The Masque of the Red Dress

by Ellen Byerrum

  “Perhaps not to the Centipede. Everyone Olga and I know who knows of the name ‘the Centipede,’ they say to us in the next breath, ‘But the Centipede is dead!’ But who is to say? He disappeared long ago, became apparently inactive, perhaps in very deep cover, perhaps awaiting activation, perhaps imprisoned, perhaps dead. Everyone who knows of him says he is dead. But to become ‘dead’ might have been a clever career move for the Centipede.”

  “A centipede is swift, poisonous, and carnivorous,” Turtledove said. “Sounds like an interesting character.”

  “If this character is alive and caught, he’d just be deported,” Vic said. “Or traded.”

  “Unclear,” Gregor said. “Depends on many things. If he even wants to survive. He may not want to return to Mother Russia and Papa Putin.”

  “If he wants to survive?” Lacey said. “After being already dead?”

  “He may not want to live in captivity. He must have more needles, at least one he keeps for himself,” Olga said. “If cornered.”

  “He’d kill himself?”

  “A matter of policy, if not honor,” Gregor said.

  “If it keeps him away from Lacey, I’m all for it.” Vic pulled Lacey into his arms.

  Gregor demonstrated with a chicken wing. “Understand what the Centipede is like. He is a man who snaps a neck as easily as a chicken bone.” Snap. “The KGB sought him and others like him as children. Other Russian agencies do the same now as well. The chosen children have no fear and no conscience, so they are easily trained to kill. Smithsonian, because you are tenderhearted, you must not fall for his tricks. He is a thing without a soul, not a man. No soul. No guilt. He was selected for this life as a child because he had no light inside of him.”

  “No light,” Marie repeated.

  “If he has no feelings,” Lacey said, “what does he want?”

  “We believe he has no attachment to humans,” Gregor replied. “But to things, objects, places, habits, who knows? This costume means something to him. And of course he has feelings. Not for others. For himself, for his power, for his accomplishments.”

  “Proud of his work?” Vic said.

  “Yes. The Centipede is very professional. A true psychopath. And enjoys demonstrating his power, his mastery.”

  “Why am I not feeling reassured?” Lacey asked.

  Olga lifted her glass and contemplated it. “These men can be very charming. They do anything to reach their objective. I may have dated some of them.”

  Lacey stared at Olga in her monochromatic gray slacks and blouse, her severe straight haircut. Her crazy, penetrating eyes. Olga had hidden depths. Lacey didn’t know what was more alarming: The thought of all the psychos out there. Or Olga Kepelova dating them. Or Olga dating anyone.

  “Smithsonian, this is not just any spy,” Gregor cut in. He said it as if Lacey had been dealing with a lot of run-of-the-mill spies. “Operatives, they are mostly ordinary people. They have goals, objectives, follow orders. The Centipede’s goal is a mystery.”

  “I know how much you care about your work, darling. But would you consider dropping this story?” Vic reached for her hand. “I don’t ask this lightly.”

  “I’m not sure I can, Vic.” Lacey had been thinking that very thing. “Not as long as the dress is out there. If this person broke into LaToya’s looking for the costume, and took the time to send a creepy message, he or she is pretty dedicated to the hunt. I could put it on the front page of The Eye. ‘Call it off, I’m not looking for anyone anymore!’ And it probably wouldn’t matter.”

  “Maybe LaToya could give the dress back,” Marie suggested. “If she knew how dangerous it might be.”

  “I tried pushing her to do that. No good. I could push harder, but she’d just dig in her heels. And I don’t want to tell her anything that could put her in danger.” Another thought occurred to her. “If the Centipede was in LaToya’s condo looking for the dress, he didn’t find it—and yet he didn’t harm her. It all happened while she was right there, asleep. So maybe she’s safe from him now? Because he knows for sure she doesn’t have it? I don’t want to upset the balance.”

  “Interesting.” Olga freshened Marie’s glass of champagne, and her own. “This is one good thing. We know he doesn’t kill everybody in his path. She did not get in his way. There was no need. Shows he is a practical killer.”

