by Duffy, Sue
Wishing to change the subject, Liesl asked, “Max, have you heard anything about your father?”
“Ah, the renegade Russian mole who had to flee Israel for his disgraceful life? The underground Russian insurgent who schemed to kill his own president and wipe out my whole country? That father? Well, just when I think he’s met President Gorev’s firing squad, rumors surface about a Maxum Morozov sighting somewhere in the Urals. Or is that urinals? I get them confused.”
“Max, be serious.”
“Do you realize how long you’ve been telling me that? What you don’t realize is that I’m deadly serious too much of the time. Something about juxtaposing the philharmonic violinist with the Israeli intelligence officer in the same body. It’s enough to make me seriously schizophrenic.”
Liesl envisioned her wiry friend with the unmanageable red hair. “Just talk to me, Max. Tell me you’re all right. And your mother, too.”
“Oh, Mom’s having the time of her life. Freedom from tyranny, from the brutal reign of Maxum senior. She didn’t grieve his abrupt leaving too long.”
“And you?”
“A far-too-complicated subject. I’d much rather talk about your own harrowing life. How are you holding up?”
“I’m okay, but do you know about Ben?”
There was a long silence. “I learn of too many things in my intelligence role. Some things I wish I didn’t know.”
Liesl waited for more, but it didn’t come. She pressed. “What made him turn on us, Max?”
“I can’t answer that, Liesl.”
Again, she waited for more, but Max divulged nothing. “Ava told me he just sent Anna and their two girls to Tel Aviv,” Liesl confided. “Like that’s going to spare them the shame of his treason.” Liesl lost her battle against anger. “After seeing what that did to Dr. Devoe and his wife, how could Ben do this to his own family? I thought I knew him!”
Cade reached to steady Liesl, gesturing for her to calm down.
“Liesl, I wish I could make this easier for you, but I can’t,” Max said gently. “And now I have to go. Try to behave, and do as you’re told.”
Liesl swallowed against the lump in her throat. “Be careful, Max.”
“Always.” He hung up.
Liesl cupped the phone and lingered over the voice now gone. But seconds later, it rang again. She gave it to Ava and returned to the window. There was so much to sort out and so few answers. She looked over her shoulder and saw Cade in the kitchen, opening a box of cereal. Then she caught some of Ava’s words from the bedroom where she’d retreated with her call …
“Something’s not right. Why there? Why now?”
Soon after Ava returned to the living room, her phone rang again. But this time she just listened and said, “I’m on my way.”
Liesl saw something she didn’t like on Ava’s face. “What’s wrong?”
But Ava only waved a hand behind her as she dashed out the front door. Liesl moved to the windows overlooking the alley behind the building. Moments later, she watched Ava run from the building and hop into the back seat of a waiting car.
Liesl leaned her head against the glass as the car sped away. How much more?
Chapter 41
At the wheel of the white Nissan, Jeremy talked distractedly about what a momentous occasion this was. “Ben, you’re about to meet the Architect! I mean, savor it, man. The big guy wants to shake your hand.” Jeremy finally looked back at the road, but the ebullience continued to bubble. “I mean, he never asked to meet me. But I’m okay with that. You’re my brother. Close enough.”
Ben sat slouched in the seat that was too small for him. The bulk of his jacket wedged him in even tighter. But that was the least of his discomforts. Unlike Jeremy, he couldn’t take his eyes off the road. Its borders might as well have been the never-intersecting lines of eternity, routing him toward a point he couldn’t see, a fate without end. And it was all his doing. No one forced his decision. The president’s trusted advisor was about to personally profess allegiance to an enemy of the state. Had Ben Hafner gone completely mad?
At least Anna and the kids were safe in Israel, though he realized the irony of that notion. No place in Israel was safe. At least they wouldn’t have to suffer a media feeding frenzy if he was compromised.
Checking his GPS, Jeremy routed them into a Brooklyn industrial park with too many empty, overgrown buildings to suit Ben. “He couldn’t have found a better place to meet?”
