Eternal Empire (26 page)

B
ack in the stateroom of the yacht, only a few seconds had passed since the last shot was fired. Ilya lowered his pistol, looking down at Tarkovsky's body, his pulse no higher than before. After a beat, he held down the switch on the camera until the red light had blinked off again. Checking his watch, he pressed the button on the side, starting a countdown for twenty minutes.

Only then did he kneel by the oligarch. As he did, Tarkovsky's eyes opened at once. “Give me a hand.”

Ilya helped Tarkovsky up, seeing the oligarch wince. “It hurts,” Tarkovsky said. “I wasn't sure if it would hurt—”

“It always does,” Ilya said. As Tarkovsky got to his feet, Ilya glanced down at the holes in the oligarch's shirt. They were three inches apart, one almost at the level of his heart, the two others slightly higher.

Tarkovsky followed his gaze. Reaching into one of the holes with his fingers, he dug around and extracted a bullet, which had been flattened into a tiny mushroom. He studied the slug with something like wonder, then handed it to Ilya. “Do you think they believed it?”

Ilya took the slug, closing his hand around its warmth. “We'll find out soon enough.”

Tarkovsky laughed, then winced again. Reaching up, he undid his tie and let it fall to the floor, then unbuttoned his shirt, walking somewhat unsteadily through the door to the bathroom.

Ilya let him go. Bending down, he picked up his spent cartridges, then went to the repeater box on the table, which he switched off. He slid the repeater, gun, and camera into his bag, then glanced through the bathroom door. Inside, Tarkovsky had stripped down to his slacks and was examining himself in the mirror. A pair of large brown bruises had appeared on his chest.

The oligarch's dress shirt was lying on the bathroom counter, along with something else. Ilya picked up the vest. It was the type manufactured in Bogotá from multiple layers of pale yellow material, considerably lighter than Kevlar. The vest wouldn't have stopped a Tokarev round, but it was more than effective against the hollowpoints Ilya had been using, two of which were still embedded in the fabric.

Ilya studied the bullets. “You know, I could have killed you with a shot to the head. You were very trusting.”

Tarkovsky pulled his dress shirt back on. “Yes. But I didn't trust you. I trusted her.”

Leaving the bathroom, Tarkovsky picked up his dinner jacket, which was still lying on the floor, and donned it again. Then he headed to the door of the cabin, glancing back once at Ilya. “Hurry.”

The two men went downstairs. In the owner's office, the curtains of which were still drawn, a lamp on the desk had been lit. The two figures waiting there rose as the others entered. One, in black tie, was Orlov. The other was Maddy, who was still wearing her dress from the party.

Drawing closer, Ilya saw something in Maddy's face that he had never seen there before, a feverish excitement burning deep in her eyes. He wondered if this was something new or a quality that had been hidden there all the while. As he looked at her now, it struck him that he had believed he was here to protect her, but instead, she had saved him. His only consolation was that he was far from the first to underestimate her resolve.

As Ilya joined the others at the desk, he saw Orlov watching him darkly. Tarkovsky appeared to notice this as well. “It's all right, Pavel,” Tarkovsky said. “We don't have much time.”

Orlov continued to eye Ilya distrustfully, but seemed ready to get down to business. “When is the boat supposed to pick you up?”

“Twenty minutes after the shots were fired,” Ilya said. “I have fifteen minutes left. An inflatable raft will approach from behind the shadow boat with its lights off. I won't see them. I will get into the water when the countdown is done. They will pick me up from there.”

“And bring you to Vasylenko,” Orlov said. “You're sure the others are nearby?”

“Yes. The repeater box I used has a range of twenty kilometers. They are in Sochi.” Ilya looked at Tarkovsky, who was listening carefully. “I believe their intelligence contact is also there.”

Orlov motioned impatiently with his right hand. “Give me the box. I want to see it.”

Ilya took the repeater box from his tool bag and handed it over, observing that Maddy was watching in silence. “Can you track it?”

Orlov studied the repeater. “I think so. We'll have to change the range setting to one they won't be monitoring. Otherwise, they'll see the signal. The camera will need to be on as well, but not recording.”

Ilya nodded. “I will switch it on as soon as I get to shore. You can track me that way.”

Orlov handed the box back to Ilya, who removed a pair of plastic bags from the tool kit and began to wrap up the repeater and gun. He sensed the security chief watching his every move. “One last question,” Orlov said. “How can you be sure that their intelligence contact is there?”

Ilya slid the waterproof bundle into his bag. “I can't. But there will be a debriefing. I doubt they would leave this to Vasylenko alone.”

“We'll be following close behind you,” Tarkovsky said. “My men will take the tender to shore. Once we've confirmed your location, we will move in. My hope is that we can catch them all together.”

Ilya overheard a note of dark satisfaction in the oligarch's voice. “Remember, you have greater resources than I do, but you are in Russia now, and you will be approaching a house containing one or more members of the security services. None of the risks we've taken will mean anything if you fail to follow through.”

“You leave that to me,” Orlov said. He turned to Maddy. “What is expected of you?”

