Deeper Than Red (Red Returning Trilogy) (36 page)

“Hello, Liesl. I’m Maxum Morozov.”

F
elix watched Liesl Bower and Erica Bachman slip away from the field.
Where are they going? Alone.
He checked Kozlov’s position again. During the rehearsal, the man had concealed himself at the far end of the grandstand bulwark, visible to few but Felix, who’d visually tracked him from the moment he’d arrived at the grounds that morning. It gave Felix great pleasure to outwit his formidable teacher, now foe. But had the great Kozlov taken his eyes off the Bower woman too long? What was he doing? The one he’d come to watch over had disappeared right under his nose and the veteran spy had missed it. Felix could hardly contain his delight at watching that happen.
You old fool. You’ve lost your skills. You don’t even know where she is. Too bad for you. What an opportunity for me.

To pursue the women, he couldn’t leave through the door he’d entered in the dark that morning. Instead, he gathered his weapons, lowered himself through a back window of the tower, and dropped to the ground. Perhaps he should try his boss once more before bearing down on the target. He crossed behind the far spectator stands and merged into the indigo depths of the woods, only then stopping to phone Ivan once more. Again, there was no answer, only the same barely audible beeps. This time, he waited to see if they might convert to an open line, but nothing more happened. He ended the call and wound his way toward the lake.

Evgeny had just ended a phone call that had distracted him too long from his vigil over Liesl. Now he was desperate to locate her. He raced from his hideout behind broken columns at one end of the long grandstand, down the cement strata of stairs toward the concert stage below. His hasty descent must have caught Max’s eye. The violinist now turned to face Evgeny, who waved him off the stage.

Max put down the violin he’d been tuning and headed down the portable steps to the ground.

“Where’s Liesl?” Evgeny called at a half run toward Max.

Max turned to look around him. “I don’t know.” Evgeny watched the young man’s slim body straighten to attention. “What’s the matter?” The voice echoed alarm.

“Where’s Cade?”

Max pointed behind him. “Up on the stage. What’s wrong?”

“Come with me.” Evgeny led Max a short distance from the rest of the musicians, who were securing the last of the instruments and packing up music.

Evgeny’s report was swift and blunt. “My contact in Moscow did a check on your girlfriend. She is a freelance spy. She works for whoever will pay her.” Viktor had finally searched the right files.

Max stepped backward and nearly stumbled, but Evgeny kept charging. “And the one paying her right now is your father.”

The color drained from Max’s stricken face.

“Where is she?” Evgeny pressed.

“Erica?”

“No. Liesl!”

Max seemed to have lost all bearings, then suddenly, he spun toward the stage. “Cade!” he hollered.

“Right here,” Cade called, approaching the edge of the stage. It must have been the sight of Max and Evgeny together and the looks on their faces that made Cade leap from the stage and run toward them. Max quickly repeated the news to him, then asked, “Where is Liesl? And Erica?” All three men pivoted in every direction, but could see neither woman.

Evgeny’s phone beeped. He stepped away and took the call. A near breathless Ava Mullins told him, “One of the phones we took from Volynski’s boat just received a call. Our people broke through the encryption. The signal came from where you are! Somebody there is trying to reach him!”

Evgeny’s thoughts raced. “Make them think they have,” he told her. “Return the call and get somebody to fake the voice.”

“That’s risky. We could lose the lead.”

“We could lose Liesl! And Max!” Evgeny briefed her on Erica and who she was working for.

While he was still speaking to Ava, Max called to him from a huddle of musicians, one of them pointing toward the far trees. “The lake!”

Liesl recoiled at the name.
Maxum Morozov!
She stared at the man as if he were an apparition.

He moved closer to the boulders Liesl had just climbed. Perched on top, she was trapped. “Erica!” she called.

“Quiet,” Maxum ordered. “Be still.” He looked away and nodded. Erica stepped from the other side of the rocks and stood before Liesl.

“I’m really sorry,” Erica offered weakly, her eyes drifting toward the ground.

Liesl struggled to make sense of what was happening. “What have you done?” she cried to Erica.

“She did what I told her to do,” Maxum answered, cautiously searching the woods around them, then turned back to Liesl. He was oddly composed. “She’s been watching Max for me.”

What?

“Ivan is dead,” he said, “but another has already risen to take his place. And his eye is on my son.”

Liesl stared at the man. Max had once described his father’s imposing stature and strength. But the man before her now was slumped, his face hollowed. Liesl had heard of his cruel and violent temper. What was this she heard now? A different kind of voice saying …
my son.

“But I will not show myself to Max. You must carry something to him for me. Hand deliver it with great care. Erica has it, but she and I must disappear now.”

Liesl turned to her. “It was all an act,” she accused Erica. “You knew what was happening. And Max meant nothing to you.” Liesl felt outrage rise up like bile to her throat. “He loved you. Both of you!” Her eyes darted between the two. “And you both betrayed him!”

“Keep your voice down and listen,” Maxum ordered gruffly. “We don’t have time for this. You and Max are in danger from—”

“From me,” came the voice.

A man approached from behind Maxum, a man holding a gun with a long silencer attached.

“That’s him!” Erica cried to Maxum, who whirled around too late. Liesl watched him reach inside the pocket of his jacket.

“Stop!” the man ordered Maxum. “Take your hand off the gun.”

It was then that Liesl attempted to leap from the boulder.

“You!” the man called, turning his weapon on her. “Sit down!”

Turning back to Maxum, he said, “It sounds to me like you’ve switched sides, old man. I thought you and Glinka were a team. He’ll be sad to hear about this.”

“Felix Shevcik,” Maxum snarled the name, showing his empty hands to the man. “Ivan’s little sicko.”