  “But we have the dress, Lacey,” Turtledove pointed out. “What if you gave it back yourself, medals and all? Sew ’em back in. Tell LaToya the truth, that you just couldn’t make it safe from the bad juju it’s got. So it had to go back.”

  Gregor shook his head vigorously. “For Smithsonian to hand the dress back herself would be to tip her hand. With her reputation, the Centipede, wherever he is, would know she has found its secrets. He would assume a trap. Our Smithsonian would never be safe again.”

  “If this monster has no feelings, at least not for other people, why does he want the dress back?” Lacey asked.

  “Perhaps a loose end,” Gregor offered. “Tying up loose threads. So to speak.”

  Lacey whispered to Vic, “You are staying with me tonight, right?”

  He wrapped his arms around her. “With a shapeshifting boogeyman out there? Yeah, I’m staying.”

  “That’s a relief. But listen, if metamorphosis is his genius—a thousand faces and all that—how will we know who it is?”

  “Excellent question,” Gregor said. “For that, I think you must rely on your special talents.”

  I’m screwed.

  “Okay. Let’s say these disguises and the theatre are tied together. However, the people I’ve met at Kinetic all have jobs, busy jobs.” Lacey couldn’t imagine how they’d have time for the skullduggery Kepelov suggested.

  “Oh, please,” Olga said with a wave of her hand. “All operatives have convincing covers and careers. The theatre is perfect cover.”

  How Brooke would have loved this party, caviar and all. “He’s been hiding here in D.C. in plain sight all these years?”

  “Why not?” Gregor answered. “The theatre is a safe haven for all his tricks of disguise. Perhaps it has given him a home, an identity.”

  Kepelov had a point. Whoever had sewn the medals in the hem of the dress had been free to come and go at Kinetic.

  “That could be a lot of people,” Lacey pointed out. “Over the past twelve years that might be hundreds! Actors, dancers, designers, directors, tech people, stage managers, wardrobe assistants, friends and family, even interns.”

  “Who knows? Or someone less obvious.”

  “Even a playwright?” she asked. Everyone laughed.

  “You met a few of the regulars, Gregor,” Vic said. “And you were eavesdropping on all those Russian conversations, right? Any suspects?”

  Olga laughed suddenly. “Gregor suspects everyone. That’s why he is counting on you to draw the Centipede out of the mud.”

  “So you didn’t overhear anything that would give us a lead?”

  Gregor looked glum. “Nothing. They spoke about the theatre, Russian dancers, Kinetic. Where they would go to drink later.”

  “They knew you were Russian?”

  “I look Russian. To the trained eye. And like all Russians, they were suspicious.”

  Vic rubbed his face. “You said we’ve got a plan.”

  “Go ahead, Gregor,” Lacey said. “Against my better judgment, I want to hear the plan.”

  “Gregor sugar, everyone is tired.” Marie countered with a yawn.

  “And we are running out of champagne.” Olga emptied the last of the bottle into her glass.

  “Fine, fine. We have a plan. Here is what we do,” Gregor said. “Anytime Smithsonian is with anyone from Kinetic—”

  “And we mean anyone,” Olga said. “At any time.”

  “Thank you, Olga. As I was saying, Smithsonian, when you are with anyone from Kinetic Theatre, even the janitor, you contact us. We listen in, and we arrive as back up.”

  “Just like the cavalry in a Wes
tern?”

  Gregor looked pleased. He loved Westerns. “Yes, like that.”

  “You want me to wear a wire?”

  “Nobody actually wears a ‘wire’ anymore. Not with digital technology,” Olga said. “Wireless remote microphone. Everything is wireless.”

  “Sorry, sweetheart. That’s only on TV,” Vic said.

  “Disappointing.” It was funny how deflated that made her feel. “How are we going to do it then?”

  “A phone. We can turn it on remotely,” Vic said. “Anytime, anyplace.” He handed her a new phone.

  “Okay. D.C. has one-party consent, so it’s legal to record a conversation in the District if I’m a party to the conversation,” Lacey said.

  “This is not necessarily for recording, it’s just for listening,” Vic said. “And when it comes to saving your life, sweetheart, I don’t give a rat’s ass about legality. Besides, we’ll have your permission.”