Jeremy grinned at him. “You would have preferred the lobby of the Waldorf Astoria?”
Ben didn’t feel like dueling with his brother-in-law. But there was something he wanted to know. “You still don’t know what job Cyrus Neale is supposed to do for this guy?”
“Not yesterday. Not today. The Architect believes the less any of us knows about the other, the better. My only job right now is to get you settled into the network. When you’re ready to start transmitting the information we need, I’ll show you how to do that. Simple.”
Jeremy slowed and checked his course.
“You’ve never been here, I take it.”
“No. The Architect has property everywhere. This was once a legitimate business, I believe. You know he’s still an arts dealer.”
“But you don’t even know his name.”
“Don’t need to. All I need to know is that he’s going to protect Israel … and keep my paychecks coming.” Jeremy laughed, then slowed into the last turn. It was a dead-end street that led to a two-story metal building with barren tree branches scraping against its sides. When the wind rose, the fingernail-on-blackboard screech made Ben’s skin crawl.
“I don’t see any cars.” Ben checked his watch. They were ten minutes early for their noon meeting.
Mark Delaney and three other FBI agents ran low between two buildings. Half a block away, hidden from anyone approaching the industrial park, plainclothes officers in unmarked NYPD cars waited to assist.
Delaney led his team within sight of the white Nissan, now parked in front of a lone warehouse at the end of the street. The agents crouched behind a line of bedraggled shrubs and watched the car’s two occupants. Delaney raised his radio close to his mouth and reported their position to the backup teams.
A young man stationed at an upper-level window overlooking the entrance to the industrial park spoke quietly into his phone. “You were right, sir. The cops are everywhere.”
“How far from Mr. Rubin?” Ivan asked.
“Four of them about fifty yards. More cars waiting behind.”
“Are he and Mr. Hafner parked close to the warehouse?”
“Right in front, sir.”
“Very good. Stay where you are.”
Ben glanced at his watch. “They’re fifteen minutes late. I’m not happy about this.”
Jeremy shifted nervously. “We can’t just leave. If we passed them on their way in, it would look bad.”
“They should be here already, waiting on us. After all, aren’t I the prize mole?”
“Ben, you’ve got to—”
The first bullet pierced the driver’s side of the windshield with hardly a sound. Jeremy’s head snapped backward with the force of it. The arterial spray hit Ben full in the face, clouding his eyes and choking off his scream.
Ben lunged toward the floor an instant before the second shot plugged the back of his seat. Blindly, he felt for the door handle above him and yanked. Shoving the door open, he rolled onto the ground and scrambled on his belly across the pavement toward an old shed.
But it was too far. He was too slow. He didn’t even hear it when it came—when the bullet entered his chest. When another sliced through his neck. He heard nothing as life’s sweet serum poured from him. Would Anna hear? In a fading, gurgling whisper, he spoke to her. “Anna … I … love …”
Chapter 42
Sonya called Cyrus Neale’s phone repeatedly, desperate to abort his mission. “He doesn’t answer,” she reported to Ivan. They were alone in the study of the
Brooklyn house. Hans’s arms were now tied again, though not to the chair this time. One guard roamed the property, and another remained inside with Hans.
“Keep trying,” Ivan said. Walking to the window, he looked out at the barren yard that even a dazzling midday sun couldn’t brighten. His friend was too old and sick to tend the property anymore, and the students had long since abandoned the walled commune of their youth. What about Ivan’s youth? Would its residual zeal carry him through the coming years? Before he might be too old and sick to care, like Boris.
But not yet. The fire still burned. Like sulfur. He could smell it again, running putrid from the kitchen sink through all his early years. Now it was time for someone else to pay. What a stunning coincidence that Travis Noland should occupy the White House at this precise moment in the history of the new Russian revolution. How perfect, Ivan thought, trailing back in time.
