She felt her abdomen where the baby was forming. It would show, soon. Zviad didn't know she was pregnant. Bedisa was sure the child was Iosif's. If Zviad suspected it wasn't his, he would kill her. Before he killed her he would cut her open and rip the child out of her womb. Zviad would know it wasn't his, once the baby was born. He was too clever not to know. It was the reason she had decided to speed up her plans.
"There's talk in town."
"What talk?"
She chose her words carefully. "You know I go to the salons. One of the women I know is married to a man who works for Rokovsky."
Rokovsky was Zviad's principle rival, boss of the Russian gangs in Moscow.
"Fuck Rokovsky. Rokovsky's mother sleeps with diseased beggars who drink slops from the brothels. What talk? Women are always talking."
"She enjoys trying to needle me. She doesn't know I allow it because I learn things useful to you." Zviad was growing impatient. She hurried. This was the dangerous part.
"The Russian thinks you are becoming weak. Bagrat's death has not been avenged. Rokovsky thinks you are afraid to do what has to be done."
Zviad's face grew dark with blood.
"Rokovsky thinks when a man's family is attacked it is a matter of honor. A man who cannot avenge his brother's death is not a man. She was saying you are not honorable. Or a man."
Zviad turned and drove his fist into the wall, smashing through the plaster. "This is what I will do to Rokovsky."
He hit the wall again and turned toward her. For a moment she was afraid. If he hit her like that it would kill her.
"What did you say to her?"
Bedisa smiled.
"I told her I knew that her husband likes men more than women. I wondered what would happen if Rokovsky found out about it. I was very polite. She turned several shades of color, mostly white. I don't think she will be saying these things about you again."
Zviad laughed. "Is it true? About her husband?"
"Yes. I'd heard rumors but I wasn't sure. The way she reacted tells me it's true."
"Good, Bedisa. I own this man now. I will use him."
"There is still the talk, Zviad. Others are wondering. You must move quickly to avenge Bagrat. What will you do?"
Zviad admired himself in a full length mirror.
"I think I will go to Bulgaria. I will make an example of this man. And his woman. An example that will be remembered. Then Rokovsky will understand who he offends. No one will speak of honor then."
Bedisa nodded. It was just what she wanted to hear.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
It was mid-morning the next day. Selena pulled up Bankya on her computer.
"Bankya is an exclusive suburb of Sofia. Lots of ruins, artifacts, mostly pottery and bronze. It has a hotel, hot springs, the old presidential palace. A big tourist draw because of the springs. It's a famous spa and resort. And it has a museum."
"Probably a lot of domes, too," said Ronnie.
Nick had been cleaning his .45. He reassembled it, put it back in the holster and stood. He had a headache.
"Let's get out there and get this over with."
They went down to the lobby, exited the hotel and got in the Peugeot. Arkady Korov watched them leave. He got in his rental and pulled out a safe distance behind. Just another battered gray Renault, one of many. They'd never see him. He followed them out of town. Signs pointed the way to Bankya.
Why Bankya, Arkady wondered. Maybe they were going for the waters.
Earlier he'd spoken with Alexei Ivanovich.
"Gelashvili believes the Americans killed his brother. He's gone after them. He should have arrived in Sofia by now. Sooner or later he will be where they are. Your primary mission is his elimination. The Americans may accomplish that for you."
"Understood."
"Arkady. In this instance, the Americans are a means to an end. Observe them and learn what you can. Do not see them as your enemy."
Korov had said nothing. Orders were orders.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Sofia and Mount Vitosha were prominent in the view from the outskirts of Bankya as they drove in. The found the only museum.
"Maybe they'll have a dinosaur." Ronnie sounded hopeful.
There were no dinosaurs. In the museum they learned that the temple of Demeter was buried under a church outside the town. They left the museum and stood in the sunshine.
"What now?"
"Lunch, Ronnie. Then we'll check out the church."
They found a cafe. A dozen tables were set behind a low wooden fence and gate. Trees branched overhead. It was a pleasant spot.
"It's nice out." Selena took a deep breath of fresh spring air. "We can sit outside."
They ordered a spicy beef stew, bread and coffee. A large salad of tomatoes, cucumbers, onions, roasted peppers and an unfamiliar cheese. The food was good.
Korov watched them from a bench under a tree. His car was parked nearby. He held a local paper in front of him and pretended to read. He wore workman's clothes and a cloth cap. From time to time the Americans scanned the area. Their eyes lingered on him for a moment and passed on. Arkady knew it was automatic. They hadn't made him. The woman seemed absorbed in her food.
Then he saw one of Gelashvili's men. He was talking on his cell phone.
Five minutes later two cars drove by. Zviad Gelashvili was in the second one. The man with the phone got into the first car. Korov counted five men plus Gelashvili. In the cafe, the Americans had finished their meal. They stood up to leave. They got in their car and drove off. Gelashvili and his men followed.
Korov stood and folded his paper. The others were still in sight. He got in the car, started it up and pulled out after them.
What was the American expression?
Showtime.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The Church of St. George was some distance outside of town, on a side road off the main highway. It was made of whitewashed stone and shaped like a cross. Wooden scaffolding rose along one side, a pile of debris littered beneath it. The church had a high arched entryway and a neglected look. A central bell tower rose to a single green dome topped by an Orthodox cross. The hillside above the church was dotted with old buildings sliding into disrepair. A monastery, from the looks of it long abandoned. Not much was happening at the church of St. George.
The entrance doors were made of heavy wooden planks and locked with a large, rusted padlock that looked like it might have been new when the church was built.
Nick looked around.
"No sign of a caretaker. We need to get inside." He jiggled the lock. It was old but it was strong.
Ronnie walked over to the junk under the scaffolding. He poked around in the debris, stooped and picked up a two foot length of steel rebar.
"Try this."
"You're going to break in?" Selena said.
"You got a better idea?"
Nick inserted the rebar through the u-shape of the lock, braced against the door and levered down. The lock broke. He tossed it aside. He pulled one of the doors open. They stepped inside and he pulled the door closed behind them.
The interior was lit by sunlight filtering through an arched stained glass window picturing St. George slaying the dragon. In the front of the church, the altar was draped in a red cloth and backed by three large wooden screens. Exposed beams blackened with age crossed the ceiling high above the church floor. Lamps of cut glass hung on long chains at regular intervals. Doors to either side of the altar led to the arms of the cross. The faint aftermath of incense lingered over rows of carved wooden pews.