But the man just laughed. “Not this time, I’m afraid.” He turned leering eyes on Liesl. “I should have taken the lovely Miss Bower long before now, when I had the chance, and the privacy to relish the pleasure.” He glanced back at Maxum and shrugged. “But Ivan said wait, and he’s the boss.”

“Not anymore,” Maxum said evenly, one hand signaling something to Erica. “He’s dead.”

Felix laughed again. “Still the trained liar.”

“When was the last time you spoke to him?” Maxum prodded.

Felix didn’t respond at first, then, “Don’t mess with me. I have work to do.” But as he raised his gun, a phone somewhere on him vibrated and he hesitated. For just a couple of seconds, he seemed distracted and unsure of what to do, the gun swaying just a bit. But it was all the time Maxum needed. He reached for his gun, dropped to the ground, and took the shot. But even the distracted Felix was faster. He pumped two bullets into Maxum. Then turned the gun on Liesl. Before he could fire, though, three shots rang out. His body jerked violently, and he crumpled to the ground, twisted and still.

The gun still in his hand, Evgeny dashed toward the body. Only after confirming that Felix was dead, did he turn his attention to Liesl. He climbed up the boulder and reached for her hand. “Come down. It’s all over.” But she couldn’t move.

“I, I can’t,” she stammered. Then she heard a loud thrashing through the trees and looked past Evgeny. Cade burst through ahead of Max and raced for her. Evgeny stepped aside as Cade scrambled toward Liesl and lifted her to him. As he did, she saw Max drop suddenly to the ground. “Please put me down,” she asked Cade, finally summoning her strength. She grabbed his and Evgeny’s arms and let them help her off the slick rocks, then rushed to Max.

He’d just stripped the shirt from his body and pressed it into the hole in his father’s chest. But Maxum Morozov reached for his son’s bloodied hand and pulled it away. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “This is better.” The gurgling in his mouth produced a stream of bright red blood.

“We’ll get you to a hospital, Dad. You’ll be just fine.” Max looked frantically toward Cade, but Erica was already punching in an emergency call.

“No, Max,” came the fading whisper. “No heroics for me. Now listen …” He tried to raise his head. “Erica …”

Max rounded on the girl as she came up and knelt beside him, his eyes piercing hers. “Go away! I don’t want to see—”

“No,” Maxum wheezed. “She’s not the enemy. It’s Glinka.” He waved a hand toward Erica, who jumped up to retrieve her bag. When she returned, she pulled a large envelope from inside and handed it to Max.

“Evidence against Glinka.” Maxum strained for the words. “Proof he ordered …” A spasm cut his breath. “… ordered Gorev’s murder.” He shook his head. “Legitimate proof … not my forgeries.” He managed a blood-stained smile.

“Dad, don’t talk. The ambulance will be here in seconds.”

Maxum reached for his son’s hand again. This time he held on to it. “I had to come. To see you.” Another smile. “You’re a fine musician.” He nodded slightly. “I’m very proud of …” His body lurched in a spasm. He gasped once, and that was all.

“Dad! Dad!” Max cradled his father and mourned from somewhere deep and untapped for too long.

Liesl slid close and laid her hand on his back. “He came to warn us.”

They sat quietly on the ground next to the body until they heard the sirens. Only then did they turn to see Erica watching them from a distance.

But Evgeny was gone.

M
ax and Liesl refused to cancel the concert. With Cade, they returned to the Bernhoff estate and a fitful nap for all three. Erica had slipped away after the police questioning. No one knew where she’d gone.

When Max awoke that afternoon, he experienced just a trace of peace. Was it relief? Closure? The treacherous journey of Maxum Morozov finally at an end? He didn’t know, only that there was a welling up of hope for something undefined.

He eased from his bedroom, passed the closed door to Liesl and Cade’s room and slipped out of the house without even a servant observing. The path he and Erica had taken that morning lay ahead. He felt a warm breeze stir against him and he laid a hand over what had been his bare and bloodied chest just hours ago. His father’s blood—tainted yet poured out in a final act of caring. But was it enough to wash away the wound scabbed over many times in the soul of Max Morozov?

He stepped up his pace and moved into the open meadow, crossing it without a thought for who might lurk just beyond. Until he heard a rustle in the grass behind him and turned.

“Can we talk?” Erica called to him.

Why not?
he thought. She was dead to him, as well. He didn’t answer but waited for her to reach him.

“It won’t take long,” she said. “I’m flying home in a few hours.”

“I’m not sure Israel needs another spy walking its streets.” He wished to extinguish his anger but couldn’t.

“My home is Berlin. It always has been. And I’m not a Jew.”

He ran a hand through his hair and laughed dryly. “You’re just one illusion after another. I’ll bet your name isn’t Erica Bachman either.”

“It’s Erica. You don’t need to know the rest.”

“Of course not. Why should I care?” But he did. Why was he acting so childish?

“Max, I hired on for a job. Your father was just another employer who paid well. I was to stay close to you for maybe a year, he said. Until he could be sure you weren’t at risk.” She stepped closer. “I didn’t know the man we killed was after Liesl.”

“We
killed?”

“Three shots. Two from Kozlov, one from me.” She slid the long skirt up her leg, exposing the holstered gun above her knee. “They’ll run ballistics on all three bullets in the guy, but won’t find a match off Evgeny’s. I hear he’s too good for that. All the police know is that Liesl and I were followed and your father tried to protect us. He fired and missed. My shot connected. So did someone else’s, though I didn’t know who the guy was, I told them. If they identify Felix, they’ll assume the fourth shooter was another hit man like him. They’d be right about that, wouldn’t they?”