Reap the Wind

by Iris Johansen

  “When you made this appointment to see me, I asked Peter to contact an old friend of mine who is on the appropriation board of the National Security Agency to see what we could find out about you.”

  “Why? That appears to be a trifle unusual for a simple business appointment.”

  Jonathan smiled faintly. “My reputation regarding my protectiveness toward my family is entirely valid. I didn’t like the idea of even a distant kinswoman being used to further the ambitions of a confidence man.”

  “Alex isn’t a confidence man,” Caitlin said.

  “No, he’s not.” Jonathan opened the middle drawer of his desk, drew out a manila folder, and flipped it open. “Our Mr. Karazov is something of an enigma. Peter had a good deal of trouble compiling this dossier. It seems the CIA doesn’t want any inquiries made about him. The NSA and the CIA aren’t the warmest of associates under any circumstances, but the senator said they battened down all the hatches when Karazov was mentioned. Still, we did find out a few things.”

  “I’m sure you did,” Alex said without expression.

  “You’re thirty-seven, born Romanian but became a naturalized citizen of the United States six years ago. You defected from the USSR five years before that with a man named Pavel Rubanski.” Jonathan paused. “With the enthusiastic help of the CIA. They appeared to want you very badly indeed.”

  “You’re saying he was an agent?” Caitlin asked, startled.

  “No, I don’t think so,” Jonathan said. “The CIA stuck him into a think tank at Langley, Virginia, and he worked for them for six years. Whatever he was, they found him valuable enough to give him everything he wanted, ranging from renting him a private jet for weekend pleasure jaunts”—he glanced away from Caitlin to the dossier on the desk before him—“to the services of thousand-dollar-a-night call girls.”

  “You seem to have found out a good deal about me,” Alex said dryly. “If they treated me so well, why did I leave?”

  “A blow-up,” Jonathan said. “Another question mark. For some reason you walked and left a hell of a lot of angry people behind at Langley. Now, angry people generally rant and rave, but the CIA has put a blanket of silence over everything concerning you.”

  “I assure you that I wasn’t some sort of mad scientist concocting chemical warfare experiments.”

  “I didn’t think you were. The scientist theory doesn’t gibe with your military background in the Spetznez.”

  “The Spetznez?” Caitlin asked.

  “I was in the military,” Alex said. “The Spetznez is the Russian equivalent of the Green Berets.”

  “And also one of the best-trained killing machines in the world,” Jonathan added.

  “No more so than the U.S. Special Services,” Alex said. “I understand you served with them in Vietnam, Andreas.”

  “Yes,” Andreas said. “But I didn’t serve with the KGB.” He paused. “You were with the Spetznez only two years when you were tapped by the KGB for special duty.”

  “What kind of special duty?” Caitlin asked. She felt as if she were caught in the middle of some kind of cat-and-mouse game between Alex and Jonathan, and it was beginning to frighten and frustrate her.

  “Why not ask him?” Andreas leaned back in his chair, his gaze narrowed on Alex’s face. “It’s classified. The KGB is never forthcoming, but they’re practically paranoid about Karazov. There’s no question he’s brilliant. He has a photographic memory and his library at Langley ranged from nuclear physics to ancient history. Yes, he’s a very popular man. The Spetznez, the KGB, the CIA . . . they all wanted to keep him as a pet.”

  “You’ll find no one keeps me as a pet these days,” Alex said.

  “No, you live in Switzerland in a deluxe chalet, apparently have money to burn, and several Swiss bank accounts.”

  “He writes novels,” Caitlin said. “He’s Alex Kalan.”

  “I’m aware of his pseudonym. As a matter of fact, I’ve read his books and have a great admiration for them. He’s a mental wizard when it comes to plotting. But I doubt if the CIA or the KGB kept him on hand to provide them with reading matter.” Jonathan smiled. “And he must have had a sizable fortune before the royalties started pouring in or he wouldn’t have been able to buy the chalet.”

  “What he’s trying to say is that I’m obviously a disreputable fellow and dangerous to deal with, Caitlin,” Alex said lightly.

