The Assassins Part 23

Her expression tense, Liza stopped at the top of the steps. "We have uninvited visitors," she told them. "Stay up here."

Pyotr slipped his PB pistol from his shoulder holster. "Need help?"

"No. Is covered."

Motioning, Liza led the men downstairs and past the Citron to the big door. She divided them in half-Spartak and she on one side, and the two other guards on the other. All moved back into the shadows. Seconds later, two strangers-a man with light brown hair and a redheaded woman-slid in under the closing door, pistols up and ready. Their expressions were wary.

"Now!" Liza ordered.

She and her people converged, their weapons aimed down at the crouching pair. The couple exchanged a glance and stood, swinging their pistols slowly around, but they were outnumbered and outmaneuvered.

Liza c.o.c.ked her head, studying them. "Before you ask, you do not get to know my name or what this place is. Unless you behave yourselves, you will not leave alive. So, to begin, you must answer two questions: Who are you? What are you doing here?"

To Katia, the man did not appear at all intimidated. He was lean and muscular, an outdoorsy sort, with a craggy face. His nose was strong, his jaw solid. A good-looking man if you liked them unfinished. He wore a Hawaiian shirt.

Staring across the garage at Pyotr, he said, "My name is Greg Roman. We have a message for Krot-Pyotr Azarov. That's you."

As soon as the man identified him, Pyotr changed-the warmth he had been showering on Katia vanished, replaced by a chilly emptiness. She stared at him.

Pyotr did not even glance at her. He was focused on the strangers. His voice deepened. "Yes, I'm Krot. Who's your message from?"

The redheaded woman interrupted: "My name is Courtney Roman. Are you all right, Katia?"

The woman was probably in her early thirties, Katia judged. Pretty enough, with an oval face and blue eyes. There was an air of confidence about her.

The question brought Katia up short. She had made peace with Pyotr's lies, and she had been happy. But now Pyotr was different. His handsome face was a mask. His eyes were flat, without depth.

Breaking her gaze away, Katia cleared her throat. "I'm okay."

"Krot wants to find your father," the woman warned. "He's already killed once. You're in danger, especially if you refuse to tell him."

Katia frowned.

Pyotr was getting impatient. "Did the Carnivore send you?"

The man nodded. "He wants a meeting."

"Agreed, but only under certain conditions. My conditions." Pyotr did not query, or discuss. His voice commanded.

Katia felt a surge of fear, then fury with herself. "Pyotr!"

He scowled, not looking at her but instead watching the man and woman. "Yes?"

"You're playing weasel-and-rat with the Carnivore. Do you honestly care? If you could vanish so well the KGB couldn't find you, then you sure as h.e.l.l ought to be able to hide from a few a.s.sa.s.sins who don't have nearly the same resources." Katia's voice rose. "There'll always be one more meeting. One more threat you think you have to take care of. I can't live the way my mother did. I can't keep worrying about you-and me. Stop this. Stop it now, or I'm going back to Maine." She heard the strength in her voice and realized she meant it.

His eyes still on the man and woman, Pyotr told her, "That sounds good in theory, but a lot's at stake, and it's not just money."

"You're right," Katia retorted. "The stakes are huge. Your life. Your future. Our future. Make a decision. This stupid game-or me."

The garage was silent. She was aware everyone was staring at her. She had surprised them. Good, she thought. f.u.c.k all of them and their miserable lives!

The fingers of Pyotr's free hand twitched nervously. "I don't want to lose you, Katia, but I need to do just this one last thing with the Carnivore-"

"Horses.h.i.t. Good-bye." She spun on her heel and marched back toward the door and pushed it open.

"Wait!" Pyotr's voice sounded like the Pyotr she knew. "I'll quit looking for Seymour. No, I've quit. Right now."

She turned. "How do I know you mean it?"

He holstered his pistol, walked to her, and took her hand. "Let's leave."

She hesitated only a moment. "Yes. I'd like that."

Holding hands, they walked down the steps into the garage.

"As you can see, Mr. Roman, my plans ... our plans ... have changed," Pyotr told the man. "Let's be clear. The Carnivore doesn't want a meeting with me as much as he wants my tablet pieces and information about how to find Seymour. I still don't know where Seymour is, and I'm quitting the business for the last time. Both are the truth. Here, take my cuneiform pieces." Moving slowly, he reached inside his jacket and removed the aluminum box. "This will prove I'm done. In fact, I'm so done that if The a.s.sa.s.sins' Catalog is published, I don't care."

"What about your father, Katia?" the woman asked. "We'd like to talk to him."

Katia found herself bristling. "You can't do that. Ever."

"Let's take the Citron, Katia." Pyotr pulled her toward it. "Our suitcases are already in the trunk. That makes it easy."

"Yes. What a wonderful idea. Yes."

Pyotr turned to Liza. "I'll send you cash for the car, old friend. Do you mind parting with it?"

Liza was smiling an amused smile. "I do not mind. Go, go. Prashchytye. Zhilyim vam shchstya!" Farewell. We wish you happiness. "Hata, open the garage door. Our friends are leaving."

As the door rose, Katia and Pyotr climbed into the auto. It smelled of fine leather. He started the engine. They looked at each other. She could not believe her dream finally had come true.

"I'm so happy," she told him. "I've heard it said you can't choose love; it chooses you."

He pulled her across the seat and kissed her.

She let herself sink into him. "Wow."

He grinned. As he backed the car out of the garage, Katia waved good-bye. The group lowered their weapons and waved back. Soon the Citron was in the street, and Pyotr was turning the steering wheel to drive off.

Neither Pyotr nor Katia saw a gunman sprint up on the driver's side of the car. The man carried an F2000 bullpup a.s.sault rifle set to automatic. He wore a bulky black jacket and a motorcycle helmet with a dark face shield.