Maddy spoke for the first time, her eyes moving across the faces around her. “I'll go back to my cabin to wait out what happens next. They want me to keep the phone on, in case they need to contact me.”

“Then you should do as you were told,” Tarkovsky said. “If they call you, tell us at once. As soon as this yacht comes to port, you'll be in danger, but I'll see that you're protected throughout what follows, regardless of how long it takes. We can talk about the rest of it later.”

Tarkovsky turned to Ilya. “I can show you the best way to the aft deck. After that, I'll remain in my quarters for as long as they need to believe I am dead. Orlov, please take Maddy back to her cabin.”

Maddy stood. Instead of following Orlov at once, however, she turned to face Ilya. “I don't know if we'll ever meet again.”

“I know,” Ilya said, holding her gaze. “If you're lucky, this will be the last time.”

“In that case, good luck.” Maddy paused. “When you see them, tell them hello from me. I want them to know who it was.”

Ilya only regarded her in silence. For a moment, he wanted to thank her, but in the end, he said nothing. Instead, he remembered their first meeting, years ago, in a house on the other end of the world. As she looked back, it occurred to him that perhaps she was thinking of the same thing.

At last, Maddy turned and headed for the door of the office, where Orlov was waiting. The security chief entered a code into the touchscreen to unlock it, and the two of them went into the hallway.

Just before the door closed, Ilya saw Maddy look back, not at him, but at Tarkovsky, who was still seated at the desk. And as he watched this last exchange of glances between Maddy and the oligarch, Ilya wondered, not for the first time, what had really taken place between them.

O
ne day earlier, Maddy had gone to see Tarkovsky in his office after dinner. That morning, she had encountered him at breakfast in the main salon, talking to a senior geologist from Argo. When he asked how her work was going, she had replied that she needed to speak with him about a few things, and Tarkovsky had invited her to stop by his office later that evening.

When Maddy entered the room that night, she saw Tarkovsky seated at his desk with Orlov. The two men had been conversing in Russian, but the oligarch switched to English as she came in. “Thank you, Pavel,” Tarkovsky said, rising. “Please tell Elena that I wish to see her.”

Orlov nodded and left the office. Going to the urn in the corner, Tarkovsky refilled a china cup he had brought from the desk. “Tea?”

“No, thank you,” Maddy said. She took a seat, watching as Tarkovsky came back to his chair. “There's something we need to talk about.”

Tarkovsky looked at her over the rim of his cup. “And what might that be?”

Maddy hesitated, looking within herself for something like courage, but as she spoke the words that marked the point of no return, she found nothing but a strange coldness in her heart. “It's about Alexey Lermontov.”

Tarkovsky took a sip of tea, then set the cup down. His face displayed no reaction. “What do you wish to know?”

“I want to talk about your history together,” Maddy replied. “You've told me that you worked with Lermontov to repatriate art from overseas, but I think there's more to it than that.”

She thought she saw a flicker of interest in the oligarch's expression. “Go on.”

Maddy glanced out the window, through which the sun hung like an orange above the sea. “I've been looking at the foundation's history. In the past, you concentrated on issues of social justice and human rights. Then, a few years ago, you abruptly changed course. You began pushing hard for the repatriation of Russian art, and there was no sense that this had ever been an interest of yours before.”

“In itself, that doesn't say much,” Tarkovsky said, turning the cup around idly on his desk. “Repatriation of artifacts is an important cause for many foundations. My attention would have been drawn to it sooner or later.”

“That may be true. But the timing still struck me, because it coincided with your first contacts with Lermontov. I've seen the files. You began doing business with him at the exact moment you started to focus on repatriation. Which makes me wonder. I suspect that you developed a genuine commitment to these issues later, but at the time, I don't think you got close to Lermontov because of your interest in art. I think you became interested in art to get close to Lermontov.”

Tarkovsky laughed. “An ingenious theory. But why would I have taken an interest in Lermontov?”

“Because you suspected that he was working for Russian intelligence,” Maddy said. “You discovered that the civilian side was selling looted art to raise money for covert operations, which could be a useful weapon for your allies in the military. But you weren't prepared to act on this yourself. You still had to work closely with both sides, as far as appearances were concerned, so you passed the tip along to a man who was ready to use it. His name was Anzor Archvadze.”

Tarkovsky's eyes narrowed. “I'm willing to indulge these speculations up to a point, but you're treading on dangerous ground. You should think very carefully before you say anything more.”

“I already have. Archvadze's name is in your foundation's records. You met with him on several occasions in the two years before his death. I always knew that Archvadze had learned that civilian intelligence was dealing in stolen art, but I never understood how he found out. Now I do. You told him.” Maddy paused. “I also think you told him about a certain work of art, a painting, that was being sent overseas. And I know firsthand what happened next.”

“I'm well aware of that,” Tarkovsky said. “It must make it difficult for you to remain objective. But even if what you say is true, I still haven't heard any explanation for why I would have done this.”

“It isn't hard to imagine. Even at the time, the rivalry between the two arms of Russian intelligence was growing. You saw the chance to take down one of the leading paymasters for the opposing side.”

