The gate had been left open. Sprinting a zig-zag course through the sparsely forested grounds, I reached the cover of a broad-based tree near the stable and paused to catch my breath.
The stable was part of a cluster of three buildings that together formed a U. I was near the left leg, an outbuilding made of weathered wood. The stable, another lowlying wooden structure fronted by horse stalls, was off to my right. A stone shelter I thought might be a bunk house spanned the two legs; a vacant dirt yard filled the U’s center.
No Leo. In fact, the place was so eerily quiet that a clump of tumbleweed somersaulting across the yard would have seemed natural. Finally, a horse in one of the stalls whinnied.
I stared through the large gaps in the slatted wall, assessing the interior of the outbuilding before me. No sign of horses or other animals, but I did observe a horse cart, suggesting the building was used as storage space. The space would offer protection as well as a good perspective of the surroundings.
I entered cautiously. The light was dim and the air was thick with the musty-sweet smell of hay and manure. It took a moment, but my eyes adjusted and I could get a fix on not only the cart but the tack dangling from big hooks along the wall. Peering through another slatted wall, I observed that the adjacent stall was also vacant.
I went to the front and looked out on the dirt courtyard. Opposite me, the upper halves of the Dutch doors enclosing the stalls were open, the long faces of chestnut, palomino, and black stallions protruding through them. I heard male voices somewhere out back. I turned and listened. Two men were approaching from the central bunk house, their voices and the clip-clop of horses’ hooves growing louder.
The entourage halted near a back corner. The men continued their conversation as I crept over, listening and hoping one of them was Leo. The fit of the boards at the rear of the building was tighter than anywhere else and it was impossible to see outdoors. Finally, dropping to my knees, I found a suitable gap.
“After you have seen to our guest’s horse, go back and check on Dr. Shevchenko. Make sure he does everything necessary to make our latest visitor comfortable.”
The clipped tone of the rider’s voice sounded familiar. I also recognized the boots and jodhpurs. It was V-V! My vantage point gave me a uniquely limited perspective of his steed’s lower half. The hooves were perfectly manicured, and his gray and white coat had been brushed to a dull shine. The other man, clad in olive green fatigues and Army boots, stood beside the dapple gray, holding the reins of a second horse.
“Yah sure, Cap-i-tan,” the fatigue-clad man replied.
My blood froze. The second horse was an Appaloosa with a bandaged leg. I tilted my head every which way, trying to see above me. Where was Leo? A platoon of shivers charged my spine. Was he the guest V-V had been referring to?
“I must go to the boat house,” he said. “But Zerov, after you have looked in on our guests, be sure Dr. Shevchenko has the merchandise in order. Then, find Yakutovych. Let him know the truck that will pick up the good Doctor’s shipment is due here shortly. Yakutovych and his men are to help load it. Tomorrow is spaghetti night at the base. That means the staff will begin preparing the sauce tonight. The goods must reach the kitchen well beforehand.”
“Yah, Cap-i-tan. What a ‘moving’ experience the chef and his staff will have with Dr. Shevchenko’s special ingredient.” The twosome chortled loudly over the comment.
“Hand up the picnic basket, Zerov. I must go to my wife. She will be feeling anxious.”
From my crouched position, I saw a wicker basket pass from Zerov’s thick fist to V-V’s black-gloved grip.
“Ah, you are making joke, Cap-i-tan, yes? She cannot be feeling anything but relaxed, thanks to our good Doctor.”
The men were engaged in double-speak that did not sound good for Kiki.
The dapple-gray snorted, protesting the extra weight of the basket. V-V’s gloved hand reached for the rein, drawing it up and forming a loop against the horse’s neck.
“Today you will also get the green light from Berlin, yah?” Zerov asked.
“Berlin,” V-V scoffed. “Yes, today is the latest in a string of promised dates. Why they are having such difficulty making contact, I do not understand. By now I had hoped to have the actual document in the Abwehr’s hands in order to coordinate the ground and air attacks. It is a travesty. Our men are trained and at the ready, but they must hang back, hovering at the start line, while I await the checkered flag from Berlin.”
Zerov grunted. “I am sure they will make contact soon.”
