Into the Flame (28 page)
Where was he? Where was that bastard Vadim?
Doug was ready to hang up when at last someone answered.
Music blared in the background. Voices babbled. Women laughed. And some guy with a pronounced Russian accent yelled, ‘‘What?’’
A party. That little prick was having a party.
‘‘Vadim,’’ Doug said tersely. ‘‘Now.’’
‘‘Who wants him?’’ the guy shouted.
‘‘The guy he just tried to kill.’’
The phone thudded to the floor.
Doug waited, unsure whether the kid who answered the phone would actually pass the message on.
But Vadim answered almost at once, and he sounded terse and tense. ‘‘
Which
guy I just tried to kill?’’
Which
guy I just tried to kill?’’
‘‘Doug Black.’’ Doug Black, who would set things right, or die trying.
‘‘Oh.’’ Vadim relaxed, chuckled. ‘‘You.’’
Doug had talked to this guy, told him his history, convinced him he was a rogue Varinski. He had sold himself to Vadim, and yet never had he despised Vadim more. Despised Vadim—and himself. ‘‘I got the job done for you. I gave you the coordinates of the Wilders’ home.’’
‘‘I paid you a cool ten mil for that,’’ Vadim reminded him pleasantly.
‘‘And to show your appreciation, you sent your goons after me.’’ Doug allowed every bit of his rage and frustration to show in his voice. Rage at Vadim. Frustration with himself for being so stupid as to let himself be bought out of loneliness and bitterness.
Vadim wasn’t impressed. He laughed. ‘‘I didn’t send them after you.’’
‘‘Liar.’’
‘‘I sent them after the Wilder girl. You got in the way.’’
Even worse. ‘‘I was
about
to get lucky.’’
about
to get lucky.’’
‘‘Yeah, sorry. My guys were under orders to get the job done and get it done fast.’’ Vadim’s voice grew hushed and thoughtful. ‘‘And they told me they had. They said you both went in the ocean and didn’t come out.’’
Doug needed to be careful, very careful, with what he next said to Vadim. ‘‘We both
jumped
in the ocean to get away from your assassins. The Wilder girl landed in a kelp bed. One of the stems wrapped around her neck like a noose. On her own, she had no chance to get back to the surface.’’
jumped
in the ocean to get away from your assassins. The Wilder girl landed in a kelp bed. One of the stems wrapped around her neck like a noose. On her own, she had no chance to get back to the surface.’’
‘‘You
saw
the body?’’
saw
the body?’’
‘‘I found her.’’ Deliberately, Doug relaxed the hand that held the phone. The needle on his barometer was falling, the wind gusts were rising, and he’d be lucky if the storm didn’t knock out the lines before he’d finished his business with Vadim. For sure he shouldn’t allow Vadim to piss him off so badly that he broke the phone with his grip.
‘‘Good man.’’ Vadim managed to sound both patronizing and pleased. ‘‘Did you drag the Wilder girl to shore?’’
‘‘Are you crazy? I was lucky to get out myself. That is one fucking cold ocean.’’ Doug spoke with his teeth clenched. ‘‘I had hypothermia.’’
‘‘Bummer.’’
‘‘I’m sure your snake guy is still crying.’’
‘‘Foka.’’ Vadim chuckled. ‘‘Scary guy, isn’t he?’’
‘‘Is he the one who’s going to take care of the Wilder problem?’’ Doug asked with an elaborate lack of concern.
‘‘I’m actually going to take care of the Wilder problem myself. The situation is too delicate to leave to subordinates.’’
‘‘What was it you told me you were going to do? Something about letting
US
immigration know who Konstantine really is and all the crimes he committed, and getting him shipped out of the country with his lovely wife?’’
US
immigration know who Konstantine really is and all the crimes he committed, and getting him shipped out of the country with his lovely wife?’’
‘‘That was my original plan.’’ Doug could hear the laughter in Vadim’s voice. ‘‘There’ve been a few changes.’’
