32
1701 ARCTURUS ROAD
ON THE POTOMAC
SOUTH OF ALEXANDRIA
TUESDAY LATE AFTERNOON
Henley flew the helicopter in from the south, staying low over the Potomac. As he maneuvered to land on a barren patch near the shore, Liam saw a Hardy 50 motor yacht tied to a wooden dock, not twenty yards from the landing field. It was a boat he knew well, an English boat he’d seen often in the bad old days of his smuggling forays along the Irish coast. It was seaworthy and powerful, but small enough to guide upriver without attracting too much attention. Probably the boss’s boat, an easy getaway to wherever he wanted to go.
Henley touched down on the dirt, and Liam watched the rotor blades slow as Henley went methodically through his shutdown checklist. When the blades finally stopped, it was quiet as a graveyard save for the light lapping of the Potomac against the wooden dock. Amazing for a place so close to Alexandria and the millions of people in the metro area. He’d seen no major roads, no close neighbors. It was private.
Henley stepped out and opened their door. He pointed. “Petrov’s house is through that mess of trees.”
Liam used a Swiss Army knife from the tool kit to cut Elena free from the helicopter seat arm and pulled her out. He winced from the weight he had to put on his heel as he set her down on the skids beside him. He started to cut the duct tape from around her legs to let her walk freely but he chanced to look at her, saw rage in her eyes, and knew in his gut she’d go for him, even with her arms and hands taped together. He was hobbled enough she might well take him down, even with the Walther. And Henley might help her.
“Sorry, love, I know you want to take a strip off me, so you’ll have to stay trussed up a while longer.” He patted her cheek, goading her, but she didn’t say anything.
He looked toward the Potomac. “Who’s there on Petrov’s boat?” She turned automatically and he hit her hard with the butt of the Walther. She didn’t make a sound, just sagged against him.
“Hey!” Henley took a step toward him. “Why’d you do that?”
Henley was becoming a nuisance. “She’s all right. I’m thinking it’d be easier if you carry her. You didn’t think you’d be staying with the helicopter, did you, mate?”
“I was told to drop you and take off again.”
“Change of plans. Not going to happen. Come and get Elena. “Where’s Petrov’s man? Abram?”
“He’ll be meeting us.”
Liam saw the moment Henley realized he’d unwittingly given away the farm, and smiled. “Don’t feel bad, old man. The only person I could never fool was my da, a right mean son of a bitch. Come on, take her.”
Henley lifted Elena in his arms rather than over his shoulder, and staggered. Liam grinned. Elena was well muscled, not a lightweight.
Liam waved the Walther. “Walk ahead of me. If you do anything stupid, I’ll blow your head apart.”
Henley looked at the Walther, swallowed, gave him a terrified smile. “Ah, you know you never want to kill the pilot.”
So Henley thought it would be hard to kill a man who was funny. It was a good point. He smiled. “You’re still alive, aren’t you?” He waved the Walther. Always careful, Liam limped three steps behind Henley across the scrubby plot of land to a well-worn winding path through a thick copse of trees, full-leafed in midsummer. At the far edge of the trees a green yard spread out in front of them, sloping up to a house facing the Potomac. It wasn’t a mansion like some of the houses he’d seen from the air, not pretentious at all, but it wasn’t a shack, either. It was elegant in its own simple way, all wood and glass, beautifully weathered, a getaway, designed for the owner and guests to come and go in privacy. And the boss’s boat was thirty yards from the front door.
As Liam limped along the flagstone path toward the house, he saw a wide, roofed porch, with two ancient rocking chairs with faded red cushions. Liam couldn’t imagine someone like Petrov hanging out there, rocking back and forth, enjoying an evening martini. Everything was silent. He didn’t see the man Abram or any other sign of life in the house.