“Soon may be too late. But thanks to Cardillac we have an alternate funding source.”
They were discussing the air raid plot! And V-V had formed an underground army!
Cardillac? Who was Cardillac?
The villain in V-V’s favorite Hoffmann story, Mademoiselle de Scudéri, was called Cardillac. A Jekyll-Hyde sort of character, that Cardillac was by day a renowned genius-jeweler, by night a robber and tormented dagger-wielding serial killer.
V-V’s mount’s hooves danced, raising a tiny cloud of dust. Zerov grabbed the steed’s bridle, patting the horse and calming him.
My throat had felt parched even before dust-strewn air reached it. Now I swallowed a few times to moisten it.
“See you at the bunker then.” V-V pressed his boot into his horse’s flank.
Bunker? I squinted after him. Had he meant boathouse?
V-V headed toward the river. I watched until he was out of sight, then turned my attention back to Zerov. He was gone. I assumed he was following V-V’s order, leading Leo’s Appaloosa to the barn. Sidestepping rapidly past the sulky, I went to the front and peered out again. What had happened to Leo? And where was Dante?
A burning sensation seared my gut. I couldn’t return to my car. The note I had left for Dante said that I would be at the stable. If he had already arrived and was on his way to meet me, either plowing up the driveway or dodging through the forest, I would miss him.
I checked my watch. I couldn’t remain inside this shed either. Kiki was a helpless pawn in the plot V-V and his associate, Cardillac, were brewing. But without a sense of how many other disciples V-V had in reserve, it seemed foolhardy to dash after him.
Dr. Shevchenko was in charge of some guests. Leo likely was one of them. He would know what was going on. And if I could find him, maybe we could team up, intercept V-V before it was too late.
I shoved open the door. A hedge of bushes edged the bunkhouse exterior. I did a quick visual check and dashed for their shelter.
The bunkhouse was built of the same craggy stone as the mansion. Three windows along its back wall suggested two, perhaps three, small rooms inside. I crept along the back, pausing at the first window to listen. Hearing only the chirping of a distant bird, I cautiously rose and peered in. The double-hung window was smudged, but I could make out a heavy wooden work-table strewn with lumps of coal and a timing mechanism. Electric cable, an array of fuses, and more timing devices littered the floor near the wall. A tall shelf held large commercial-sized containers labeled Baked Beans, Fruit Salad, Olives.
Next, I panned the labels on a stack of boxes. I shivered and a fresh crop of goose bumps surfaced along my shoulders. Tomatoes. The shipment I’d overheard Zerov and V-V discussing earlier! A hand truck was parked alongside.
With my spine pressed against the craggy wall, I slithered sideways to the adjacent window. It was open. I crouched beneath the sill, then slowly inched upwards. The room was nearly twice as large as the first. Painted white and containing several metal tables, it was clearly a laboratory of some sort. On one table, clear liquid in a glass flask boiled above a Bunsen burner. Near the flask, an oversized syringe with a thick needle lay discarded near an assortment of potatoes, beets, and turnips.
A blur of white moved in a corner on the opposite side of the room. Dr. Shevchenko! Bushy, dark eyebrows were a curious contrast to his wild thatch of white hair. He wore a monocle and, in a second glimpse, I recognized him as the man I’d
seen on the passenger side of the car fleeing the estate last night. At the time, I’d assumed he was a medical doctor; now I thought he might be the lab’s distinguished scientist.
The doctor stood up. On the floor, near his feet, two figures were partially blocked by one of the metal tables. I leaned sideways to get a better look. Otto Renner and Leo! Propped into semi-seated positions, their backs wedged against low stacks of stuffed burlap bags, they were out cold. Above the men, Shevchenko held a syringe with a long needle.
My forehead, damp with sweat, felt suddenly icy as the door opened and a man in fatigues swept in.
Shevchenko turned. “Zerov.”
My heart quickened. Up to now, I had only seen V-V’s assistant from the waist down. I stared. A thin man with a gaunt face and small eyes, he had a jagged scar along the length of one cheek and his hair was buzzed off so that he looked completely bald.