  “Not exactly safe.” Jonathan turned to Caitlin. “I believe everyone should make his own decisions, but you should have something on which to base a decision.”

  “So he’s using you to ask the questions; he doesn’t think I’ll answer if he puts them to me.”

  Merde, she’d had enough of them talking around and over her head. “To me there appears to be only one pertinent question to ask. What did you do for the CIA, Alex?”

  He didn’t reply at once, and for a moment she didn’t think he was going to answer. Then he said curtly, “I solved puzzles.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “Oh, no.” Alex’s lips curved in a bitter smile. “It was no joke. I was the best in the business. In fact, I was the business. No one could do it like Alex Karazov.”

  Jonathan’s expression was suddenly arrested. “Do what?”

  “It’s very simple. I have a talent. Give me a piece of information here and another there and I see relationships. I weigh the probabilities and the variables and project what’s going to happen two or three steps down the road. Sometimes more than that.”

  “It sounds like hocus-pocus,” Caitlin said.

  Alex shook his head. “It’s like a master’s chess game on a bigger scale. Only I was never involved in the game itself. I just told them what moves to make to win the game.” His smile faded. “They won a lot of games with me. Ninety-two point four percent to be exact.”

  “Intelligence field operations?” Jonathan asked.

  “Most of the time. Sometimes they lent me to other departments.”

  “What departments?”

  Alex shrugged. “I think we’ll skip any more delving into my iniquitous past. I’ve told you what was important.” His expression wasn’t merely cynical, but wary. “Well, have you decided that I should be cast out into the darkness?”

  “What?” She scarcely heard the question. Something he had said had sparked a mental chain reaction and her excitement was growing by the second.

  “I said, have you decided—”

  “Can you really work puzzles? All kinds of puzzles?” she interrupted.

  He blinked, disconcerted. “Yes.”

  “It’s a unique talent? No one is better at it than you?”

  “I assure you that I’m truly one of a kind.”

  She scarcely noticed the irony in his tone. “Good.” Eagerness and excitement soared through her as she told Jonathan, “Then we have something else to throw into the deal. The inscription on the base of the Wind Dancer has never been deciphered. Mr. Maskovel’s obviously interested in doing so. Do you feel the same way?”

  Jonathan went still. “Of course. It’s a mystery that’s plagued the family for centuries.”

  “Then Alex and I will solve it for you.”

  Alex’s brows rose. “We will?”

  “Of course.” Caitlin frowned impatiently at him before turning back to Jonathan. “I have a background in antiquities and Alex is a problem-solver. Who has a better chance?”

  Jonathan didn’t answer for a moment. “It’s an interesting offer. But may I remind you the inscription hasn’t been deciphered in some thousands of years of attempts?”

  “But Alex said he was unique.”

  Alex chuckled. “I’ll watch my words next time. It can obviously be dangerous around you.”

  “Jonathan, if Karazov could help . . .” Peter spoke for the first time from the couch across the room. “If we could get a start . . .”

  Jonathan stared speculatively at Alex. “Is it possible?”

  “I’d have to study the inscription.” />
  “Through the years the Andreas family has had some of the greatest experts in the world working on it. I think we need something more. A fresh approach.” Jonathan smiled faintly. “I think we may need a puzzle breaker.”

  “I do analysis and projections for the future; you’re talking about something else entirely.”

  “It’s still a puzzle,” Caitlin said. “We’ll do it.”

  “I’m glad you have such confidence in me,” Alex drawled. His gaze shifted back to Jonathan. “However, I’d certainly try to do it if it meant your acceding to our request.”

  “I’ll have to think about it.” Jonathan rose to his feet. “I’ll ask Peter to call you one way or the other tomorrow morning. Good day.”

  “It was kind of you to see us.” Caitlin stood up. “We wouldn’t have bothered you if it hadn’t meant so much to Vasaro. Please. Believe me. I can—we can translate the inscription.” Her expression held desperate earnestness. “And if you let us have the Wind Dancer, I promise we’ll keep it safe, Monsieur Andreas.”