‘‘What’s your plan now?’’ Doug was feeling sick. ‘‘Are you going to wipe them out financially, too?’’
‘‘Maybe something a little more than that. I’m just figuring to wipe them out.’’
Doug wanted to pound on the desk. How could he have been so stupid as to believe Vadim about the Wilders? About anything? How could he have sold himself and his talents to Vadim?
Vadim lowered his voice. ‘‘How about the icon? Did you find it?’’
‘‘Icon? What icon?’’
‘‘You remember. We talked about it.’’
They had. Vadim had been quite insistent about wanting it. ‘‘I wouldn’t know an icon if it bit me on the ass.’’
A woman’s loud shriek punctuated the noise of the party, and pandemonium broke out.
‘‘Hang on,’’ Vadim muttered.
The party sounds grew fainter. Doug heard a door close, and it was quiet.
Still Vadim spoke softly, as if he feared being overheard. ‘‘You’d know this one. It’s a small white tile, maybe three by three, an antique, with a painting of the Virgin Mary on it.’’
Doug laughed. ‘‘The great Varinski leader is collecting religious art now?’’
‘‘Find it, and I’ll pay twenty million.’’
Doug was playing dumb. He had studied the Varinskis, their organization, their history, their legend. He knew which icon Vadim sought. It had to be one of the four family icons the original Konstantine had delivered to the devil to cement the deal.
But those icons had vanished into the mists of time. Why did Vadim seek this one now? Why was this particular icon so important that he would pay such an exorbitant sum for it? How could Doug use this to his advantage? ‘‘There has to be more than one Russian icon out there. How would I know if I found the right icon?’’
‘‘Pick it up. It’ll burn you right to the bone.’’
Doug flexed his hand. ‘‘What’s this icon got against me?’’
‘‘Not just you. It’ll burn any Varinski.’’ Vadim’s accent was almost imperceptible. He sounded like a young American, and not a ruthless assassin, but Doug knew the truth. The guy was relentless in his pursuit of power, and that made his search for the icon all the more interesting.
‘‘So you’ve got everybody in your organization looking for this stupid icon? I mean . . . everybody who’s not at the party with you?’’
He could almost hear Vadim deciding how much to say. ‘‘My sources inform me that Firebird Wilder might very well have it.’’
‘‘Shit if I’m going into the water again to search her body,’’ Doug drawled. ‘‘I’ve already searched the stuff she left here. There was nothing like what you’re describing.’’
‘‘Send me everything.’’
‘‘Are you crazy? I tossed it in the ocean. When it gets out that she’s disappeared and I was the last one seen with her, the shit’s going to hit the fan. I need an alibi, and I’m saying she was brokenhearted because I wouldn’t take her back, and she committed suicide.’’ With disgust in his voice, Doug said, ‘‘You really fucked this up for me, you asshole.’’
‘‘Twenty mil for the icon should soothe your wounded feelings.’’
‘‘All right. I’ll look. But you know, I’ve been thinking. Last time I sold you information, you paid me, then tried to kill me.’’
‘‘I told you: You weren’t the target. Besides, you’re alive now, so stop whining. Twenty million for the icon.’’
Doug paid no attention. ‘‘I know every place Firebird has been. I know where I hid her car. If she had the icon, I’ll find it, and when I do, I’d better charge enough so that when your goons come for me, I’ve got protection. So I’ll sell it’’—he paused for effect— ‘‘for a hundred million.’’
‘‘A
hundred
. . . You . . . stupid . . . American!’’ Vadim’s youth showed in his stammered astonishment. ‘‘I’m not paying that!’’
hundred
. . . You . . . stupid . . . American!’’ Vadim’s youth showed in his stammered astonishment. ‘‘I’m not paying that!’’
‘‘Then I’ll put it up for auction. Someone will pay it.’’
‘‘You . . . you . . . Whether you find the icon or not, I am going to kill you!’’
Now
Doug could hear his accent, loud and clear.
Now
Doug could hear his accent, loud and clear.