Tarkovsky nodded slowly. “I see. You've thought through this theory with great care. But the trouble with the plan you describe is that it didn't work. Military intelligence, as I expect you know, has been damaged by scandals of its own. And if I wanted to embarrass the civilian side, I would have seen that Lermontov was forced to testify in public. Instead, he disappeared—”

“—and died,” Maddy finished. “Yes. But there's one more thing I need to tell you.”

Through the windows of the bridge deck, the sky was growing dark. Maddy kept her eyes on the view of the sea as she continued, hearing herself say words that she had never thought to speak aloud, even as she had rehearsed them so many times in her own imagination.

“Several months after Lermontov's disappearance, I was contacted by a man named Ilya Severin,” Maddy said. “I'm still not sure why he came to me. We had only been in the same room together for a few minutes, but I think he saw something there, or sensed that we both wanted the same thing. Lermontov betrayed me. He wanted me dead, and he murdered someone I cared about. As long as he was alive, I would never feel truly safe. Ilya said as much—”

Tarkovsky broke in. “You don't need to tell me this.”

Turning to the oligarch, Maddy saw that his face had lost much of its color. “But I do. You'll understand why soon.”

Maddy took a breath, closing her eyes, and said, “Ilya came to me because I knew Lermontov well. I had insights into his behavior that others did not. Ilya wanted to know if I could help track him down. And I did. It took some luck, but I found him in London. A week later, I flew out there, as part of a longer vacation, and went to a house in Fulham. And I was waiting outside when Ilya killed Lermontov.”

She had hoped that this confession would lift the weight she had carried for so long, but it did not. These were only words, which she had used all her life to get what she wanted, and what really counted was what came next. She hurried through the rest. “I went there to make sure it was really done. And then I walked away. Or so I thought. But now I know that this was never an option.”

Maddy opened her eyes. Tarkovsky's expression had remained fixed, but for the first time in their acquaintance, she had the sense that he was having trouble keeping himself under control. “And why come to me?”

“Because I no longer have a choice,” Maddy said, feeling for that familiar coldness in her heart's core. “You asked how I knew about your intelligence connections. It's because I'm working for the Cheshire Group. They hired me to pass along information about your foundation's activities in advance of the Black Sea deal. I never meant to stay longer than that. But then the situation changed. And the only way out is for me to tell you everything.”

Tarkovsky had listened to this revelation in silence. Some of the blood had returned to his face. “And what is the situation now?”

“I was abducted from my home. I don't know who it was. But I suspect they're involved with the same groups that you implicated years ago, on the civilian side. They knew I was involved in Lermontov's death, and they threatened to expose me if I didn't get on this yacht and bring someone else on board. A man I knew from before.” Maddy looked across the desk at Tarkovsky. “It's Ilya Severin. He's on the ship now. And he's here to kill you.”

As Tarkovsky listened, his face hardened into something like stone. “When?”

“After the party tomorrow,” Maddy said. “The day before we arrive in Sochi.”

Tarkovsky did not respond at once. Glancing down at his desk, he picked up his tea, although he did not drink from it yet. When he spoke, his tone was almost casual. “You know, I could call Orlov now. He could easily determine if you are telling the truth. And where Ilya is hiding.”

“Yes,” Maddy said. “I could give him up to you. But that isn't the smart move.”

Tarkovsky finished his tea and set it down with a clink of china. “And the smart move would be?”

“Let it play out,” Maddy said, feeling her heart rate rise at last. “If you take Ilya now, none of this will mean anything. But if you follow it to its source, you can get the men who did this. I've spoken to Ilya. He doesn't want this any more than I do. He's here because he thinks it will protect me, but he's wrong. The only way out is to end it. I have a plan. But I can't do it myself. You're the only one with the resources to cut this off at the head.”

Looking out the window at the sea, Tarkovsky seemed suddenly tired. “What do you have in mind?”

“First, I need to know I can trust you,” Maddy said. “Why do they want you dead?”

To her surprise, Tarkovsky began to laugh. “It's hard to know where to begin. I have not endeared myself to these men by any means. But I suspect you have some ideas of your own.”

“I do,” Maddy said. “I think it involves the Argo deal. But it's about more than just the Black Sea. You've been meeting with these executives throughout the entire voyage. It's about something else, isn't it?”

After a beat, Tarkovsky nodded. “Yes. Something larger than you know. The collapse of military intelligence has presented a rare opportunity. We're building something that could change the balance of power in Russia for years. Which is why I refer to it by another name.”

Maddy began to dimly understand what he was saying. “You mean Shambhala.”

“Yes,” Tarkovsky said. “An undiscovered empire. But not the kind you think—”

He was interrupted by a knock on the door. As Elena entered the room, a leather folder in one hand, Tarkovsky glanced over at Maddy, a secret meaning in his eyes. “I'm sorry. Where were we?”

“We were talking about revising our offer to Virginia,” Maddy said at once. “A new strategy, based on what we spoke about before we left. It's an unusual approach, but at this point, it's something I'd be willing to try—”