Stephanie stiffened and raced to the window. A man slid out of an Audi with an automatic rifle.
“My guard,” Ely said over her shoulder. “From the village.”
The man shot out the tires on their car.
Malone 3 - The Venetian Betrayal
SEVENTY-TWO
SAMARKAND
CASSIOPEIA WAS HAVING TROUBLE GAUGING ZOVASTINA.
“I was just visited by the deputy national security adviser to the American president. He told me the same thing you said at the airport. That I missed something in Venice and that you know what that is.”
“And you think this is going to get me to tell you?”
Zovastina admired the two stout trees, their trunks held close to the ground by a coiled rope. “I had this clearing prepared years ago. Several have felt the agony of being torn apart alive. A couple of them actually survived their arms being ripped from their bodies. It took a few minutes for them to bleed to death.” She shook her head. “Horrible way to leave this world.”
Cassiopeia was helpless. Little she could do but try and bluff her way out. Viktor, who was supposedly here to help, had done nothing but make her situation worse.
“After Hephaestion died, Alexander killed his personal physician this same way. I thought it ingenious, so I resurrected the practice.”
“I’m all you have,” she said in a flat tone.
Zovastina seemed curious. “Really? And what is it you have?”
“Apparently, Ely didn’t share with you what he did with me.”
Zovastina stepped close. She was a muscular woman, sallow-faced. Worrisome was the transient look of madness that occasionally revealed itself in anxious dark eyes. Especially now, when her guts were being stoked with both curiosity and anger. “Do you know the Iliad? When Achilles finally vents his anger and kills Hector, he says something interesting. I only wish my fury would compel me to cut away your flesh and eat it raw for what you’ve done. No one can keep the dogs off of your head, not if they brought me ransom of ten or twenty times as much, or more. Tell me, why are you here?”
“You brought me.”
“You never resisted.”
“You risked a lot coming to Venice. Why? It couldn’t be all political.”
She noticed that Zovastina’s eyes seemed a bit less belligerent.
“Sometimes we’re called upon to act for others. To risk things. No quest worth the effort is without risk. I’ve been searching for Alexander’s grave, hoping there might be answers there to some perplexing problems. Ely surely told you about Alexander’s draught. Who knows if there’s anything there? But to find the place. How glorious that would be.”
Zovastina spoke more in wonder than anger. She seemed genuinely moved by the thought. On the one hand she cast herself a foolish romantic, consumed with notions of greatness gained from dangerous quests. On the other, according to Thorvaldsen, she was plotting the death of millions.
Zovastina clamped Cassiopeia’s chin in a strong hold. “You need to tell me now what you know.”
“The priest lied to you. In the basilica’s treasury is an amulet that was found in the remains of St. Mark. A heart scarab with a phoenix carved into it. Remember the riddle. Touch the innermost being. Divide the phoenix.”
Zovastina seemed not to hear her. “You are beautiful.” Her breath stank of onion. “But you’re a liar and a cheat. Here to deceive me.”
Zovastina released her grip and stepped away.
Cassiopeia heard the bleating of goats.
MALONE MOUNTED THE HORSE.
“None of the roof guards will pay us any attention,” Viktor said. “You’re with me.”
Viktor hopped back onto his ride. “They’re beyond the playing field, in the woods. She’s planning on killing Vitt.”
“What are we waiting for?”
Viktor kicked his horse. Malone followed.
They galloped from the corral toward an open field. He noticed striped poles at each end and an earthen pan in its center and knew what was played here. Buzkashi. He’d read about the game, its violence, how deaths were routine, the barbarity and beauty it simultaneously displayed. Zovastina was apparently a connoisseur and the stabled horses were surely bred to participate, like the steed beneath him, loping forward with uncanny speed and ability. Littered across the grassy field were goats that seemed to provide an excellent manicure service. Maybe a hundred or more, and large, scattering as the horses thundered past.
He glanced back and noticed gun posts atop the palace. As Viktor had predicted, no one seemed alarmed, surely accustomed to their Supreme Minister’s exploits. Ahead, at the far end of the field, stood a thick stand of trees. Two paths cut a route into them. Viktor brought his horse to a stop. Malone reined his in, too. His legs dangled against dark streaks of sweat on the animal’s flanks.
“They’re maybe a hundred meters down that trail, in another clearing. It’s up to you now.”
He slid from the saddle, gun in hand.
“WE HAVE A PROBLEM,” STEPHANIE SAID. “IS THERE ANOTHER WAY out of here?”
Ely motioned toward the kitchen.
She and Thorvaldsen rushed forward just as the cabin’s front door burst inward. The man barked orders in a language she did not understand. She found the kitchen door and opened it, cautioning Thorvaldsen for quiet. Ely was speaking to the man in the same language.
She slipped outside. Thorvaldsen followed.
Automatic gunfire exploded from inside the cabin and bullets ripped into the heavy timbers behind them.
They fell to the ground as a window exploded. Glass showered outward. Bullets found trees. She heard Ely yell something to their attacker and used that instant to spring to her feet and race around the cabin toward the car. Thorvaldsen remained on the ground, struggling to stand, and she could only hope Ely delayed the guard long enough.
She reached the car, opened the rear door, and gripped one of the automatics.