Part 23 (1/2)
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 s.h.i.+rt.
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 s.h.i.+eld.
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 s.h.i.+eld.