When Ivan’s mother first told his father that she was pregnant, the visiting dignitary from America who’d taken advantage of the fetching young chambermaid merely flung a handful of money at her and moved on to another willing paramour. When Galina Volynski repeatedly asked for her lover’s help, F. Reginald Noland threatened to accuse her of extortion and certain imprisonment. In the years that followed, the woman taught her young son to hate the arrogant Americans and one family in particular. She died before witnessing her son’s first strike on the house of Noland.
All it had taken to dethrone the elder Noland was one large envelope of photographs sent anonymously to the New York Times. Taken over many years, the images recorded the statesman—routinely entrusted with highly classified material—cavorting with two different females whom the sender of the package had documented as spies. Though an investigation proved the evidence inconclusive, and even some news headlines suggested a frame-up, the damage had been done. Noland willingly resigned from his venerable post. Soon after, his wife divorced him. The evidence had been conclusive enough for her. Ivan had so delighted in what he’d wrought, he didn’t even mind when the son overcame his father’s ruin to reach the pinnacle of power. All the better to bring him down.
Ivan now checked his watch. Just thirty minutes since his men had reported both targets had been eliminated at the warehouse. It gave Ivan no satisfaction to do such things. They were young men who might have been of greater value one day, but Ivan couldn’t afford whatever compromise they had made with the enemy, whatever carelessness had left a trail for federal agents to follow. He wasn’t sure which of the two had been to blame. It didn’t matter.
“I have him!” Sonya announced. She handed the phone quickly to Ivan.
“Cyrus, you must not go today,” Ivan ordered. “I am postponing your mission. You were right. The Americans are watching you.”
“Not anymore. I got away. I’m already at the tug, and we’re going to do this thing as planned. All you need to do is watch.”
“Cyrus!” Ivan cried, but the line went dead. Ivan could feel the heat in his face as he turned to Sonya. “The fool! He is going anyway.”
But Sonya was steady and cool in her response. “So be it. If he succeeds, we win. If he doesn’t, we lose nothing.”
Ivan held her words, examining them closely. “You are my sensible comrade,” he told her. “You are right. Nothing would be lost.” His spirits brightened. “If Cyrus is successful, I will give the signal to all the others. And it will begin. The power plants, the dams, the historic landmarks, the computer networks—they will all go down.”
“And if he isn’t successful, send the signal anyway,” Sonya reasoned. “The feds have no way of stopping the others. They don’t even know who or where they are.” She smiled triumphantly, her large hands coming together in silent applause.
Ivan raised a hand to his chin, his thoughts spinning. Then he checked his watch again. “We must go soon.” He glanced toward the kitchen. “I doubt our weak and out-of-shape friend in there will require more than one guard to stay here with him.”
“I suggest we rid ourselves of him as soon as possible,” Sonya said icily.
“I will make that decision once we reach the ship. I don’t want any entanglements to delay us. From there, we’ll launch the entire operation.”
“Are you sure one man is enough to leave with Hans?”
“The others will return soon. They have already eluded the trap set for us at the warehouse.” He hung on one sobering thought. “If not for our man Cyrus’s suspicions, for his simple observation of that car on his street, we might have suffered a great setback today.”
“And what about Cyrus’s fate? Can we be sure of his intentions? Are you certain he’s prepared to sacrifice himself?”
Instead of answering, Ivan strolled into the kitchen and stood before Hans, noticing how tightly his arms were bound in front of him. “Are you in pain, Hans?”
Hans raised his head, his drooping eyes clouded. “Not the kind you would understand, Ivan. That would require a conscience.”
Ivan laughed but his eyes didn’t. “And mine is a calling you would not understand. But there is something you might know. From all your contact with Cyrus Neale, are you convinced he wants to end his life today? No second thoughts about asylum in Russia?”
“Who knows such things for certain, Ivan? He says he is ready. He’s made arrangements to dispense of all his belongings. Even buried his dog in the back yard.”