His boots clumped noisily as he crossed the room to join Shevchenko. I ducked down, my heart thumping madly inside my chest. It was imperative that I find out what they were up to. I took a deep breath and released it slowly, willing the hammering in my ears to stop.
“Ah, Dr. Shevchenko, is that one of your new incendiary pencils on the table? I tossed one yesterday, for practice. Whoosh. Bang! Marvelous! But tell me, how does it work?”
“Spontaneous combustion,” the scientist replied. “A narrow chamber inside is filled with a special compound. Once oxygen enters the chamber, the pencil—BOOM!—it explodes. Making it more wondrous yet, all trace of the device disintegrates with the explosion.”
“And this gimmick you are inventing with these vegetables. It is based on the same principle?”
“Yes. Only in these—” Shevchenko paused and I pictured him squeezing a potato or one of the other vegetables on the table. “—I inject the chemicals directly.”
“So then to set it off you slice open the vegetable and toss it?”
There was a long sigh. I imagined the scientist scratching his head.
“At this early stage, I am not certain the vegetable can be thrown without a finger or a hand being blown off. And the Cap-i-tan is not willing to risk one of his troops, or any more of his fingers, to try it.”
A restrained laugh was quickly stifled by a suggestion from Zerov. “What about his wife? Perhaps she will have a moment to toss a little garden salad before the sisters shove off on their river excursion.”
A chortle followed, then the doctor’s voice turned somewhat nostalgic. “Ah, the wife. If she had not burst in here we would all be feeling less pressure…”
“Forget it, Shevchenko. It is not your fault. With all the preparations that have been going on these past few months, it is astounding that she did not discover the truth long ago. And the Cap-i-tan does not hold this against you. He has wanted to step up the action for some time, and now he feels the initiative to move forward, strike an initial hit on the Naval Base. It is even possible that he will set things in motion on the bigger plan today.” There was a sly chuckle. “Say…maybe in considering the fate of our special guests, he will authorize a vegetable toss by one of them. What is their status?”
At Zerov’s appearance in the lab, Shevchenko had set the syringe on the metal table. He picked it up. “Renner has just received another injection. He will not move for at least another two hours. The dark-skinned new arrival I will shoot up soon, but for now he is still out cold from the blow you administered to his head. See for yourself.”
Zerov’s boots clumped off to where Leo and Renner lay in a heap. A burning sensation, worse than the one I’d felt earlier, seared my stomach. I had met the man they were calling the “Cap-i-tan.” I had shaken hands with him. He’d kissed my hand for godsakes! He’d lent me a book. I’d swooned over his continental charm. Tittered at his lofty jokes. But this wasn’t funny. These men were the Pastorius replacements. And V-V was their leader.
I drew a shaky breath. Disaster was brewing and I had no one to help me stop it. Enlisting Leo’s aid was out, and Dante’s arrival was a vexing unknown. Until I could devise a miracle for turning back the speeding train, I had to get every scrap of information I could. I tuned back in as Zerov spoke.
“Those labels you have designed for the canned goods are perfect reproductions.”
Shevchenko’s voice was buoyant. “We have done our best to duplicate the tomato brand the Navy base chef purchases exclusively.”
The bastards. Their plan was to hijack the real delivery truck, bring it here to the estate, load it up with crates of tomato-can bombs, and then deliver them to NAS Grosse Ile. That was why they’d wanted the map from the admiral’s wife.
“And the special feature?”
“All it takes is a puncture. Air seeps in, the can explodes.”
“Then let us hope it takes a full kitchen crew to make spaghetti!” The pair belly-laughed.
The twosome could be a couple of characters out of a bad B-movie. Unfortunately, these bad actors had serious fire power at their disposal.
Dante had suspected Kiki might be part of Renner’s gang. She clearly was not. She was, however, in serious trouble. I had to get help.
I felt the stick beneath my foot an instant before it snapped. Fortunately, another round of uproarious laughter erupted and I did not think the men had heard. But I also did not see myself waiting around to discover whether I was right.
***
Shrouded in the evergreen thicket, I fought to calm my bounding pulses. Absent Dante, it was up to me to try to rescue Kiki. But how? V-V was with her.
I knew what Gran Skjold would say. “You won’t know what’s possible until you dirty your hands trying.”
