“That’s one theory, anyway.”

Kuchin said, “There might be other more plausible ones. But I don’t really care what they are. We have to find her.”

“I can get some people working on it. Check plane records, charge card transactions.”

“No, I will handle it.”

“But-”

Kuchin rose, hefting the file in his right hand. “I told you, Alan, you’re to concentrate on the business. I will be preoccupied with this until the matter is resolved.” He looked down at his assistant. “Now, there has been no unusual activity around the office, I take it?”

“Unusual activity?”

“Any extraordinary interest in my whereabouts by any parties, official or otherwise?”

“Not that I’ve personally seen or heard from anyone. It’s been business as usual.”

“Then it is possible that I will return on the jet.” Kuchin seemed to be talking more to himself than Rice.

“All right, Evan, certainly. You’re paying for the plane after all.”

“I know that. I’ll be ready to leave in one hour. Alert the pilots.”

Kuchin packed a small bag. Among the many perks of flying via private wings was that you could bring anything on board with you. Weapons, explosives, victims. He had transported all three.

After closing his bag Kuchin picked up a phone and hit a button. “Pascal?”

“Yes, Mr. Waller?”

“I’m going to Montreal. I want you with me.”

“Yes sir. I’m ready to go.”

“How did you know?”

“Just my job, sir.”

The faithful little servant.

“Five minutes.”

“Yes sir.”

Rice was waiting by the door when Kuchin came out with his bag and briefcase. “Jet’s all ready. The flight to Montreal isn’t much longer than the car ride from the landing strip to here.”

“Excellent. I will call you when I touch down.”

“Call me?” said a startled Rice.

“Yes, you will be staying here.”

“But I thought… The business.”

“Computer access, a cell tower not that far away so phone service is very good. You can operate from here, can you not?”

“Yes, but-”

“I’ll be in touch.” Kuchin brushed past him with Pascal right behind.

They were wheels up a little over an hour after that. As the Gulfstream knifed into the sky Kuchin settled at his desk and spread the file on Katie James in front of him. In his career with the KGB he had been tasked with finding lots of people. These targets never wanted to be found, because if they were they would be tortured, killed, or most likely both. Because of that Kuchin had learned many of the ploys used by people who wanted to remain “lost.” But that was decades ago. Things had changed. There were new ways to cover one’s tracks. Yet Kuchin figured he had at least one advantage. Katie James might not know that anyone was after her. If so, she might not be hiding at all.

Seven months ago in Zurich. Last known address in New York. If she went from New York to Switzerland she would have gone by plane. After that Kuchin did not know where she might have traveled, or how she might have traveled there. But the means by which she might have done so would be limited. Plane. Train. Car. And then the payment method, of course. Credit card transactions, email activity. There would be records of that in each instance.

They landed, and on the drive into the city Kuchin made a phone call to a man whom he trusted as much as he did anyone. He was not going to his penthouse in case that was being watched. He had another hideaway in the city. After the call was finished he turned to Pascal.

“I will need your help with this, Pascal,” said Kuchin.

“Anything you need done, Mr. Waller, I’ll take care of it.”

“The tall man?”

“Yes sir, I apologize for him getting the best of me. I should’ve seen that coming, but we really didn’t have much time to put it all together.”

“Yes, that is interesting. I would like you to tell me exactly how it was all put together, as you said.”

“A couple hours before you left to go to the market with the lady Mr. Rice came and got me and Manuel. He said there might be a problem and he wanted to make sure things were okay.”

“Did he say why he thought there might be a problem?”

“Just that he had a suspicion about the woman. I told him if that was the case we should tell you.”

“And his response?”

“That he wanted to make sure. He knew, well, that you liked the lady and he didn’t want to mess things up in case he was wrong. He didn’t want you to get mad at him. Said you’d already shown your displeasure with him on that score.”

“All right, I can see that. Go on.”

“We went to the church. Checked out the altar and stuff like that. Then Mr. Rice said we needed to check out the basement.”

“The catacombs?”

“I guess so. Anyway, we got there and didn’t find anything at first, but Mr. Rice noticed that one of the tops was off I guess a crypt thing. And then we saw some equipment set up down there. A battery generator and some lights and stuff. Mr. Rice said we were going to park there and see if something happened.”

“And it did.”

“Oh, yeah. Never saw the big guy, though. He came out of nowhere.” Pascal rubbed his head. “Packs a punch. I’m looking forward to paying him back.”

“But we have to find him first.” Kuchin held up a photo of Katie James. “This woman is really the only link we have to him. She’s a journalist. A very famous one, and yet no one has seen her recently. But if we can find her, we might be able to find him.”

“You want me to start looking?”

“I’m going to make some inquiries first. Narrow the search down. Then I’ll put you on it.”

“Yes sir.”

Kuchin looked down at the photo. She was a very lovely woman. Too old and too white to be one of his sex units, but still attractive. He wondered how close she was to this man. He hoped it was close enough. Close enough to use her to get to him.

77

SHAW EASED into a chair in the library. There was no fire in the fireplace; the day was warm, the skies tensing for a thunderstorm later. Reggie and Whit stood by the door. Professor Mallory, still holding the gun, sat down across from Shaw. Liza stood with one hand on the long table. Dominic and his injured arm leaned against a far wall. All their gazes were solely on Shaw.

“If you could keep that muzzle down until you intend to use it, I’d appreciate it,” said Shaw. “That gun has a grip safety and is known for having a touchy trigger pull.”

Mallory edged the muzzle down slightly.

Whit looked at Mallory. “What the hell does he mean about botulinum?”

Before Mallory could answer Reggie came forward, drew the syringe from her purse, and placed it on the table next to the professor.

As she stepped back Mallory looked down at it. “Long considered to be the most toxic poison in the world,” he said in a pedantic tone. “Though it has infinite medical uses, including cosmetic under the name Botox, of course.”

“You die fast, but in excruciating pain,” said Shaw, his gaze never wavering from the other man’s face.

“You would not have,” declared the professor. “You will note that that syringe has two solutions in separate compartments but with a semipermeable barrier. The additional element was a potent anesthesia. You would have been unconscious. Would have felt nothing.”

“As I died.”

“Well, yes,” conceded Mallory. “That was the point after all.”

“Miles!” exclaimed Liza. “What were you thinking? We don’t do that to innocent people.”

“Well, the easy answer to that is I didn’t know how innocent Mr. Shaw was, or, frankly, is. What I did know was that he had been told of our operation and plan with Fedir Kuchin. Allowing him to go free after that seemed problematic at best.”

“But to order his death?” said Reggie in an icy tone. “We’re not murderers-” She stopped, paled, and glanced away. Whit, Dominic, and Liza could not meet one another’s eyes. By their expressions they seemed to all be thinking the same thing.