  “You are dealing with a Russian mole. Assassin,” Kepelov said. “If necessary we would dispose of him. It would never get to court.”

  “I feel so much better now. Sarcasm.” She turned to Vic. “You said you could turn this phone on remotely. Any time? Any place? At will? I’m not really comfortable with that.”

  “Darling, no one is spying on you.”

  “Except perhaps the Centipede,” Olga chimed in.

  “Here’s the deal, Lacey. You let me know when you’re heading into the lion’s den and I turn it on. It’s for your safety.”

  “Good. Everything is settled,” Gregor said. “Everyone is happy now.”

  “I wouldn’t put it that way,” Lacey said. “How is this a plan?”

  “She wants a real weapon. I applaud you, Smithsonian!” Olga was sounding a little tipsy. “There are probably real weapons at hand in a Russian theatre. Perhaps a sword. You would like that better?”

  “No swords! Let me get this straight. The first plan is to throw me into the lion’s den, while you listen to the lion growl at me, wherein the lion—

  “The Centipede,” Gregor corrected.

  “The Centipede admits he killed Amy Keaton, or sewed hollow Lenin medals into the hem of the ruby red dress. Or both. Then all of you will arrive like Theodore Roosevelt with the cavalry.”

  “Not all of us. Victor Donovan, Forrest Thunderbird, or myself.”

  “One of us, or all of us,” Vic said. “I’ll be right there behind you.”

  “Not me, cher. Sorry. I’m no good at this stuff.” Marie wasn’t made for physical altercations. There was always the chance she might faint.

  “Wait. Wait a minute. You are not including me?” Olga complained to Gregor. “I am a better marksman that you, baby brother.”

  “Debatable point. However, we do not need a sniper, Olga,” he said. She started to protest.

  “Sniper?! Quiet. Please.” Lacey stood up and held up her hands for silence.

  Gregor spoke more softly. “Lacey. A contingency plan is also necessary if Smithsonian, in typical Smithsonian style, finds herself in trouble before cowboys and cavalry can arrive.” He looked around for his battered leather briefcase. Marie handed it to him.

  “And what is the contingency plan?” Lacey hoped it would be good.

  Gregor pulled out a small spray bottle, of clear plastic, about three inches tall. It looked like a travel-size bottle of hairspray. He held it high for dramatic effect.

  “This is our contingency plan. Let me caution you, is very volatile.”

  “That’s it? Your contingency plan is that tiny bottle? What’s in it?”

  “Oh, I don’t think you want to know, Lacey,” Marie said.

  “I think I do. Gregor?”

  “The formula is proprietary,” he said. “A very powerful self-defense weapon. Will drop a charging bull elephant in his tracks. But the effect does not last long. When used like this, perhaps only a few minutes.”

  “He wouldn’t tell me either,” Vic said. “Be careful with that stuff.”

  “Don’t be curious like the cat with no lives left. Don’t even think of smelling this,” Gregor cautioned, still holding the spray bottle. “One sniff and you wind up on the floor.”

  “On the floor?” Lacey narrowed her eyes, remembering the first time she encountered Kepelov. She didn’t actually remember much of it. “Like before? In France? Is this the same stuff you used on me?” Gregor opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off. “You know what I’m talking about. You called it your Super-Secret Soviet Knockout Solution. The secret stuff you dosed me with. The farmhouse in France. Remember how we met?”

  “You make everything so dramatic, Smithsonian,” Gregor grumbled. “That time when we first met in France was not so dramatic. I don’t know why you go on about that. It was a little moment in time. We were competitors, rivals. We had not yet been introduced. I did not know you. I could have harmed you, but I did not.”

  “So it was okay to just render me unconscious with your secret knockout juice? Leave me face down in the cobwebs in a filthy basement?” When Lacey came to, there was a drunken cancan line high-kicking behind her eyes and around her temples and performing somersaults on the top of her head. The terrible taste the stuff left in her mouth lingered for a day.

  LaToya complained of a terrible headache the morning after her break-in. Same stuff?

  Lacey realized she was still angry. She’d never quite forgiven Gregor Kepelov, though they’d become friends.

  “Cher. I believe Gregor is trying to apologize,” Marie said. “In his own way.”

