in her right hand.”
“Kat, that’s enough.”
Kat stiffens. “What are you doing?”
“I’m saving your goddamn life.”
“A lot of good people died for that card.”
“And you’re not joining them.”
Sayer lets Yulya and her men through. Yulya looks Kat straight in the eyes. She walks with a sense of victory about her.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Tuesday, 11:18 p.m., BST
The searchlight snaps off. Sayer and Kat are left with the marine sergeant, whose name tag says Mason.
“They picked up Bill Cage in Washington,” explains Sayer.
“What’s going on, Nate?”
Sayer shifts his weight and checks his watch. “You’re coming back to our place. Tomorrow, you’re going to Washington.”
“I don’t mean that, goddamn it!” Kat tries to control her anger. “You cut a deal over Suzy’s murder, didn’t you? That’s why you let her go.”
Sayer rolls his eyes. “I don’t know what they teach you in that agency you work for, but it’s not common sense.”
In the concert hall parking lot, Kat sees Yulya and the men get into vehicles. Engine sounds cut through the river quiet. Mason shifts the way he holds his rifle, ready to leave.
“You know what’ll happen to me in Washington?”
“I heard.” Sayer begins to take her arm to lead her out.
Kat resists. “What did you hear?”
Sayer hesitates and relaxes his grip. “That Bill Cage got you involved in something he shouldn’t have.”
“How bad is it?”
“It’s bad. I was told seven people dead. But it’ll get figured out.”
A gust of wind bites through her clothes. Right, she thinks. By pinning all seven on me.
“Best come, ma’am,” says Mason. His tunic sleeves are rolled up above the elbows, showing a Marine Corps emblem tattooed on his right forearm and the American flag on the left.
They walk in silence. At the edge of the reeds, the walkway drops gently to hard ground, with a path that leads back the way she came.
In the parking lot are two U.S. diplomatic cars. Kat sees the dimly lit shapes of the other marines.
When Kat reaches the first car, Mason hands over her bag. “Empty this, please, ma’am. Your pockets, too. Place all the contents on the hood of the vehicle.”
She pulls her compact, pens, and the spent cartridge case from her pockets.
“Now raise your arms,” says Mason. “Face your possessions while I pat you down.”
She catches Mason’s eye and sees a shaved head and steady eyes, a man with no agenda but his job. He searches her without being overintrusive, around her breasts, her crotch, across the small of her back, where he would have found the SIM card.
No one’s threatening her. She’s not cuffed. Mason picks out the brass cartridge shell and holds it up to Sayer. “You might want to look at this, sir.”
Sayer examines it in Mason’s hand.
“That’s from the gun that killed my sister,” says Kat.
Mason holds a flashlight on it. “It looks like a 7.62. From which weapon, it’s impossible to tell.”
“Bag it,” orders Sayer. The order passes through Mason to the driver of one of the other cars, who walks up with a zippered polyethylene bag.
“I need to sign for it,” says Kat.
Mason’s already taking a notebook out of his tunic pocket.
“Say where it was found,” she says. “A 7.62—”
“We don’t know that for sure, ma’am,” says Mason, pen top in his mouth, leaning on the roof of the car to write.
“Then write that’s what it might be and that Kat Polinski found it.”
Sayer’s feet scrape the gravel. He shakes his head. “Your father would be proud of you,” he says.
“Sign here, ma’am.” Mason punches his finger to the bottom of the page. Kat signs. He tears off the bottom copy and gives it to her. “We will keep the computer-related materials. You’re free to collect the rest of your possessions.” He opens the rear door of the car.
Kat shoves things back into her pockets. She turns to Sayer. “I need you to ride with me, Nate.”
Sayer pauses for a moment, then walks around to the other side of the car and gets in. Mason drives, but a glass screen divides them from him.
As they head off, Kat looks out the back window. In the darkness, with the tinted windows, she can just make out the shape of th
e pub and the boat with the ragged maroon sails.
Sayer leans forward and turns on the overhead light. “You look bad,” he says, snapping it off again. “Have you slept, eaten, washed since you got here?”
Kat’s eyes look straight ahead. Her fists are coiled against her hips.
“Whose side are you on, Nate?”
“It doesn’t work like that,” says Sayer.
She closes her eyes, lets her head go back. “Then how does it work?”
“I tried to stop Cage,” Sayer tells her. “Way back when you were first arrested. I saw your name on the list. It comes up every month. Bright criminals the government wants to use. I pointed out that you were John Polinski’s daughter. You were traumatized. These guys, Kat, they train you, use you, and when you’re damaged, they feed you to the wolves, and that’s what they’re doing now. Total deniability. I don’t know what happened on Friday night, but they’ve got seven bodies they have to blame someone for. You’re it.”
He shifts in his seat and drums the side of the door with his fingers. “You made wrong moves. Before Cage, you were only wanted for Internet fraud. You could have got off with a fine. Now it’s multiple counts of homicide. They’ve even matched the weapon used to kill the embassy staff with the one you used to kill the two guys.”
The headlights rise and dip on the hump of a bridge.
“They went down to your old place on Dix Street,” continues Sayer. “They picked up a Leroy Jenkinson. You know him as Mercedes Vendetta. He showed them where you and he hung out. They took prints from there, DNA, traced the phone line from the apartment, and came up with more credit card and Internet fraud. They found an unlicensed forty-five and a Benelli M4 military shotgun, so they’ve got Jenkinson in custody on a firearms wrap. He’s talking, Kat, building up a good profile on you for the prosecution.”
Kat opens her eyes, turns to Sayer. “Is Yulya part of the deal?”
“Nancy and I tried to help after John and Helen died, but you put up walls.”
Kat says again, “Is Yulya part of the deal?”
Sayer stops drumming. “I don’t like it any more than you do.”
The History Book Page 16