"Viktor?" Bailey shook his head in confusion. "I thought you said the fourth person was a woman?"
"Viktor's a she. Her real name is Katya Nikolaevna Mostov." Strange slid a file across the meeting-room table. "A hooker from Minsk who made the big time by killing her mafioso boyfriend and taking over his operation and his name. The Tunnel nightclub belongs to her."
"If these guys have joined up with her, then they're mixed up in some serious shit," said Cunningham. "And if they want to disappear, she can make it happen."
"Maybe we should just go in and get them now," Bailey said, "before they have a chance to disappear. Haven't you guys got some sort of arrangement with the local cops?"
"Sure, but they don't apply to her," Strange said with a hollow laugh. "Viktor pretty much runs this town. The police, the judges, the politicians — she's got them all covered. It's like diplomatic fucking immunity."
"Plus, her place is a goddamned fortress," said Cunningham. "She's probably packing more firepower there than the local army barracks. If she is protecting Blondi, trying to go in there and get him would be a suicide mission."
"Our best hope is to sidestep the authorities here, wait till he's out in the open, and send in a snatch team," Strange said slowly. "We can worry about getting him home later. It's not ideal, but we've done it before."
"What about Kirk?" asked Bailey. "We should pick him up too. See what he knows."
"We haven't got the manpower to go after both of them," said Cunningham. "Not unless you want to wait a few days. And you'd need an airtight case before Washington would even pick up the phone to you, let alone sanction sending in reinforcements."
"I'll talk to Carter, see what he says," Bailey said, already knowing what the answer would be. So far, aside from his being an associate of Blondi's, they had nothing on Kirk. Certainly not enough to warrant sending in an extra team. "I guess this is really about Blondi, anyway." He shrugged. "That's who they sent me here for."
"We've got eyeballs on Viktor's place," Strange reassured him. "If any of them leave, we'll know about it."
"That's right," Cunningham said eagerly. "First chance we get, we'll move in. Believe me, Blondi won't see us coming."
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
The throbbing in Tom's shoulder had woken him eventually — a dull, stabbing pain that every movement, every breath, seemed to irritate still further. Checking his watch, he realized that he'd slept through the day, the painkillers and exhaustion finally catching up with him.
He pulled the black satin bedsheets aside and sat up, noticing an untouched tray of food at the foot of the bed. There were no mirrors, no chandeliers, and, thankfully, no leopard skin in this room, although the ceiling had been painted black with the major constellations highlighted in gold leaf. He wondered whether Viktor had taken pity on him and deliberately placed him in a more subdued room. Subdued by her standards, at least.
Giving up on tying his shoelaces, he found his way past several armed guards who were patrolling the wide, parquet-floored corridors as if it were a government facility, and entered the dining room where Archie and Dominique were sitting at a massive ebony dining table.
"Tom!" Dominique exclaimed as she saw him. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine. What about you two?"
"Great, except that Viktor won't let us leave the house," Archie said with a resigned shrug. "We can't even use the phone."
"The good news is, the food's great." Dominique grinned. "Want something?"
"Don't listen to her, she's actually enjoying this," said Archie.
"Well, it makes a change," said Dominique. "Besides—"
Viktor chose that moment to stride into the room wearing beige combat trousers and a tight-fitting black top. A nickel-plated Sig Sauer was tucked into the small of her back.
"You're better." It was a statement rather than a question.
"Much."
"Good. Because we found someone…"
There was a scuffle in the doorway as two of her men frog-marched a hooded and handcuffed figure into the room at gunpoint.
"He showed up at your hotel, asking questions. Said he knew you. I just wanted to check before I had him disappear."
She reached up and snatched the hood off the man's head. Turnbull stood blinking at them, disoriented, a piece of tape plastered over his mouth.
Archie got up and walked over to him, his eyes narrowed as if scrutinizing Turnbull's face in minute detail.
"No, never seen him before," he sniffed eventually, sitting back down. "He must be one of them."
"Take him down to the cellar," Viktor ordered.
At this, Turnbull's eyes widened and he began to struggle frantically, the tape muffling his shouts.
"It's okay," Tom said with a smile. "That's Archie's idea of a joke. He's with us."
"Oh." Viktor, looking slightly disappointed, indicated with a wave that her men should remove the gag.
"Very funny," Turnbull said angrily as soon as he could speak. His lank black hair had tumbled down over his flushed and sweating face. He said something in Russian to one of Viktor's men. Viktor nodded her consent, and the handcuffs were whipped off.
"Serves you right for snooping around," Archie shot back.
"I wasn't snooping." Turnbull rubbed his wrists, his skin pink and sore. "Kirk told me you were staying there. He knew I was coming."
"Did you?" Archie asked Tom with surprise. "What for?"
"Presumably because, unlike you, he is mindful of the fact that I'm the one who got you involved in this. We're meant to be working together, remember?"
"Together?" Archie gave a short laugh. "You weren't the one getting shot at last night."
"That was you?" Turnbull gasped. "It's all over the news. What happened?"
"We're not sure," said Tom. "Someone latched on to us in Zurich. Next thing we know…"
"You think it's Renwick?"
"No." Tom quickly briefed Turnbull on the events of the previous afternoon, including his encounter with Renwick in the Catherine Palace. "If Renwick wanted me dead, he could have done it there and then."
"So Renwick knows about the Amber Room?"
"The Amber Room?" Viktor stepped forward, her voice eager. "Is that what this is all about?"
"Maybe," Tom said slowly, silently cursing Turnbull's indiscretion.
"But it's just a myth."
"What do you know about it?" Archie challenged her. "Viktor — the old Viktor — told me all about it."
"Why, what was his interest?"
"He was obsessed with the war. I've got a room downstairs full of his old maps and uniforms and flags. He even had an old Enigma machine restored so that he could use it to send messages to one of his American contacts for fun. But the Amber Room — it's just a legend."
"So what do you call this?"
Archie handed her the fragment of amber they had recovered from the satchel in Volz's vault. She gazed at it suspiciously, but when she next spoke, her voice sounded uncertain for almost the first time since they had met.
"It can't be… it's impossible."
"You're probably right. But, to be sure, we need to find that painting."
"And judging from the attention we've been getting, we must be looking in the right place," said Archie.
"Then maybe I can help, after all," Viktor conceded.
"The British government doesn't work with gangsters." Turnbull snorted dimissively.
"The British government, like all governments, works with whoever can get the job done," Tom corrected him. "Unless you just want to call it a day?"
Turnbull was silent, clearly considering his options, before turning to Viktor. "How can you help?" he asked.