‘‘Ooh. I’m trembling,’’ Doug mocked.
‘‘You dare!’’
‘‘I dare one hell of a lot.’’ With a great deal of satisfaction, Doug hung up.
There. He had gotten information, distracted and infuriated Vadim, and convinced him that Firebird was dead.
Now all he had to do was wait for the phone call he knew would come.
Opening the drawer in his desk, he looked down at the coil of seaweed inside—the coil that had trapped Firebird beneath the ocean, the coil she had worn like a necklace around her neck.
He grabbed the main stem. With great care, he lifted the kelp. He stared at the small, square white tile tangled in fronds—and the dark-eyed Virgin Mary stared reproachfully back.
Vadim didn’t yet realize it, but Doug held all the trumps.
Chapter Twenty-six
Adrik came through the kitchen door as Zorana pulled two loaves of sour bread from the oven.
Her sons always had a way of arriving as the work was done and the eating would begin.
Taking off his coat, he shook off the raindrops, hung it on the hook, then kissed her on the cheek. ‘‘Mama, that bread smells great.’’ He kissed his wife next, a longer kiss placed on Karen’s mouth, followed by a hum of delight.
‘‘You’re damp.’’ She smoothed his dark hair away from his face.
‘‘That’s quite a storm.’’ Seating himself at the long wooden table with the other men, he looked seriously at Konstantine, at Karen’s father, at Jasha and Rurik. When he spoke, he didn’t bother to include the women. ‘‘But nothing’s been harmed. Everything’s still in place, ready to wipe the Varinskis’ asses.’’
‘‘We need more,’’ Konstantine said.
‘‘We’ll do as much as we can, Papa. We just don’t know how much time we have.’’ Jasha had a list in front of him and a pen in his hand. ‘‘As it is right now, we’re going to make more than a few of them sorry they ever thought to try to kill a Wilder.’’
‘‘There are a lot of strangers in the woods these days,’’ Adrik said.
Zorana shook the loaves out of their pans and placed them on the cooling racks.
Jasha leaped up, grabbed one, and seated himself again. ‘‘They’re not campers, either.’’
‘‘It’s too cold for that.’’ Jackson Sonnet was short and bluff, a sportsman, an outdoorsman, and a hotelier with a sharp sense of what people would and would not do for fun.
According to him, camping in the winter was not a popular activity.
Rurik got up and got the butter out of the refrigerator. ‘‘Pass me a piece of bread.’’
‘‘Hey, Mama made that for me!’’ Adrik said.
‘‘She’s done welcoming you home, you big oaf.’’ Jasha tore the loaf, releasing a burst of steam and revealing the pale, textured interior. ‘‘She’s as sick of you as the rest of us are.’’
Adrik smacked him on the back of the head.
Jasha smacked back, and lost the loaf to Rurik’s swift sneak attack. ‘‘Hey!’’
Rurik grimaced as the brown crust burned his hand. He tossed the loaf from side to side as he tore it into smaller pieces. Placing one on a plate, he handed the rest to his father. ‘‘So, Papa, the Varinskis have begun to gather for battle. But there are others, too, men who watch us—and them.’’
‘‘Maybe the Varinskis have servants.’’ Konstantine sat in his wheelchair, his oxygen tank hooked to the back. Occasionally he put the mask to his face and took a long breath. He might be weak, but he was in his element.
‘‘Or figured you were so helpless they could hire someone to wipe you out,’’
Jackson
said.
Jackson
said.
The Wilder men exchanged incredulous glances, and unanimously declared, ‘‘Naw.’’
‘‘If you say so.’’
Jackson
took some bread, slathered it with butter, bit into it, and, with his mouth open, said, ‘‘Great, Zorana. Really great.’’
Jackson
took some bread, slathered it with butter, bit into it, and, with his mouth open, said, ‘‘Great, Zorana. Really great.’’
The women—Zorana, Ann, Tasya, and Karen— leaned against the kitchen wall, watching the men as the loaf disappeared at record speed.
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