“We can enter through China. They’re cooperating with us on this.”
“And what is this?” Malone asked. “Why are we even involved? Don’t you have a CIA and a multitude of other intelligence agencies?”
“Actually, Mr. Malone, you involved yourself, as did Thorvaldsen and Stephanie. Zovastina, publicly, is the only ally we possess in that region, so politically we can’t be seen challenging her. Using official assets comes with the risk of exposure. Since we had Viktor on the inside, keeping us informed, we knew most of her moves. But this is escalating. I understand the dilemma with Cassiopeia—”
“Actually, you don’t. But that’s why I’m staying in. I’m going after her.”
“I’d prefer you go to the cabin and see what’s there.”
“That’s the great thing about being retired. I can do what I please.” He turned to Thorvaldsen. “You and Stephanie go to the cabin.”
“I agree,” his friend said. “See about her.”
Malone stared at Thorvaldsen. The Dane had aided Cassiopeia and cooperated with the president, involving them all. But his friend didn’t like the idea of Cassiopeia being there alone.
“You have a plan,” Thorvaldsen said. “Don’t you?”
“I think I do.”
Malone 3 - The Venetian Betrayal
SIXTY-THREE
4:30 A.M.
ZOVASTINA DRANK FROM A BOTTLED WATER AND ALLOWED HER passenger the continued luxury of her troubled thoughts. They’d flown in silence for the past hour, ever since she’d tantalized Cassiopeia Vitt with the possibility that Ely Lund might still be alive. Clearly, her captive was on a mission. Personal? Or professional? That remained to be seen.
“How do you and the Dane know my business?”
“A lot of people know your business.”
“If they know it so well, why hasn’t anyone stopped me?”
“Maybe we’re about to?”
She grinned. “An army of three? You, the old man, and Mr. Malone? By the way, is Malone a friend of yours?”
“United States Justice Department.”
She assumed what happened in Amsterdam had generated official interest, but the situation made little sense. How would the Americans have mobilized so quickly—and known she’d be in Venice? Michener? Maybe. United States Justice Department. The Americans. Another problem flashed through her mind. Vincenti.
“You have no idea,” Vitt said to her, “how much we do know.”
“I don’t need an idea. I have you.”
“I’m expendable.”
She doubted that declaration. “Ely taught me a great deal. More than I ever knew existed. He opened my eyes to the past. I suspect he opened yours, too.”
“It’s not going to work. You can’t use him to get to me.”
She needed to break this woman. Her whole plan had been based on moving in secret. Exposure would open her not only to failure but also to retaliation. Cassiopeia Vitt represented, for the moment, the quickest and easiest way to ascertain the full extent of her problem.
“I went to Venice to find answers,” she said. “Ely pointed me there. He believed the body in the basilica might lead to Alexander the Great’s true grave. He thought that location may hold the secret of an ancient cure. Something that might help even him.”
“That’s dreaming.”
“But it’s a dream he shared with you, wasn’t it?”
“Is he alive?”
Finally, a direct question. “You won’t believe me no matter how I answer.”
“Try me.”
“He didn’t die in that house fire.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s all you’re going to get.”
The plane dipped as turbulence buffeted the wings and the engines continued their constant whine, driving them farther east. The cabin was empty save for them. Both of her guardsmen, who’d made the flight to Venice, were dead, their bodies now Michener’s and the Church’s problem. Only Viktor had kept faith and performed, as usual.
She and her captive were a lot alike. Both of them cared for people afflicted with HIV. Cassiopeia Vitt to the point that she’d risked her life, Zovastina to the point that she gambled on a questionable journey to Venice and placed herself in physical and political jeopardy. Foolishness? Perhaps.
But heroes, at times, had to be fools.
Malone 3 - The Venetian Betrayal
SIXTY-FOUR
CENTRAL ASIAN FEDERATION
8:50 A.M.
VINCENTI WAS HOLED UP IN THE LAB HE’D BUILT BENEATH HIS estate, only he and Grant Lyndsey inside. Lyndsey had come straight from China, his duties there done. Two years ago he’d taken Lyndsey into his confidence. He’d needed somebody out front to supervise all the testing on the viruses and antiagents. Also, somebody had to placate Zovastina.
“How’s the temperature?” he asked.
Lyndsey checked the digital readouts. “Stable.”
The lab was Vincenti’s domain. A passive, sterile space encased within cream-colored walls atop a black tile floor. Stainless-steel tables ran in two rows down the center. Flasks, beakers, and burettes towered on metal stands above an autoclave, distilling equipment, a centrifuge, analytical balances, and two computer terminals. Digital simulation played a key role in their experimentation, so different from his days with the Iraqis, when trial and error cost time, money, and mistakes. Today’s sophisticated programs were able to duplicate most any chemical or biological effect, so long as there were parameters. And, over the past year, Lyndsey had done an admirable job establishing parameters for the cyber-testing of ZH.