“Artificial baby,” said Oxana.
“Too perfect,” said Jan. “So perfect that everything in the child’s basket was untouched, new, absolutely clean in spite of the fact that the couple had been traveling most of the day. When I cut the baby open, out came the contents like a Mexican piñata exposing candy. The doll was filled with diamonds.”
“Clever,” said Rochelle, meeting the provocation of his eyes.
“I am not deceived by appearances,” he said. “I have seen too much.”
“I am certain you have many equally interesting stories,” said Rochelle.
“Many,” he said, unsure now of whether she was twitting him.
“Perhaps you can tell them to me when I have more time in Kiev,” she said.
“Who knows?” said Jan as a waiter appeared with coffee for him and refills for Rochelle and Oxana. “I may be getting to Paris in the not distant future.”
“Be sure to look me up,” said Rochelle.
“I will,” said Jan.
Oxana watched the exchange with amusement and perhaps only the slightest hint of jealousy. Rochelle Tanquay was French. Rochelle was engaged in sexual teasing. Jan would gladly have jumped into bed or the back of his car with Rochelle, but without further encouragement, he would promptly forget her. Besides, if all went well, Oxana would have the diamonds and Jan would be dead before the end of the next day. All it took was resolve. Oxana had never killed anyone. She had come close on two occasions, both times as a result of being challenged by other models for work which was rightfully hers. Oxana was confident that with the proper incentive, and almost two million euros, she would have sufficient incentive to murder Jan, who was now outrageously suggesting seduction to another woman. He was a pig, a clever, handsome, and dangerous pig, but a pig nonetheless.
She admitted to herself that she was fascinated by both Jan’s performance and Rochelle’s. She enjoyed playing voyeur and even allowed herself the fantasy of rushing to Jan’s apartment, undressing him, and making him spring to life if he had not already done so under the table. And yes, she also fantasized about seducing Rochelle before they left Kiev, though it was more likely that the clearly worldly Parisian knew more about making love to a woman than did Oxana.
“What is amusing?” asked Jan.
“Thinking about Paris,” said Oxana.
Rochelle smiled.
“Paris will be good to you,” she said.
Rochelle’s eyes met Jan’s. There was no denying the provocation. Jan considered how he would juggle being with Oxana and killing her and seducing the beautiful woman from Paris. It would be difficult, but he decided it would be worth the reward. And if Rochelle did turn him down, he would have one more night with Oxana.
With the diamonds now hidden in his apartment and two beautiful women from which to choose, life looked very good for Jan Pendowski. All that was left for him to do was rid himself of the two Russian police officers, one of whom, the woman, he had given fleeting consideration as a possible object of his attentions. He still might, though it could be a particularly dangerous effort.
Jan Pendowski sat back and glanced at a lean man in a jacket and open-necked shirt who had just risen from the next table. The man seemed vaguely familiar.
Balta had seen and heard enough.
Now he had a plan.
St. James’s phone rang, the green one, the one reserved for Ellen Sten and the people in the field in Moscow, Devochka, and Kiev for the duration of the operation. The moment the situation was resolved to his satisfaction, the phone number would be changed.
“I am in Kiev,” Ellen Sten said when he picked up the phone.
“Does Balta know you’re there?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“I think he is planning to find the diamonds and try to sell them for himself,” she said.
“Evidence?”
“You know his history. Do I need evidence other than his manifestly dangerous and psychotic behavior in the past? I plan to retrieve the diamonds when he has them and remove him from temptation.”
There was but the slightest hint of reprimand in her voice. St. James had chosen Balta for this assignment in spite of her warning not to do so. Balta was a ticking bomb good for a quick assassination and nothing more. She had but hinted at her reservations. It did not do to contradict St. James.
“Even with the money he got from the courier he murdered, he still wants more,” said St. James. “He confirms my expectations about the human animal. I would have thought, however, that an assassin would have higher values than the majority of those on this planet.”
“Shall I eliminate him when I have the diamonds back?”
“You have enough support to confront him?”
“Yes,” she said. “Three men we have used before.”
“Good men?”
“Very bad men,” she said.
“Good,” said St. James. “Keep me informed.”
“I will.”
He hung up, and so did she.
There were several reasons he liked Ellen Sten. She was efficient, did not try to steal from him, and did what she was told, presenting only limited and infrequent advice. There was but one reason he did not like Ellen Sten. Her sense of humor. This was particularly annoying to St. James, who had discovered even as a child that he completely lacked a sense of humor.
As long as Ellen Sten continued to eliminate or deal with his more sticky problems, he could listen to her attempts at wit.
This was Elena’s first assignment following her almost two weeks in bed and another month of recovery while her arm returned to normal. She had been stabbed on a subway station platform when she and Iosef had attempted to arrest a crazy woman with a knife. The woman had plunged the blade deeply into Elena’s shoulder. Following emergency treatment in the hospital, Elena had gone back to the apartment she shared with her aunt Anna.
The agreement had been certain and clearly stated. Elena and Iosef were to be married as soon as she was healed and back to normal.
It had been clearly stated, but it had not taken place. She had now been back at work for almost two weeks and neither she nor Iosef had again spoken of marriage. The decision to be silent had been mutually agreed upon. They had both hesitated and were still hesitating.
Elena checked her watch. Sasha was to meet her in the lobby of the hotel where they would compare notes and then meet the policeman Jan Pendowski. Then they were to go in search of Oxana Balakona.
Except that there was no need for the search. Elena knew exactly where the model was staying in Kiev.
The lobby was not crowded. Elena had no trouble finding Sasha seated in a blue cushioned chair with gilded arms and back. He looked up at her, and she could see that he had had little if any sleep. His hair was unruly. He needed a shave. For an instant she thought that Sasha’s mother, Lydia of the loud voice, had been right. Her son might be better off in another line of work. He seldom looked happy. The best she had seen in months was a soulful self-pitying smile of resignation. His problems had taken on Jobian proportions. There were brief moments, even hours, of hope, as there had been the day before when they were coming to Kiev. Sasha had hoped that Maya would fall into his arms weeping with joy and agree to give him yet another chance and return to Moscow with the children. Such was not to be. He had told Elena very little of this, but it had been enough.
“So what is this news about a cafe you mentioned on the phone?” asked Sasha.
Elena was sitting at the end of a sofa that matched his chair.
“I grew tired of the good Sergeant Pendowski telling us nothing. I found a modeling agency and tracked down Oxana Balakona and went to her apartment building. It was not difficult.”
She paused, waiting for a reaction. None came.
“Are you not going to ask why I did not talk to Oxana Balakona when I found her?”
Sasha shrugged and ran a hand through his hair.