But then the wooden front door opened and an older man walked out onto the porch. He was deeply tanned and perfectly bald. He stood with his arms crossed, his head cocked to one side as he watched them come toward him. He was tall and fit, wearing a white suit, buttoned over a white shirt, white loafers on his bare feet. He wasn’t smiling.
“That’s Abram?”
Henley nodded.
“Say hello, you idiot.”
“Abram, how are you? Is Mr. Petrov here?”
“Yes, of course. Where else would he be?” Abram never looked away from the unconscious Elena in Henley’s arms. “He’s been waiting. You made good time. I see there’s a problem. Mr. Petrov will not be pleased. Bring Ms. Orlov inside. I assume she isn’t dead or dying?”
Liam stepped around Henley, aimed his Walther at Abram. “Hello, Abram. I’m Liam Hennessey. Don’t you worry about Elena, I gave her a small tap on the head to keep her quiet. Take us to Petrov.”
Abram’s big hands fisted, then relaxed. He turned on his heel and walked into the house, Henley and Liam following him.
Liam watched him lightly tap on a door, open it, and stick his head in. He heard Russian. Then another man’s voice, low and controlled, also speaking Russian.
Abram turned. “Come.”
Liam waved the Walther for Abram to precede them and limped behind Henley into a long narrow room with a full bank of wide windows facing the Potomac. He saw dark-stained wooden shelves on two walls, nearly empty, only a dozen or so hardcover books. At the far end of the room stood a big mahogany desk. He watched a man rise when he saw Elena unmoving in Henley’s arms and rush around the desk. His voice was sharp, with a clipped upper-class British accent. “What happened, Henley? Is she all right?” He turned quickly to Liam. “What did you do to her?”
“She’ll be fine, Mr. Petrov.”
“If you’ve harmed her, you’re a dead man.”
Liam smiled. “She’ll have a headache, but that should be all. You know as well as I do if I hadn’t knocked her out, she would have carved out my liver and trussed me up like a turkey for your pleasure. Why should I take a chance of your putting your foot on my neck or locking me up with no food or water until I tell you what you want to know?”
“I am not a barbarian, Manta Ray.”
“Call me Liam, Liam Hennessey. My old street name no longer fits me.”
Petrov ignored him, waved to Henley to put Elena down on the pale blue brocade sofa. So Elena really was Petrov’s Achilles’ heel. Liam felt the balance of power shift, and smiled.
Liam hated showing Petrov weakness, but Petrov already knew about his heel, Elena must have told him. He limped to a chair, sat down, and was glad the throbbing eased. He studied the boss. Petrov was in his midforties, not a big man, but he had presence, as if he understood power and how to wield it. Odd impression, that, but there it was. Petrov’s forehead was high, his dark hair spearing a thick widow’s peak in the middle of his forehead; his hair receding well back on each side. It reminded him of Nicolas Cage’s hair, the American actor Liam knew well, having watched his movies at the Old Goddard theatre in Belfast. He had Cage’s black eyes, too, but his nose was long and thin, his cheekbones high, and he had very white skin, like he’d never been in the sun. A vampire, the bloody Russian looked like a pretty vampire with Nicolas Cage hair.
Liam said, “I don’t speak Russian.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to,” Petrov said, leaving Because you’re an ignorant Irish git unspoken but clear as day. Petrov turned to Abram. “Take Mr. Henley to the kitchen and give him a beer. And summon Dr. Michaelov. He will examine Elena. And Mr. Hennessey’s heel, of course. I will call if I need anything.”
Liam heard the two men’s voices recede into the distance. He realized he was unconsciously rubbing his heel, and stopped. Petrov was whispering to Elena, touching her face, obviously concerned she might be badly hurt.
“You said you weren’t a barbarian, Mr. Petrov. I agree. You are far beyond a barbarian. But for all I know you could promise me the moon for what you need from that safe-deposit box and then shoot me clean between the eyes. Abram could no doubt bury me in that dirt field where your helicopter lands. I took Elena’s gun and that means we both have a measure of control. Now we can negotiate.”