“I must go with you,” Viktoriya said. “Aleksandr will kill him if he gets the chance, but not if I am there. And I need to hear Jamal confess to his murders so there can be no doubt.”
All eyes turned to Viktoriya, showing varying degrees of surprise.
“All right, I guess my car can hold us all. It’s a fitting way for this to end, anyway.”
“The only fitting way for this to end is death,” Ivanovich said.
Rolling west on Capitol Street en route to Rissik’s office in Fairfax, Hannibal had Sidorov in his rearview mirror. His face jiggled as they bounced over potholes, but he stared straight ahead, his hands on his knees. He probably felt useless, but he served an important purpose. He separated Viktoriya, behind Hannibal, from Krada. This was good, because from the way Viktoriya was staring at Krada, she would be touching him if she could. And then Ivanovich would kill him.
Ivanovich sat beside Hannibal, literally riding shotgun. He held his automatic pressed against the deep tan upholstery of the seat back, its muzzle just below the top edge. He sat turned toward Hannibal with his eyes locked on Krada’s face. Krada sat with his hands folded in his lap, perspiration dripping down his mahogany face.
“I thought you were taking me to Fairfax County,” Krada said to Hannibal in the rearview mirror. The smell of his fear filled the car. “Isn’t that where you said the detective was that you could trust to keep me alive for trial?”
“Waste of time,” Ivanovich said.
“We should be on the beltway, then,” Krada said.
“Just making a little detour,” Hannibal said. “Dr. Sidorov doesn’t need to ride with us into Virginia. I offered to take him home, but he asked to be dropped at the Russia House.”
“How could you?” Viktoriya asked, seemingly out of nowhere. “How could you kill my parents?”
The traffic lights on C Street gave Hannibal ample opportunities to turn and talk to his passengers. “You got an answer for that one, Krada?”
Krada broke eye contact with Ivanovich long enough to turn to Viktoriya. “You think it was selfishness? No. I had to protect my job so that I would be able to make a life for you.”
“For this you pushed my father off a roof,” Viktoriya said. But why did you take his watch off him? Why take his wallet away? ”
“I’m sure he heard somewhere that suicides often leave their valuables behind,” Hannibal said. “Not that he’d have been very worried about that. He knew damned well that if the suicide story didn’t stick, someone else was already set up to get the blame. In fact, even Boris Tolstaya himself thought he was responsible for Nikita’s death.”
“You imagined that a woman would love you after you destroyed everything she loved?” Ivanovich asked. Then he turned to Viktoriya.
Hannibal couldn’t see what Viktoriya’s face might have told Ivanovich. He was fully occupied scanning his three mirrors and traffic ahead. The hair on the back of his neck tingled and stood erect. He crept up on a yellow light on Constitution Avenue, and then pressed the accelerator to the floor, pushing the Black Beauty through the intersection as it turned red. He changed lanes without signaling and lodged his car between two slow-moving vehicles. Ivanovich never looked at Hannibal, but he did draw a second pistol and turn around to watch out the passenger window.
“How many?”
“What’s going on?” Sidorov asked.
“We’ve picked up a tail,” Hannibal said. Even as he said it, he spotted what he believed to be a second car pacing him just a little ahead of his car. “My fault.”
“Not the time,” Ivanovich said. “Get us someplace private.”
But passing between the National Mall and the Museum of Natural History, Hannibal knew the sudden danger was his fault. He let his guard down after he was certain he had the murderer. They could all die for his carelessness.
“I’ve picked up the second car,” Ivanovich said. “Silver Honda Civic, right? The backseat man is holding an auto pistol.”
“They’re serious,” Hannibal said.
“Who do you suppose?” Sidorov asked, with a calm that surprised Hannibal.
“Mob,” Ivanovich said. “Still looking for the money. If they think Viktoriya has it they will take her. And kill me and Jones for interfering.”
“I have nothing to do with any missing money,” Krada said. “Let me go.”
“This was your choice?” Ivanovich asked Viktoriya. “At least Gana tried to protect you. And I have always been here.” Hannibal could hear the depth of the pain in Ivanovich’s voice. He tried to focus on driving through downtown DC at the start of rush hour, the two cars pacing his own.
“I’m not willing to let you go, Krada,” Hannibal said, driving a little faster. “You’re the prize at the bottom of the box. But the doc here, they don’t need him any way.”
“Agreed,” Ivanovich said.
“Can’t you just call the police?” Viktoriya asked.
“Maybe,” Hannibal said, easing to a stop at a light. “But there’s no point getting Dr. Sidorov mixed up in that either. I’m going to pull over at that next corner. We’ll just let you out and let them follow us all the way to a police station.”
Hannibal had cut left on Fifteenth Street and followed it around, keeping the Washington Monument on his right. Part of him wished he was out there with those camera-carrying tourists, or the homeboys involved in some fierce Frisbee tossing. He figured the closer he stayed to the monument area, the safer they all would be. What kind of an idiot would start trouble just a few blocks from the White House? The loop segued into Seventeenth Street, which was a traffic squeeze with cars that had just come into the city over the Memorial Bridge. He no longer saw either of his chase cars.
“We might have caught a break, gang,” Hannibal said, turning right to get back on Constitution, which at that point was a wide two-way street. There were three lanes going each way but the cars parked on both sides made the two outer lanes useless. After another five blocks he pulled over to double-park in front of the Federal Reserve Building and issued instructions to each of his passengers.
“Viktoriya, sit tight. Krada, get out and stand by the car with your hands on the trunk. Dr. Sidorov, get out and walk straight into the Federal Reserve. There are armed guards in the lobby, and there’s also a phone. Wait ten minutes and call a cab home. Aleksandr, watch Krada. If at any time he loses physical contact with this vehicle, shoot out his right knee. Everybody got it? OK, move.”
The door opened and Krada moved with care to the side of the car, resting his palms on the trunk. Sidorov patted Viktoriya’s knee the way an uncle would. Then he leaned forward to address Hannibal.
“Thank you for everything,”
Sidorov stepped toward the building at a normal pace without a backward glance. Hannibal took those few seconds to consider where he was. The black granite Vietnam Memorial stood just over the hill in the park across the street. It was designed like a slash in the earth. If he walked across the street and down the path he could point to the exact spot where his father’s name was engraved on that wall. And that led him to consider the nature of devotion.
“You’re still hooked on her, ain’t you?” he asked the back of Ivanovich’s head.
Without turning, Ivanovich replied, “Sometimes, when nothing seems worth saving, I can’t let her slip away. All right, Krada, back in the car.”
Hannibal knew the sound that came next, although most people would mistake it for a loud cough. Krada’s body snapped backward as if pulled by invisible wires. Before Hannibal could turn he heard Ivanovich’s elbows hit the Volvo’s roof and two guns roared as one. When Hannibal did see the black BMW moving down the road, its back window was spider webbed from the impacts of two bullets. Then Ivanovich bounced back into his seat.
“Move!”
“Not without the prize,” Hannibal said.
Ivanovich said something rude in Russian, snatched Krada off the sidewalk, and tossed him back into the car. Viktoriya was lying across the seat, so Krada landed partially on top of her. She screamed and sat up, slapping at blood in her hair.