  “You’re right, Marie.” Lacey realized her glass was empty. Olga grabbed the second bottle of champagne from the fridge and filled their glasses. Lacey fought the urge to douse Kepelov with champagne. And she realized she was breaking her Do-Not-Open-Except-in-Case-of-Celebration champagne rule.

  But this doesn’t feel like a celebration, so that’s okay.

  “Is that how you met? On that treasure hunt? I didn’t know the details,” Olga said. “I am very glad there were no ill aftereffects. You never know.”

  I’m feeling an aftereffect right now.

  Gregor Kepelov sighed. “As I have explained many times before, I did not kill you, Lacey Smithsonian. I never would have done so. You came away with no scars and now we are good friends. And I have deep affection for you and respect for your talents. Your EFP.” He handed her the spray bottle.

  “Can everyone please stop calling it that?” she complained.

  “Okay, gang,” Vic said. “Let’s not fight. Ancient history. Moving on.”

  Lacey looked at the little bottle. “What, no gun? You made me take your gun that one time, remember?”

  “We talked about that, but—”

  Olga jumped in. “Normally a good idea, but not when dealing with trained assassin. Too easy to lose control of your weapon. Even this little bottle carries a risk.”

  Lacey held the clear liquid up to the light. “So now Doctor Kepelov’s Secret Sauce is my best friend. How do I use it?”

  “Carefully. First,” Vic said, “be very sure he’s the right guy. The Centipede.”

  “I don’t plan on dropping everyone in my path. Like a charging bull elephant.” But some days it might be just the thing.

  “You don’t have to wait till he starts swinging, or throwing something, or gets too close, you know.”

  “In other words, get him to admit he’s the killer and blam?” She sipped some champagne. It was very bubbly.

  “You are not taking this seriously, Lacey Smithsonian.” Olga helped herself to another glass of champagne.

  “She does take it seriously, Olga,” Marie said. “This is how she handles it.”

  “Very well,” Olga said. “Make jokes. Just do the job. Bring down the Centipede.”

  “You must be cautious.” Gregor frowned. “If the Centipede gets close, shut your mouth, hold your nose, and spray directly into his face. Make it a direct hit. Run like hell. Oh yes, don’t breathe.”

  “That’s the
contingency plan?! Hold my nose and run like hell? Are you insane?”

  “Insanity has been alleged from time to time. Now, it is better to take him alive, but—”

  No doubt there was a reward, she thought. “When you used this stuff on me, it was on a cloth.”

  “I planned a surprise, I was prepared. And I am bigger than you, more body mass. Also that was older version, is much stronger now. You do not want to get that close to him. This is only a precaution, Smithsonian. If all goes according to plan, you will have no need to use it.”

  She grabbed a plastic zip bag from the kitchen to store it in. Lacey looked at Vic and held his glance.

  “Do you think this is a good plan?”

  “I don’t plan to let you get that close to this guy. But I don’t want to take any chances.” He handed her a small package in clear plastic.

  “Paper respirators? Whoa, I’m feeling better already.” She pulled one out. “Very chic. I’ll wear this at our next masked ball.”

  “If the worst happens, darling, and you have to use that stuff, and I hope you don’t, one of these should buy you some time to get away. This is a basic N95 respirator, painters and furniture refinishers use them. It filters out liquid and airborne particles. You press the metal part around the nose and snug the bottom around your cute little chin. There’s an elastic strap. I chose these because a big respirator would be hard to conceal. I bought extras, so you can practice putting them on. Sweetheart, don’t let him get close.”

  “Ah. Personal protective equipment. Good idea,” Gregor said. “Smithsonian, hold your breath until it is safely on your face. After you drop him. The Centipede we have heard of is a slippery creature. Keep the bottle concealed. Be sure nothing else you carry with you can be used against you.”

  “Lacey, we have your back.” Turtledove leaned in close. Sitting down, he was practically as tall as she was. “One of us—or all of us—will be right outside the door. Wherever you are.”

  “What if he doesn’t make a move or reveal himself,” Lacey asked. “What if he isn’t someone I’ve already met, and what if he isn’t there?”

  What if we’ve made him up?

  “Then back to drawing board,” Gregor said with a smile.