She pivoted her legs and again threw Vitt off her, but maintained a savage grip on one arm, which she used to yank the woman upward.
Her knee met Vitt’s chin. A blow she knew would send shock waves through the brain. She’d felt that agony herself. She slammed a fist hard into Vitt’s face. How many times had she attacked another chopenoz on the playing field? How long had she held a weighty boz? Her strong arms and hands were accustomed to pain.
Vitt teetered on her knees, dazed.
How dare this nothing think her an equal? Vitt was through. That much seemed clear. No fight left in her. So Zovastina gently nestled the butt of her heel against Vitt’s forehead and, with one thrust, rudely shoved her opponent to the ground.
Vitt did not move.
Zovastina, as much out of breath as anger, steadied herself, and swiped the dirt from her face. She turned, satisfied with the fight. No wit, humor, or sympathy seeped from her eyes. Viktor nodded his approval. Looks of admiration filled her soldiers’ faces.
It was good to be a fighter.
MALONE ENTERED THE SUBTERRANEAN LABORATORY. THEY WERE at least thirty feet underground, surrounded by bedrock with a burning house above them. The air reeked of Greek fire and he’d felt a familiar stickiness on the steps leading down.
Apparently, biological research was being conducted here, as several gloved containers and a refrigerator labeled with a bright biohazard warning filled the lab. He and Ely hesitated in the doorway, both of them reluctant to venture farther. His reluctance was fueled by packs of clear liquid that lay scattered on the tables. He’d seen those before. In the Greco-Roman museum that first night.
Two bodies lay on the floor. One an emaciated woman in a bathrobe, the other an enormous man in dark clothes. Both had been shot.
“According to Lyndsey,” Ely said, “Vincenti was holding the flash drive when Zovastina killed him.”
They needed to finish this. So he stepped carefully around the tables and stared down at the dead man. Three hundred pounds, at least. The body lay on one side, an arm outstretched, as if he’d tried to rise. Four bullet holes in the chest. One hand lay open, near a table leg, the other fist closed. He used the rifle barrel to pry open the fingers.
“That’s it,” Ely said with anticipation, as he knelt and removed the flash drive.
The younger man reminded Malone of Cai Thorvaldsen, though he’d only seen that face once, in Mexico City, when his life first intersected with Henrik Thorvaldsen’s. The two younger men would be about the same age. Easy to see why Thorvaldsen had been drawn to Ely.
“This place is primed to burn,” he said.
Ely stood. “I made a bad mistake trusting Zovastina. But she was so enthusiastic. She seemed to really appreciate the past.”
“She does. For what she can learn from it.”
Ely motioned to his clothes. “I have that stuff all over me.”
“Been there. Done that.”
“Zovastina’s a lunatic. A murderer.”
He agreed. “Since we have what we came for, how about you and I not become one of her victims?” He paused. “Besides, Cassiopeia will have my ass if anything happens to you.”
Malone 3 - The Venetian Betrayal
NINETY-THREE
ZOVASTINA BOARDED THE CHOPPER. LYNDSEY WAS ALREADY strapped into the compartment, handcuffed to the bulkhead.
“Minister, I won’t be a problem. I swear. I’ll do whatever you need. I assure you. It’s not necessary to confine me. Please, Minister—”
“If you don’t shut up,” she calmly said. “I’ll have you shot right now.”
The scientist seemed to sense that silence would be better and hushed.
“Don’t open your mouth again.”
She inspected the spacious compartment, which usually accommodated a dozen armed men. Vincenti’s computers and the two spare robots were lashed tight. Cassiopeia Vitt lay still on the ground and the prisoners were being guarded by the four soldiers.
Viktor stood outside the compartment.
“You’ve done well,” she said to him. “Once I’m gone, detonate the house and kill all of these people. I’m trusting you to keep this location secure. I’ll dispatch additional men when I return to Samarkand. This is now a Federation site.”
She stared toward the mansion, its top floors fully ablaze. Soon, it would be nothing but rubble. She already envisioned the Asian palace she’d construct here. Whether Alexander’s tomb would be revealed to the world remained to be seen. She needed to consider all the possibilities, and since she alone controlled its location, that decision would be hers.
She faced Viktor, stared hard into his eyes, and said, “Thank you, my friend.” She saw the momentary shock on his face as her words of appreciation registered. “No, I don’t ever say it. I expect you to do your job. But, here, you did exceptionally well.”
She took one last look at Cassiopeia Vitt, Stephanie Nelle, and Henrik Thorvaldsen. Problems that would soon be a thing of the past. Cotton Malone and Ely Lund were still in the house. If not already dead, they would be in a few minutes.
“I’ll see you at the palace,” she said to Viktor, as the compartment door slid shut.
VIKTOR LISTENED AS THE TURBINE FIRED AND THE CHOPPER blades twirled. The engine revved to full power. Dust swirled from the dry earth and the helicopter rose into the late-afternoon sky.
He quickly moved toward his men and ordered two of them to head for the estate’s main gate and control ingress. He told the final two to keep watch over Nelle and Thorvaldsen.
He stepped over to Cassiopeia. Vitt’s face was bruised, her nose bloodied. Sweat streamed down leaving furrows of grime.
Her eyes flashed opened and she clamped hard onto his arm.
“Come to finish?” she asked.
His left hand held a pistol, his right hand the controller for the turtles. He calmly laid the signaling device on the ground beside her. “That’s exactly what I came to do.”