Russia was, and would always be, a country ruled by clans.
Rapacious was the head that wore the crown, and no one was more so than Sergei Shvets, chairman of the FSB. Shvets had long ago set his sights on the pinstriped ermine of the Kremlin. Nothing short of the presidency would do.
On this cool, rainy morning in Moscow, three men stood in his way. One lay comatose in a London hospital bed. Another was touring a natural gas facility in Kazakhstan and was due back later that night. The third, Lev Timken, first aide to the president, was about to die.
Shvets watched as his agent uncoupled herself from Timken and placed her head between his legs. Timken’s mouth fell open, and Shvets could hear the man’s howls even with the volume turned off. Timken arched his back, his eyes bulging in ecstasy. The woman raised her head from his lap and kissed him on the mouth, lifting a hand to massage his cheek.
Shvets shuddered, imagining the capsule entering his own mouth, his teeth gnashing down on it and releasing the poison into him.
Timken pushed away the nude woman and struggled to stand. The woman remained on her knees, watching as Timken collapsed to the floor and lay still.
Sergei Shvets tapped his driver on the shoulder. “Yasenevo,” he said.
He looked out the window as they drove.
One down.
Two to go.
39
The Ristorante Sabatini sparkled like a gem beneath the cloudless Roman night. Rows of tables dressed with white tablecloths bathed in the glow of fairy lights strung overhead. Across the Piazza Santa Maria, the façade of the Basilica di Santa Maria dominated the square. At 11 p.m., the open-air restaurant was packed. Boisterous conversation mingled with the chink of cutlery and the bustle of waiters rushing to and fro to create a convivial, energetic atmosphere.
Yet even among the ranks of satisfied diners, one group appeared to be enjoying themselves more than the others. There were eight persons in all, three men and five women. The men were tanned and elegantly attired, by age and comportment successful professionals. The youngest was forty-five, the oldest sixty, but all were boyishly exuberant in the Italian manner. The women were much younger, barely out of their teens, and beautiful, notable for their sharply tipped, decidedly un-Roman noses and generous, proudly displayed breasts.
A waiter snaked through the crowd and handed a note to the man at the head of the table. “Dottor Lazio, from a friend at the bar.”
Accepting the note, Dr. Luca Lazio tried at first to read it without glasses, failed, and then fished a pair of bifocals from his silk blazer and tried again. Lazio was a fifty-year-old Apollo, his feathered hair a shade too black, his chin a shade too tight. His green eyes quickly abandoned the note and turned toward the interior of the restaurant, where the bar was crowded with clients. Making his apologies, he rose and walked inside.
Seated at the bar, Jonathan watched Lazio approach. Though exhausted, he felt a surge run through his body at the sight of the man who might be able to get him a step closer to Emma. He rose from his stool, and Lazio stopped dead.
“Not who you expected,” said Jonathan.
Lazio wrinkled the note between his fingers. “‘An old friend’ is not exactly what I would have called you.”
“You’re still practicing.” It was a statement, a reminder of a service rendered.
Lazio shrugged, acknowledging the debt. “I haven’t had a drink since we saw each other last. I thank you. Again.” Lazio reached out to give Jonathan a belated hug and a kiss on each cheek.
Lazio was one of the corps of doctors who revolved in and out of the missions run by Doctors Without Borders around the world. Six years earlier he’d worked under Jonathan’s supervision at a camp in Eritrea. When several of Lazio’s patients died of suspicious causes, Jonathan discovered that the Italian doctor had been operating while drunk. He had suspended the doctor pending an investigation. In the meantime, word leaked to the local tribespeople. A mob got up, captured Lazio, and was very nearly successful in administering a punishment of its own. Jonathan had intervened and personally shepherded Lazio onto a plane back to Rome. Grateful for his life, the Italian had promised never to drink again. Given all the circumstances, it was the best outcome Jonathan could expect.
“I’m glad to see you’re recovering,” said Jonathan.
“What are you doing in Rome?” Lazio searched up and down the bar. “And where is Emma? I thought you two only took vacations in the mountains.”
“We make an exception now and then,” said Jonathan. He didn’t add anything about Emma.
“If you don’t mind my saying, you look like you could use some mountain air yourself.”
Jonathan glanced at himself in the mirror behind the bar. He’d been driving for hours and his eyes were sunken, rimmed with circles. “I’m fine.”
“And so,” said Lazio, “tell me, is this a coincidence?”
Jonathan finished his beer, then shook his head. “I called your wife and told her it was an emergency. She told me where I could find you. Apparently she thinks you’re with some fellow doctors from the hospital.”
Lazio glanced back at his friends. “I am.” He shrugged. “What about you? Still working for peanuts?”
“I’m back in East Africa. Kenya this time.”
“Is that why you’re here? To remind me of what happened?”
“I’m here to ask a favor.”
Lazio found this amusing. “What can I do for the great Dr. Jonathan Ransom?”
Jonathan moved closer to Lazio, close enough to smell his cologne and see the roots of gray beginning to poke from his scalp. “It’s about Emma. She was here a few months ago and had an accident that required surgery. I need to know which hospital treated her.”
“What happened?”
“She was mugged and stabbed.”
“Emma? I’d thought of her as someone who can take care of herself.”
“She can. Usually.”
Lazio fingered the chains at his neck. “So why are you asking me this? Surely she remembers where she was treated.”
“Emma and I aren’t together.”
Lazio considered the request. “Fine,” he said at length. “I’ll help you find the hospital that took care of your wife. It shouldn’t be difficult. I’ll make some calls in the morning.” He motioned toward his table. “Why don’t you join us? The sole is fabulous.”
“I need to find out where she was treated now,” said Jonathan. “Tell your friends you have an emergency. They’re doctors, right? They’ll understand.”
“You’re asking a lot.”