  “Jonathan.” Andreas’s expression softened as he turned to her. “Regardless of my decision, I hope this isn’t good-bye. Perhaps you could come for a few weeks in the fall when the family gathers for my father’s birthday.” He grimaced. “The kids get pretty rowdy, but I think you’ll like my sisters.”

  “Thank you, but I’m not sure your father would appreciate my barging into his party, and I have Vasaro to think about.”

  “And your new perfume.”

  She nodded and turned to Peter. “I suppose we’ll be speaking tomorrow?”

  Peter smiled as he rose to his feet. “You can bet on it.”

  She hesitated. “I wonder . . . while we’re here, could I possibly see the Wind Dancer?”

  “Certainly.” Jonathan nodded at Peter, who immediately started toward the door of the study. “Peter will show you to the salon.”

  Alex grasped Caitlin’s elbow and they started to follow Peter.

  “Karazov.” Jonathan stopped them as they reached the door. “One more question. What happened to your friend Pavel Rubanski?”

  Caitlin felt Alex’s grip tighten on her arm.

  “What did your dossier tell you?”

  “That the Swiss police filed a report he suffered a heart attack and died at your chalet last June.”

  “Then why should you question it?”

  Jonathan was silent an instant. “I suppose I shouldn’t. Just curious.” He closed the dossier on his desk. “Send me the other information about your promotional plans.”

  Alex nodded. “As soon as I get back to the hotel.”

  Peter proceeded down the hall, but as soon as the door closed behind them, Caitlin whispered to Alex, “What plans?”

  Alex propelled her down the corridor after Peter. “I’ll type a few suggestions and send them back by messenger.”

  “A few? Shouldn’t we have a detailed plan before—”

  “We should, but I don’t.” He added, “Yet.”

  “He’s reputed to be a very sharp businessman, Alex.”

  “Brilliant. But I think—”

  “Here we are.” Peter had opened a door to the left of the foyer. “The Wind Dancer is on that pedestal over there.”

  “I would have thought you’d keep it in a vault,” Alex said as he entered the large, high-ceilinged room.

  “Would you keep a member of the family in a vault?” Peter made a face. “Come to think of it, I have a great-aunt whom I wouldn’t mind walling up. Don’t worry, security at the compound is impregnable.”

  Caitlin’s gaze went at once to the pedestal that held the place of honor in the middle of the salon. She felt the breath leave her lungs as she froze in the doorway. “Dear God.” She had thought she had been prepared, but she knew now she hadn’t been.

  “Hits you like a fist in the belly, doesn’t it?” Peter asked inelegantly. “I know how you feel. He still makes me feel a little uneasy sometimes.”

  He didn’t make Caitlin feel uneasy. After the first stunning impact she felt a rush of overwhelming rightness. As if everything in her life had led her to this moment. She moved slowly across the salon until she stood before the statue, drinking in the sheer beauty of the Pegasus. “Hello, boy.” She didn’t realize she had spoken the words aloud as her hand reached out and hovered over one delicate filigree wing, almost afraid to touch it. The gold was light, cool, beneath her palm, and yet she felt as if—

  “Caitlin?” It was Alex’s voice.

  “Yes.” How strange. In her holograph those glittering emerald eyes had appeared cold, but there was nothing cold about the reality. They seemed to hold wisdom, understanding, even compassion.

  “It’s time to go.”

  “No, it’s been only—” She turned to protest and saw both Alex and Peter were gazing not at the statue but at her own face. Her hand fell away from the wing of the Pegasus, and she forced herself to take a step back and smile at Peter. “Thank you for allowing us to see it. I’ve been waiting for this moment since I was a small child.”

  “You’re welcome.” Peter was still looking at her strangely. “It was very . . . interesting.”

  An odd air of protectiveness charged Alex’s movements as he strode forward, took her arm, and pushed her gently toward the door. “It’s magnificent. A private viewing is always more impressive. We’ll expect to hear from you, Maskovel.”