Ivan inspected the beleaguered face once more, silently and with regret that he’d failed to win the allegiance of this man he’d once admired. At that moment, he decided what must be done with Hans. But not right now. That would be one kill he had no interest in watching.
Chapter 43
After Cass, Jordan, and Delaney’s agent had finished their exhaustive search of Hans’s study, finding nothing else they considered worth reporting, Jordan closed the last cabinet and remained seated on the floor, staring into space. The agent was now in the front yard, talking to security officers on duty there.
“What’s the matter?” Cass asked, replacing the last of the hanging files and struggling to stay awake.
“Let me see that photograph of the house again,” Jordan said. “Something’s been nagging at me.”
He studied it a few moments. “I don’t know why I didn’t catch this before. Look at this.”
Cass plopped on the floor next to him and leaned toward the glossy aerial shot.
“Is that a cow?” he asked.
“A what?” She took the photograph from him and squinted at the spot he pointed to. “It could be. Hard to tell from this angle. Why?”
“Did you ever drive by that old arts school in Brooklyn? The one near Owls Head Park and the bay?”
“I once knew a set designer who took classes there, long time ago. But I’ve never seen the place.”
“I’ve passed it only a few times,” Jordan said, “but I remember this big plaster cow near the front gate. The students used to paint wild designs all over it. Something different every time I saw it.” He tapped it again with his finger. “I’m pretty sure that’s the cow.”
“Then we’d better go see.” Cass was already off the floor and heading for the door with renewed energy.
Jordan balked. “Oh no. You call Ava first.”
“And tell her what? That we can’t be sure, but we think we see a familiar cow?”
“But what if that’s the place where they are holding Hans, and lots of guys with guns are just waiting for two clueless sleuths to show up at the door? Again.”
“Well, we’ve got a gun, too.”
“Cass, be serious.”
“I couldn’t be more serious. We’re going. And I’m not pulling the FBI off their computer search for the place to join us on a wild … cow chase. Let’s go.” Cass was heading for the stairs. “We’ll have to sneak out of here. They’d never let us go, and we’re better off on our own anyway.”
“One problem, Cass. We don’t have a car.”
“A friend of mine down the beach will loan
us one. We’ll go out the back.”
Jordan finally quit arguing and fell in behind her.
Before they left, Cass slipped into her mother’s room to tell her they were leaving, but Jilly was asleep. Cass scribbled a note assuring her that all was well and they’d return soon. Almost an hour later, they were headed to Brooklyn in a borrowed Mercedes, surely one of the first produced, Jordan had noted glumly.
During the drive, Cass decided to unleash the news of her biological father. When she finished, Jordan reached for her hand, his gaze shifting between the road and her. They rode in silence for a few minutes more, his hand still on hers. Then he squeezed it gently and said, “As if you haven’t been handed enough to process already, here’s one more thing.” He glanced her way, then back at the road. “I love you, Cass Rodino, or whatever your name is. I love you something awful.”
Cass unbuckled her seat belt and leaned into him. She nuzzled his cheek and kissed it softly. “And I love you,” she whispered.
He nodded. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Put your seat belt back on. I’ve waited too long for this to lose it before the next traffic light.”
She laughed out loud. It felt good and cleansing. Why couldn’t it last? The good times never had before. But maybe something was beginning to turn.
Finally, they approached the old walled school, and Cass started checking the surrounding streets against the photograph in her lap. The aerial shot hadn’t taken in much beyond the compound, but she could see a few homes on the periphery of the image. She tried to match those images to the homes in front of her. If she could be sure that this place and the one pictured from above were the same, they would alert Ava and back off to a safe distance.
Traffic was heavy this Monday, and Jordan slowed to a crawl near the school. Just ahead was the cow, painted pink with brown polka dots. “There it is!” Cass blurted. “But I still need to be certain. Let’s see if this flat-looking little house in the photo is where it should be in real life. Take a right before you get to the school.” She glanced at Jordan and noted the intensity in his face. “Please,” she added.