“Excellent idea, Viktor.”
“She doesn’t know what a mess you’ve made, does she?” the woman whispered to him.
“You’ll die before uttering the first word.”
“Not to worry. I won’t tell her.”
MALONE SAW CASSIOPEIA’S PREDICAMENT. HE SPRANG TO THE railing and aimed his gun across the nave.
“Toss it down,” Viktor called out.
He ignored the command.
“I’d do as he says,” Zovastina said from below. Her gun was still trained on Michener and Thorvaldsen. “Or I will shoot these two.”
“Supreme Minister of the Central Asian Federation committing murder in Italy? I doubt it.”
“True,” Zovastina said. “But Viktor can easily kill the woman, which should not be a problem for me.”
“Toss it,” Cassiopeia said to him.
He realized that to comply was foolish. Just retreat into the shadows and remain a threat.
“Cotton,” Thorvaldsen said from below, “do as Cassiopeia says.”
He had to trust that both his friends knew what they were doing. Wrong? Probably. But he’d done stupid things before.
He allowed the pistol to drop over the railing.
“BRING HER DOWN,” ZOVASTINA CALLED OUT TO VIKTOR. “YOU,” she said to the other man who’d just tossed away his gun. “Come here.”
He did not move from his perch.
“Please, Cotton,” Thorvaldsen said. “Do as she says.”
A hesitation and the man disappeared from the railing.
“You control him?” she asked.
“No one does.”
Viktor and his female captive entered the presbytery. The other man, the one Thorvaldsen commanded, followed them a moment later.
“Who are you?” she asked him. “Thorvaldsen called you Cotton.”
“Name’s Malone.”
“And you?” she said, staring at the woman with the archer’s bow.
“A friend of Ely Lund.”
What was happening? She desperately needed to know, so she thought fast and motioned at Viktor’s female captive. “That one is coming with me. To ensure safe passage.”
“Minister,” Viktor said. “I think it would be better if she stays here, with me. I can hold her until you’re away.”
She shook her head and pointed at Thorvaldsen. “Take him with you. Somewhere safe. Once I’m in the air, I’ll call and you can let him go. Any problems, kill him and make sure the body is never found.”
“Minister,” Michener said, “since I’m the cause of all this chaos, how about me as a hostage and let’s leave this gentleman out of it.”
“And how about taking me with you instead of her?” Malone asked. “Never been to the Central Asian Federation.”
She appraised the American. Tall and confident. Probably an agent. But she wanted to know more of the woman’s connection to Ely Lund. Anyone who knew Lund closely enough to risk her life to avenge him bore further investigation. But Michener. She could only hope Viktor was allowed the opportunity to kill the lying scum. “All right, priest, you go with Viktor. As for you, Mr. Malone, perhaps another time.”
Malone 3 - The Venetian Betrayal
FIFTY-SIX
SAMARKAND
VINCENTI AWOKE.
He was reclined in the helicopter’s comfortable leather seat. Flying east, away from the city.
The phone lying in his lap was vibrating.
He read the LCD screen. Grant Lyndsey. Chief scientist at the China lab. He stuffed a fob into his ear and pushed “Phone.”
“We’re done,” his employee said to him. “Zovastina has all of the organisms and the lab is converted. Clean and complete.”
With what Zovastina had planned, he had no intention of the West, or the Chinese government, raiding his facility and linking him to anything. Only eight scientists had worked on the project, Lyndsey their head. All vestiges of their work were now gone.
“Pay everyone and send them on their way. O’Conner will visit them and provide for their retirement.” He heard the silence from the other end of the phone. “Not to worry, Grant. Gather the computer data and head to my house over the border. We’ll have to wait and see what the Supreme Minister actually does with her arsenal before we act.”
“I’ll leave immediately.”
That’s what he wanted to hear. “I’ll be seeing you before the day is out. We have work to do. Get moving.”
He clicked off the phone and lay back in the seat.
He thought again about the old dwarf in the Pamirmountains. Back then Tajikistan had been primitive and hostile. Little medical research had ever been done there. Few strangers visited. That was why the Iraqis thought the region a promising place to investigate for unknown zoonoses.
Two pools high in the mountains.
One green, the other brown.
And the plant whose leaves he’d chewed.
He recalled the water. Warm and clear. But when he’d pointed his flashlight into their shallow depths, he recalled an even stranger sight.
Two carved letters. One in each pool.
Z and H.
Chiseled from blocks of stone, lying on the bottom.
He thought of the medallion Stephanie Nelle had made a point to show him. One of the several Irina Zovastina seemed intent on acquiring.
And the microletters supposedly on its face.
ZH .
Coincidence? He doubted it. He knew what the letters meant since he’d sought out scholars who told him that in Old Greek they represented the concept of life. He’d thought his idea of labeling any future cure for HIV with that ancient designation clever. Now he wasn’t so sure. He felt like his world was collapsing and the anonymity that he’d once enjoyed was quickly evaporating. The Americans were after him. Zovastina was after him. The Venetian League itself might well be after him.
But he’d cast his die.
No going back.
MALONE’S GAZE ALTERNATED BETWEEN THORVALDSEN AND CASSIOPEIA. Neither of his friends showed the slightest concern with their predicament. Between him and Cassiopeia, they could take Zovastina and Viktor. He tried to voice that intent with his eyes, but no one seemed to be listening.