First, I needed a clear sense of what was going on. The goons in the lab had been an excellent source. I slipped my Gran’s derringer out from its holster.
The bunk house door creaked open. Zerov squinted in the grey afternoon light then turned to speak over his shoulder. “I am going to the front gate now, to await Yakutovych.”
He disappeared around the side of the building. I waited until I could no longer hear the heavy clumping of his boots crossing the hard dirt then pitched through the doorway and into the lab.
Shevchenko was standing beside the metal table. His monocle popped from his eye socket and his hand floundered as he reached to grasp the bubbling flask, the Bunsen burner, a vegetable bomb—any weapon. To no avail. He caught the glint of my gun and froze.
“Put your hands at your sides. Keep them there. I’ve no time to waste. I know there are soldiers here on the grounds. How many and where are they? Are they with the Captain? Where’d he go?”
The aggressive tone in my voice sounded impressive, even to my ears. Shevchenko’s Einstein-like shock of white hair trembled visibly.
“Don’t hurt me. The plan is underway. You cannot stop it.”
I waved my gun. “Talk.”
He clamped his mouth shut.
I hadn’t risked the confrontation for nothing. “Tell me about the plan. Details…”
“Bombs, sabotage, murder, that be the plan, you know, you know what I mean?”
The voice was weak but I would have recognized it anywhere. Leo!
I turned my head. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the doctor’s gaze veer right and left. “Don’t try it,” I warned. “Got you covered.”
Keeping the nose of my derringer trained on him, I backed toward Leo and Renner.
I looked down. My stomach flip-flopped. A swollen open gash on Leo’s forehead looked nasty. “Your head…Are you all right?”
The wound was caked with dried matter but was no longer bleeding and the surrounding area, while puffy and undoubtedly sore, looked clean.
“Uh-huh. Got caught. Got a knock to the noggin, is all, you know.”
Leo and Renner had been tied up, their hands behind their backs, with thick, coarse rope. Leo shifted and tried maneuvering upward against the stack of stuffed burlap bags supporting him. He groaned. “Ouch.”
“Wait.
I’ll find more rope, tie up the good doctor here, and help you.”
“No. No time, know what I mean? There’s trouble goin’ down here. Girl, ya gotta go get Dante. His men.”
“Don’t worry, they’re on the way. But what’s going on here? Do you know?”
He spoke fast, and I strained to keep up with his patter, but Leo, under the guise of a stable hand working for the estate next door, had been observing the activities taking place on the LaVue Rouge grounds. A short while ago, he’d trailed a truck loaded with men to the outskirts of the estate.
“Them cats had a motor, I had a horse.” He lost them. “Came back here, heard this bad actor”—Leo nodded sideways in the direction of Renner—“behind the stable, arguing with the cat they call Capt’n. This here cat is all crazy-like.” Again, he was referring to Renner. “Says the Capt’n’s been movin’ in on his lady. Wants to snuff the Capt’n.
“Capt’n, he has other plans. ‘You made a second drawin’ of the air raid plot,’ he says all mean and fierce-like, talkin’ to this here cat, Renner. ‘Whatcha plannin’ on doin’ with it? Goin’ to the feds?’”
So Zerov twisted Renner’s arm until Renner confessed, Yes, that was his intent. It was the only way he could think of to get out of “the game” for good. He’d planned to do it anonymously. Then, with V-V out of the picture, he would be free to return to his normal life. And to his wife, whom he loved dearly.
The strategy might have worked, too, but when V-V began pulling Clara into his scheme, Renner lost his cool.
“Comin’ here was the cat’s undoin’, know what I mean, you know?”
I shook my head. “I, that is we, Dante and I, know about the drawing. Uncovered it in Renner’s safe. But that’s a new spin on what it was doing in there.”
“The cats planted a knife too. Did ya see it? See an old news article?”
“Uh-huh.” I’d been keeping one eye glued to Shevchenko. Now, in a quick sidelong glance, I mentally tried to calculate how I might free Leo from the crisscrossed rope configuration. The trussing looked so masterful I feared that even with my hands free I would not be able to undo it. Where was my backup?
Lipstick and Lies Page 29