Katia screamed. Krot reached for his pistol at the same time he whipped his head around.

The gunman made it a rule to avoid looking into the faces of his victims. But this time was different. He owed Krot the respect of letting him know who was taking him out. He lifted his face shield.

When Krot saw him, his eyes widened in shock. "But I'm out of the game," he mouthed.

"Nothing personal," the a.s.sa.s.sin answered as he fired.

58.

The street behind the souk was cast in evening shadows. Judd and Eva had been heading out of the garage when the helmeted gunman fired into the Citron. They saw Krot's face explode, and then Katia Levinchev's. Blood sprayed through the car and out the broken windows. The gunman had not aimed at Katia, so the rounds that hit her had to have gone through Krot's head first. Eva's heart seemed to stop.

The gunman spun on his booted heels and raced off.

"You set them up!" Liza screamed at Judd and Eva from the doorway. "You're dead, dead!" She aimed her gun.

But they were already tearing off after the killer, who jumped on a motorcycle. As the man kicked it into gear, Judd threw himself at him. But the bike bolted off, and Judd grabbed air and hit the street. Swearing, he started to scramble up.

"Stay down!" Eva snapped. She was crouched, Glock in both hands, firing, as the motorcycle angled sharply into the oncoming traffic. She paused, then had a clear shot as the motorbike wove around an SUV. She fired twice more. One bullet put a hole in the bike's tail and the second came close to the killer's left arm. The motorcycle swung in front of the SUV and out of sight.

"Let's follow him!" Their car was on the other side of the street. She could do a U-turn and- "Stop, Eva!" Judd scrambled up.

"What?"

He turned back toward the garage. "We'll never catch him. I've got another idea." Hurrying, he held his Beretta down close to his thigh where it was less noticeable. "Liza may be able to help us find Seymour."

She caught up with him. "In case it's slipped your mind, she just threatened to scrub us."

As they neared the garage, Hata drove the Citron back inside. He stared straight ahead, his profile wooden. There was a streak of blood on his cheek. Neither Liza nor any of her other men were in sight.

Watching warily, Eva and Judd followed the Citron. The car's trunk opened silently, and the metallic odor of fresh blood drifted out. There was Krot's corpse, tucked in neatly, curved like the letter C.

Liza stepped out from the shadows, carrying a full highball gla.s.s. She glanced at Krot's body and drank. As she lowered the gla.s.s, she sighed then addressed them. "I saw you try to stop the p.r.i.c.k that killed them. Is not necessary to wipe you. Do not give me a reason."

Hata climbed out from behind the steering wheel. His white linen djellaba was b.l.o.o.d.y and matted with gore, and his expression was grim. One of the guards opened the pa.s.senger door and lifted out Katia. The guard curled her body into the trunk with Krot's.

Liza looked away and drank.

Hata returned to his driving post again, and the guard got into the pa.s.senger seat. Hata backed the car out and drove off down the street.

"Where will they leave Katia and Krot?" Eva asked.

"In the souk. At least they will be together. Is best I can do for them." Liza drank again.

Eva hesitated. "I'm sorry."

Liza gave a Slavic shrug. "Part of the business."

"Did either of them say how to find Seymour or Katia's father?" Judd asked.

"No. Are important men?" Liza asked.

"Maybe," Judd said. "I noticed you've got security cameras to spot anyone trying to break in. That tells me you're seriously concerned about security, and that you may have extended your concern to indoors."

Liza's eyes narrowed. She said nothing.

"We can offer you one thousand dollars for any recordings you have of Krot and Katia-video, audio, whatever."

Liza's face darkened. She seemed to think about it. "Is more likely for two thousand."

"Done." He pulled out his wallet. His Beretta in one hand, the wallet in the other, he thumbed it open so she could see the hundred-dollar bills.

"I should have asked for more." Liza turned away. "Spartak, watch they do not steal anything."

A tall, muscular man with a bowling-ball head appeared on the landing. He was carrying a Radom Beryl carbine. Saying nothing, he aimed it at Judd.

Liza hurried upstairs and into the building.

The next few minutes were tense. Spartak continued to aim at Judd, while Eva and Judd pointed weapons at Spartak. No one spoke.

At last, Liza returned, sauntering down the steps into the garage, carrying a CD and her refilled highball gla.s.s.

She held up the CD to Judd. "So, American, here is the audio of everything that was said in their room. It is noise activated. Give me money."

Judd took the CD and turned over the cash.

Liza counted the bills. "Nice doing business with you." She nodded at Spartak, and he lowered his weapon.

Judd grabbed Eva's arm and hustled her out. Lamplight cast the street in a ghostly glow. They waited for an old Volkswagen bus to pa.s.s and then ran to their car and climbed inside.

Shoving the transmission into gear, Eva drove off, pa.s.sing the place in the street where the motorcyclist had killed Krot and Katia. "It's terrible Katia died. She wasn't involved in any of this."

Judd nodded. "You did a good job going after the gunman. He planned the a.s.sault well and moved fast. He was a pro."

Judd did not hand out praise lightly. As she nodded thanks, he slid the disk into the car's player and punched the ON b.u.t.ton.

Static sounded, then music by Rachmaninoff. As they drove on, they listened.

59.

Life was to be lived linearly, or so Eva had always believed. But now as she listened to the recording of Pyotr and Katia's conversation, she was thrown back in time to the almost palpable love they had for each other. Against all common sense, Eva found herself rooting for them to survive.

Pyotr was talking: "Will you tell me how to get in touch with your father now? I just want to find a way to reach out to Seymour."

"Papa is dead," Katia admitted. "He died seven years ago."