The Property of a Lady (71 page)

Valentin watched her from across the square. He had tried to get to the Kazahn villa but the road leading to it was blocked by police cars and he had been forced to make a quick turn before they stopped him. He was driving back up the side street to the hotel when he spotted Genie in his mirror. He parked the car half a block away and followed her. He had not expected her to try to escape. He had thought she trusted him and he watched her sadly, trying to decide whether to grab her now or wait to see where she led him. She was jiggling the phone up and down but it was obviously out of order and she hobbled to the next one, but that too was out of order. She put her head in her hands, her body drooped in an attitude of defeat, and he thought how sad it was she had deceived him. Poor Genie. Poor, reckless, lovely girl.

Genie looked desperately around for help but there was no one, and she hobbled north through Sultanhamet Square, searching for an early café where she could make a call, praying for a taxi … anything … anyone…. She passed the old water tower at the top of deserted Yerebatan Street and paused outside the Sunken Palace.
Through the glass entry doors she could see an office—
and a telephone
. After picking up an empty beer bottle from the gutter, she hurled it through the glass, watching numbly as it shattered into a thousand fragments at her feet. Then she ducked quickly inside, grabbed the telephone, and dialed Michael’s number. “Pick up, oh, please, Michael, pick up,” she begged, sobbing with fear, sagging with relief as he answered on the fourth ring. “Michael, oh, Michael,” she cried, “it’s Anna!”

He said quickly, “Don’t try to explain. Just tell me where you are.”

“The
Yerebatan Sarayi
. I broke the glass door to get to the phone—”

“Wait right there. I’ll come and get you. Are you all right, Anna? Were you followed?”

“Yes … no …” she answered wildly. “Oh, Michael, I’m just so scared.”

“I’m coming to get you right now. Hide in the cisterns where no one can see you. I will be there as soon as I can.”

There was a
click
as he put down the receiver. Glancing nervously over her shoulder, she did as he had told her. But as she pushed through the turnstile and walked down the steps to the Sunken Palace, she felt as if she had just cut off her lifeline.

Outside, Valentin leaned against the wall, his arms folded and a look of pain op his face. She had spoken in English to Michael Kazahn; he had heard every word she said. Genie was Anna. She was his cousin.
Genie
was the “Lady” he was looking for.

“It was her,” Michael said to Refika. “She has escaped her captors. She is waiting for me at the
Yerebatan Sarayi”

A look of relief crossed her face and then she said anxiously, “You must call the police. There is no time to be lost.”

He shook his head. “No more police. This time Michael Kazahn is in charge.” He limped across the room to the display cabinet by Tariq’s portrait, unlocked it, and took out the ancient Tartar sword.

Refika stared at him, aghast. “What are you doing?” she demanded. “You are dealing with murderers, men with powerful guns, and you buckle on an antique sword as if you were going into battle with Genghis Khan.”

“I am a man of peace,” Michael said quietly. “There are no modern weapons in my house. This sword saw my father through many a battle with the Russians and now it will do the same for me.” After picking up his cane, he limped to the door. He stopped and gave her one last long look. “I will return,” he said, “with Anna.”

Refika heard the front door slam behind him and then the sound of the car’s engine. She ran to the window, watching as the taillights disappeared down the driveway, then with a little moan she covered her face with her hands. She felt like a wife sending her husband off to war. After a moment she ran to the phone and called Ahmet and told him what had happened.

“I am leaving now,” he said quietly. “I will be there with
the police. Mother, I want you to call Cal Warrender and Malik Guisen and tell them what’s happening. Do you know their numbers?”

She nodded. “Yes,” she whispered, tears raining down her face. “Please, Ahmet, hurry.”

Michael waved away the police blockade impatiently. “Out of my way,” he roared. “I have important business.”

They stepped back respectfully as the big silver Bentley Turbo roared down the hill, then the officer in charge hurried back to his car to report to headquarters that Kazahn Pasha had left in a hurry.

Ferdie caught the Bentley in his powerful binoculars as it wound its way down the hill. He was in the empty gas station forecourt across the main road, and he switched on the ignition, gunning his engine, waiting for the Bentley to reach the coast road. He smiled with satisfaction as the car skidded to a half stop at the intersection and then swung quickly right toward Istanbul. Michael Kazahn was in a hurry, and he bet he knew why. As he pulled out onto the coast road after him, he thought that the long wait had been worth it.

There was a single light over the stair leading down to the old cistern, and beyond it lay inky blackness. Genie closed the door behind her and walked slowly down the stone steps. Her feet throbbed painfully and the cuts on her ankles were bleeding again. She hesitated at the edge of the tiny pool of light, peering into the blackness before taking a tentative step forward. It was almost as bad as the cabin on the ship, only here the air felt moist and she could hear water dripping.

Istanbul was riddled with underground cisterns. The Basilica was one of the oldest, built by the emperor Constantine to store water brought in by aqueduct from the forests of Belgrade and kept here for emergencies like siege or drought. The monolithic Byzantine and Corinthian
columns supported a vaulted brick roof, and the cistern was so grand it had become known as the
Yerebatan Sarayi
, the Sunken Palace. In the old days men had explored it by boat, but now the constantly seeping water was kept to a depth of less than a yard and wooden walkways had been built to make exploration by tourists easier.

Genie remembered visiting it when spotlights had illuminated the eerie columned aisles and grottos, and the solemn music of Bach played over loudspeakers had made the old legends of men lost in endless underground tunnels and carried away by mysterious currents seem just what they were—legends. But now, as she stood in the dark on the concrete platform leading to the walkways, she could believe them. She thought of Cal, thousands of miles away, probably wondering what had happened to her, and she was swept by a sudden longing for his reassuring presence. She would give anything to see his steady red-setter eyes smiling into hers, to hear him telling her everything would be fine, there was no danger. And she would believe him, because this was not his doing, it was hers. It was she who had played a dangerous game, she who was responsible for her own fate. And now she was all alone.

