“Apparently, Ely didn’t share with you what he did with me.”
Zovastina stepped close. She was a muscular woman, sallow-faced. Worrisome was the transient look of madness that occasionally revealed itself in anxious dark eyes. Especially now, when her guts were being stoked with both curiosity and anger. “Do you know the Iliad? When Achilles finally vents his anger and kills Hector, he says something interesting. I only wish my fury would compel me to cut away your flesh and eat it raw for what you’ve done. No one can keep the dogs off of your head, not if they brought me ransom of ten or twenty times as much, or more. Tell me, why are you here?”
“You brought me.”
“You never resisted.”
“You risked a lot coming to Venice. Why? It couldn’t be all political.”
She noticed that Zovastina’s eyes seemed a bit less belligerent.
“Sometimes we’re called upon to act for others. To risk things. No quest worth the effort is without risk. I’ve been searching for Alexander’s grave, hoping there might be answers there to some perplexing problems. Ely surely told you about Alexander’s draught. Who knows if there’s anything there? But to find the place. How glorious that would be.”
Zovastina spoke more in wonder than anger. She seemed genuinely moved by the thought. On the one hand she cast herself a foolish romantic, consumed with notions of greatness gained from dangerous quests. On the other, according to Thorvaldsen, she was plotting the death of millions.
Zovastina clamped Cassiopeia’s chin in a strong hold. “You need to tell me now what you know.”
“The priest lied to you. In the basilica’s treasury is an amulet that was found in the remains of St. Mark. A heart scarab with a phoenix carved into it. Remember the riddle. Touch the innermost being. Divide the phoenix.”
Zovastina seemed not to hear her. “You are beautiful.” Her breath stank of onion. “But you’re a liar and a cheat. Here to deceive me.”
Zovastina released her grip and stepped away.
Cassiopeia heard the bleating of goats.
MALONE MOUNTED THE HORSE.
“None of the roof guards will pay us any attention,” Viktor said. “You’re with me.”
Viktor hopped back onto his ride. “They’re beyond the playing field, in the woods. She’s planning on killing Vitt.”
“What are we waiting for?”
Viktor kicked his horse. Malone followed.
They galloped from the corral toward an open field. He noticed striped poles at each end and an earthen pan in its center and knew what was played here. Buzkashi. He’d read about the game, its violence, how deaths were routine, the barbarity and beauty it simultaneously displayed. Zovastina was apparently a connoisseur and the stabled horses were surely bred to participate, like the steed beneath him, loping forward with uncanny speed and ability. Littered across the grassy field were goats that seemed to provide an excellent manicure service. Maybe a hundred or more, and large, scattering as the horses thundered past.
He glanced back and noticed gun posts atop the palace. As Viktor had predicted, no one seemed alarmed, surely accustomed to their Supreme Minister’s exploits. Ahead, at the far end of the field, stood a thick stand of trees. Two paths cut a route into them. Viktor brought his horse to a stop. Malone reined his in, too. His legs dangled against dark streaks of sweat on the animal’s flanks.
“They’re maybe a hundred meters down that trail, in another clearing. It’s up to you now.”
He slid from the saddle, gun in hand.
“WE HAVE A PROBLEM,” STEPHANIE SAID. “IS THERE ANOTHER WAY out of here?”
Ely motioned toward the kitchen.
She and Thorvaldsen rushed forward just as the cabin’s front door burst inward. The man barked orders in a language she did not understand. She found the kitchen door and opened it, cautioning Thorvaldsen for quiet. Ely was speaking to the man in the same language.
She slipped outside. Thorvaldsen followed.
Automatic gunfire exploded from inside the cabin and bullets ripped into the heavy timbers behind them.
They fell to the ground as a window exploded. Glass showered outward. Bullets found trees. She heard Ely yell something to their attacker and used that instant to spring to her feet and race around the cabin toward the car. Thorvaldsen remained on the ground, struggling to stand, and she could only hope Ely delayed the guard long enough.
She reached the car, opened the rear door, and gripped one of the automatics.
Thorvaldsen rounded the cabin.
She assumed a defensive position with the car as a buffer, aiming across the hood, and motioned with the gun for Henrik to go right onto the front porch. He veered out of her line of fire, just as the guard appeared, his rifle leveled waist high. He seemed to spot Thorvaldsen first and pivoted to adjust his aim.
She fired twice.
Both bullets found the man’s chest.
She fired twice more.
The guard collapsed to the ground.
Silence gripped her. She did not move until Ely appeared from behind the dead guardsman. Thorvaldsen stepped off the porch. Her gun was still aimed, both hands locked on the stock. Shaking. She’d killed a man.
Her first.
Thorvaldsen walked toward her. “You okay?”
“I’ve heard others talk about it. I told them it was their job. But now I understand. Killing someone is a big deal.”
“You had no choice.”
Ely walked over. “He wouldn’t listen. I told him you weren’t a threat.”
“But we are,” Thorvaldsen said. “I’m sure his orders were for no one to make contact with you. That would be the last thing Zovastina would want.”
Stephanie’s mind began to clear. “We need to leave.”
SEVENTY-THREE
MALONE ADVANCED INTO THE WOODS, BLACK AND SILENT AND seemingly filled with threats. He spied a clearing ahead where sunshine spread unaffected by the leafy canopy. He glanced back and did not see Viktor, but understood why the man had disappeared. He heard voices, so he increased his pace, stopping behind a thick trunk near the path’s end.
He saw Cassiopeia. Tied between two trees. Her arms stretched outward. Irina Zovastina standing beside her.
Viktor was right.
Big trouble.
ZOVASTINA WAS BOTH INTRIGUED AND IRRITATED WITH CASSIOPEIA Vitt. “You don’t seem to care that you’re about to die.”
“If I cared, I wouldn’t have come with you.”
She decided it was time to give the woman a reason to live. “You asked on the plane about Ely. Whether he was alive. I didn’t answer you. Don’t you want to know?”
“I wouldn’t believe a word you said.”
She shrugged. “That’s a fair statement. I wouldn’t, either.”
She found a phone in her pocket and pushed one of the buttons.
STEPHANIE HEARD A RINGING. HER GAZE SHOT TO THE DEAD MAN lying on the rocky ground.
Thorvaldsen heard it, too.
“It’s Zovastina,” Ely said. “She calls me on the phone he brings.”
She darted to the body, found the unit, and said to Ely, “Answer it.”
CASSIOPEIA LISTENED AS ZOVASTINA SAID, “THERE’S SOMEONE here who wants to talk to you.”
Zovastina placed the phone close to her ear. She had no intention of saying anything, but the voice that came from the other side of the call sent an electric shock down her spine.
“What is it, Minister?” A pause. “Minister?”