“Place names are sacred in this part of the world,” Ely said. “That’s one reason why the Asians hated the Soviets. They changed all of them. Of course, they were changed back when the Federation was created. Another reason Zovastina is so popular.”
Stephanie searched for a way to contact the house from the gate, a call box or a switch, but saw nothing. Instead, two men appeared from behind the minarets. Young, thin, dressed in camouflage fatigues, bearing AK-74s. One pointed his weapon while the other opened the gate.
“Interesting welcome,” Thorvaldsen said.
One of the men approached the car and motioned, yelling something in a language she did not understand.
But she didn’t need to.
She knew exactly what he wanted.
ZOVASTINA ENTERED THE PASSAGEWAY. SHE’D RETRIEVED THE controller from O’Conner’s dead grasp and used it to close the portal. A series of bulbs, linked by wire, hung inside iron brackets at periodic intervals. The narrow corridor ended ten meters ahead at a metal door.
She approached and listened.
No sound from the other side.
She tried the latch.
It opened.
The top of a stone staircase, chiseled from the bedrock, began on the other side and dropped steeply.
Impressive.
Her opponent had certainly thought ahead.
VINCENTI CHECKED HIS WATCH. HE SHOULD HAVE HEARD FROM O’Conner by now. The phone affixed to the wall provided a direct line upstairs. He’d resisted calling, not wanting to reveal himself. They’d been ensconced here now pushing three hours and he was starving, though his gut churned more from anxiety than hunger.
He’d occupied the time securing data on the lab’s two computers. He’d also brought to a conclusion a couple of experiments that he and Lyndsey had been running to verify that the archaea could be safely stored at room temperature, at least for the few months needed between production and sale. Concentrating on the experiments had helped with Lyndsey’s apprehension, but Walde remained agitated.
“Flush everything,” he said to Lyndsey. “All the liquids. The keeping solutions. Samples. Leave nothing.”
“What are you doing?” Karyn asked.
He didn’t feel like arguing with her. “We don’t need them.”
She rose from the chair where she’d been seated. “What about my treatment? Did you give me enough? Am I cured?”
“We’ll know tomorrow or the next day.”
“And if I’m not? What then?”
He appraised her with a calculating look. “You’re awful demanding for a woman who was dying.”
“Answer me. Am I cured?”
He ignored her question and concentrated on the computer screen. A few flicks of the mouse and he copied all of its data onto a flash drive. He then enabled the hard drive’s encryption.
Karyn grabbed his shirt. “You’re the one who came to me. You wanted my help. You wanted Irina. You gave me hope. Don’t let me hang.”
This woman may prove more trouble than she was worth. But he decided to be conciliatory. “We can make more,” he calmly said. “It’s easy. And if we need to, we can take you where the bacteria live and let you drink them. They work that way, too.”
But his assurance did not seem to satisfy her.
“You lying son of a bitch.” She released her hold. “I can’t believe I’m in this mess.”
Neither could he. But it was too late now.
“Everything done?” he asked Lyndsey.
The man nodded.
Glass shattering caught Vincenti’s attention. He turned to see Karyn holding the jagged remains of a flask and lunging toward him. She brought the improvised dagger close to his belly and stopped, her eyes alive with fire. “I need to know. Am I cured?”
“Answer her,” a new voice said.
He turned toward the lab’s exit.
Irina Zovastina stood in the doorway, with a gun. “Is she cured, Enrico?”
Malone 3 - The Venetian Betrayal
EIGHTY-ONE
MALONE SPOTTED A HOUSE ABOUT TWO MILES AWAY. VIKTOR HAD flown them in from the north, after veering east and skirting the Chinese border. He assessed the structure and estimated forty or so thousand square feet spread over three levels. They faced its rear, the front overlooking a valley that scooped a cul-de-sac out of the mountains on three sides. The house seemed to have been situated intentionally on a flat, rocky hillock overlooking the broad plain. Scaffolding wrapped one side where, it appeared, masons had been working. He noticed a sand pile and a mortar mixer. Beyond the promontory, iron fencing was being erected, some already standing, more stacked nearby. No workers. No security. Nobody in sight.
A six-bay garage stood off to one side, the doors closed. A garden that showed evidence of careful tending sprouted between a terrace and the beginnings of a grove that ended at the base of one of the rising peaks. The trees sprouted brassy new spring leaves.
“Who owns that house?” Malone asked.
“I have no idea. The last time I was here, maybe two or three years ago, it wasn’t there.”
“Is this the place?” Cassiopeia asked, looking out over his shoulder.
“This is Arima.”
“Damn quiet down there,” Malone said.
“The mountains shielded our approach,” Viktor pointed out. “Radar’s clean. We’re alone.”
Malone noticed a defined trail that routed through a bushy grove, then worked a path up the rocky incline, disappearing into a shadowy cleft. He also saw what looked like a power conduit marching up the rock waste, parallel to the trail, fastened close to the ground. “Looks like somebody is interested in that mountain.”
“I saw that, too,” Cassiopeia said.
He said, “We need to find out who owns this place. But we also need to be prepared.” He still carried the gun that he’d brought with him into the country. But he’d used a few rounds. “You have weapons on board?”
Viktor nodded. “The cabinet in back.”
He looked at Cassiopeia. “Get us each one.”
ZOVASTINA ENJOYED THE SHOCK ON BOTH LYNDSEY AND VINCENTI’S faces. “Did you think me that stupid?”
“Damn you, Irina,” Karyn said.