She took a cautious step forward, her hands held out searching for a wall, testing the ground in front of her so as not to take a tumble into the murky water three feet below. Her fingers connected with a guide rail and she felt the wooden planks of the walkway. Keeping one hand on the rail, she stepped bravely forward into the dark, slowly following the path over the water until at last she came to a dead end. With a sigh of relief she sank to the floor, legs crossed, hugging her arms around her for warmth. The blackness pressed against her eyelids and the silence clamored against her straining ears as she began silently counting off the seconds, waiting for Michael to come and save her.

She had almost reached three minutes when she heard the sound. She stiffened, straining her eyes vainly into the darkness. It had been less than ten minutes since she had called Michael, and that was not enough time for him to get from his villa to the center of Istanbul. The patch of light near the steps was out of her vision around a corner, and from where she sat all was in darkness. She listened again but there was only the constant sound of dripping water, and she relaxed a little. She must have been mistaken. Her head drooped with weariness as she began counting—ten, twenty, thirty, forty seconds—and then she heard it again. Only this time she knew it was a footstep. And she knew it was not Michael’s—he would surely have called out to her.

Panic flooded through her. She pressed her hands against her mouth to stop herself from screaming.

“Genie?” a man’s voice called. “I know you are in here. Tell me where you are. I need to speak to you.”

It was Valentin
. She hid her head in her arms, thinking of how their bodies had entwined as they made love only hours ago, of how happy she had been in his arms, how safe she had felt, and she shook her head disbelievingly. Valentin had found her—he was going to kill her. And now even Michael Kazahn could not stop him.

“Genie, answer me,” he pleaded. “I must talk to you before it’s too late. We must stop before this whole thing blows up into a big international disaster. Answer me, Genie, please. I’m
begging
you.”

He sounded so concerned, so desperate, so
tender
, she could almost believe him, and she quickly reminded herself of who he was: Valentin Solovsky, a Russian, nephew of the head of the KGB whom she had just seen him murder. A trained killer who “did not enjoy it” but murdered when he must.

Genie hid her face in her hands and wept silently. It was only a matter of minutes before he found her—and then it would be all over.

Valentin picked his way by the beam of a tiny flashlight, cursing himself for not having a stronger one. It would be a slow job to find her like this, and the one thing he did not have was time. He guessed Kazahn would be there with the police within the next five minutes.

He swung the tiny beam around, illuminating snatches of dank vaulted walls and massive half-submerged columns. “Genie,” he called, his voice echoing eerily through the cavern, “please talk to me. There’s something you must know.” He waited for a moment and then said, “Very well then, just
listen
to me. I know now it was you I was looking for. But what you don’t know is
why
I was looking for you.”

Genie hugged her knees tightly, hiding her face as the silence fell again. “Genie, my father’s name was once Alexei Ivanoff. He is your mother’s brother. I am your cousin, your blood.—”

She buried her face in her arms. She wanted to shut her ears against his lies, to scream at him to stop it.

“My father was saved from the forest at Varishyna by Grigori Solovsky. He brought him up alongside his own son, Boris. Boris hated him. He knew who he really was and he wanted to destroy him, but to carry out his plan he needed proof of Alexei’s identity.
You
were to be his proof, and that is why I had to kill Boris Solovsky. I am telling you the truth. Please believe me, Genie. I did it for you.” He waited for a long moment and then said with a sigh, “I cannot tell you how sorry I am about this. I just wish it had never happened.”

She jumped as the door at the top of the steps suddenly crashed open and Michael’s voice called, “Anna? Are you there?”

She heard his uneven step on the stairs and thought of Valentin, waiting in the darkness to kill him.

“Michael,” she screamed. “He’s here, waiting for you, he’ll kill both of us!”

Valentin sighed as he took the Uzi from his pocket and
unfolded the stock. Kazahn had stepped into the pool of light and was glaring contemptuously into the dark void in front of him. Valentin shook his head sadly. He was just a white-haired old man. Life was so unfair. As he clicked the cartridge into position, he spotted a shadow. Someone else was coming down the stairs, a man holding an automatic pistol. His eyes narrowed as he recognized Ferdie Arnhaldt.

Ferdie paused halfway down the stairs, his gun trained on Kazahn. He had no compunction about what he was going to do. He had already killed Markheim and Abyss, and he would kill anyone else who stood in the way of his plan. He intended that the Arnhaldt companies would control world armaments. Governments would fawn for his favors. They would all fear him. He, Ferdie Arnhaldt, would control world power.

Michael spun around as Ferdie called his name. “I suggest you tell Anna to come out here,” the German said. “Tell her she has exactly one minute to make her whereabouts known or I will shoot you.”

“You stupid bastard,” Michael bellowed, unsheathing his sword, “do you think I am just going to stand here and let you kill her? The police are already outside. You are as good as a dead man.”

Arnhaldt began counting.

“Stop it! Stop it!” Genie screamed, stumbling back along the walkway. “Please stop, I’m coming.”

Ferdie’s head swung in her direction and, with a warrior’s cry, Michael rushed at him.

The Uzi spat sudden fire, shattering the silence. With a look of surprise on his face, Ferdie Arnhaldt turned to see his assassin. And then he fell dead at Michael’s feet.

Valentin ran toward them, the compact submachine gun at his shoulder, just as Genie appeared around the corner. “It’s Solovsky,” she screamed, warning her uncle. “He’ll kill you!”