  “Right.” Peter stepped past them and started back down the hall toward Jonathan’s study. “Have a safe trip back to Charleston.”

  “I think you almost blew it,” Alex murmured to Caitlin as they walked down the hall toward the front door. “Maskovel was wondering if you were going to snatch the statue and run for it.”

  “It’s so beautiful, Alex.”

  “We got the impression you thought so. You stared at it without saying a word for five minutes.”

  “Five—no, it couldn’t have—” It had seemed only seconds she had stood before the pedestal. “Really?”

  “Really. We both thought you were mesmerized.” Alex opened the front door. “But on the whole I believe the meeting went very well.” He suddenly chuckled. “Though I think you threw Andreas a curve when you didn’t respond with proper horror when he revealed my wicked past.” His smile faded as he glanced at her. “I admit you surprised me too.”

  “Why? It was all very interesting, but I always knew you had secrets.” She started down the stone steps to the car waiting in the driveway. “Actually, it was far more innocuous than I’d been imagining.”

  “So you zeroed in on what was important to you and attacked.” Alex followed her down the steps. “Pretty good for a lady who was shaking in her shoes before we walked into that library.”

  “It was important. I forgot about being nervous.” She glanced at him gravely over her shoulder. “And we’ll give good value to him, Alex. I’ll decipher that inscription.”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you volunteer my services as well?”

  “That was only because your credentials sounded impressive and I thought he might not go along with mine.” Caitlin added quickly, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll deal with the Wind Dancer inscription by myself.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I’m beginning to become intrigued with the problem.”

  She whirled on him fiercely. “He’s mine, Alex.”

  He broke out laughing. “Just teasing. I was curious to see how you’d react.”

  “That damn curiosity.” She relaxed. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I never thought I’d have the opportunity to study him at close range.” She suddenly frowned as another thought occurred to her. “And I still think Jonathan’s going to balk if we don’t give him a detailed promotional plan.”

  Alex shook his head. “I think this time all Andreas wants is paperwork.”

  “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

  “He has to have an excuse to give us what we want.”

  “Do you th
ink he might really change his mind?”

  “No.” Alex opened the passenger door and helped her into the car. “I believe he’s already changed it.”

  “What’s your opinion, Peter?” Jonathan leaned back in the leather executive chair, his fingers toying absentmindedly with the photograph of Glenn Close on the desk in front of him.

  “About what?”

  “Karazov.”

  “Smart. Hard. Subterranean.”

  “And Caitlin Vasaro?”

  Peter smiled. “I thought she was a gentle pussycat until she clamped onto the idea of deciphering the inscription and wouldn’t let go. There’s definitely more there than meets the eye.” His smile faded and his expression turned thoughtful. “And she’s in love.”

  “With Karazov?”

  “Maybe.” Peter shrugged. “But definitely with the Wind Dancer. You should have seen her face when she was looking at it. I’ve never seen anything like the way she lit up.”

  “Then she’d be all the more careful not to endanger it.”

  “True.” Peter studied his expression. “You’re thinking about letting them use the Wind Dancer.”

  “You think I’m stupid to consider it?”

  Peter grinned. “If you expect me to try to talk you out of it, forget it. If we take the Wind Dancer to France, I’d have a chance of getting my hands on Catherine’s journal and we get a brilliant problem-solver to work on the inscription.”

  Jonathan chuckled. “And run the risk of losing the statue entirely.”

  “I’d see that the security is foolproof if you did decide to go through with it.”

  “You must want to decipher that inscription pretty badly.”

  “I thought I did until I saw Caitlin Vasaro looking at the statue. With me it’s a hobby; with her it’s something else entirely.”

  “It’s not likely either of you will be able to do anything with it. Scholars have been trying to interpret that inscription on the Wind Dancer’s base for centuries.” Jonathan’s tone was gentle. “Most of them decided it was a language dead long before the time of the pharaohs.”

  Peter shook his head. “The first reference we have on the Wind Dancer is in Troy. If the statue had appeared on the scene before that time, we’d have heard about it.”