Eternal Empire (28 page)

W
hen Maddy awoke, she found that she had been walking for some time without knowing it, her right arm slung across someone else's shoulders. A voice from far away was shouting in Russian. As she was set down with her back to something firm, she opened her eyes to find she was still on the main deck, the world strangely angled, the air tinged with smoke.

She looked over to see who had been carrying her. It was Elena. “Talk to me. Do you know what day it is?”

Maddy's hand went to the crown of her head, where a lump had recently appeared. As she blinked up at the yellow lights, she found that her vision, at least, was clear and unblurred. “Sunday. I think. What's going on?”

“They're evacuating the ship,” Elena said, kneeling next to Maddy. The two of them had taken shelter on the starboard side, at some distance from the confusion. “I found you by the railing—”

Listening to this, Maddy suddenly remembered why she had gone out to the deck in the first place. With Elena's help, she managed to rise. The yacht was listing badly, so she had to steady herself against the bulkhead, the pain in her head easing to a dull ache as she got her first good look at her surroundings.

To her right, toward the stern, passengers were moving frantically toward their muster stations, with the stewardesses trying to line them up for a head count. Remembering the smoke, she looked up to see that the deck two levels above was in ruins, flames burning at intervals along the twisted metal. “What happened?”

Elena's voice was without emotion. “The crew is saying it was a drone attack. It fired three rockets, then came around again and crashed into the sun deck. The owner's suite was destroyed.”

As the meaning of the assistant's words hit home, Maddy felt sick at heart. “And Tarkovsky?”

“I don't know.” Elena glanced over at the stern. “We can't stay here. Can you walk?”

“I think so.” Maddy took a step, feeling out the slope of the deck beneath her feet, and found that it was easier with her shoes off. She followed carefully as Elena began to head toward the others. “How bad is it?”

“Bad enough,” Elena said. “We're going down. At least four or five of the crew were killed in the galley. People are saying there were guests on the beach deck, too, members of the design team—”

“Rahim,” Maddy said, remembering that he had said he was going downstairs shortly after she arrived at the party. She stared at the faces on deck. “Do we know if he made it?”

Elena only shook her head as they joined the rest of the crowd. Maddy saw that all unsecured objects and furniture had slid to one side and were resting against the starboard rail, a pileup of lounge chairs, tables, deck trees. The passengers, who had also tended to collect at the low end of the yacht, were milling about in uncertain clusters, most still in gowns or black tie, with an air of mounting anxiety on the verge of breaking out into hysteria.

As they headed toward the nearest group, Maddy saw Nina, the oligarch's daughter, moving among the passengers, clutching her shoes in one hand. She slid across the deck to the two women, her mouth clamped in a trembling line. “I don't know where my mother is—”

Elena glanced at Maddy. “I'm sure she's all right. Stay here. I'm going to get us some life jackets.”

As the assistant picked her way up the deck to the locker at the far end, where a stewardess was passing out life vests and emergency gear, Maddy led Nina to a spot safely away from the others. “Your mother will be looking for you. It's better if you stay in one place.”

Nina glanced down at her stockings, one knee of which had been torn. “My dress is ruined. I don't know how I did that.”

“I don't think anyone will care,” Maddy said. In fact, she doubted that anyone would notice even if they fell overboard. Watching as runners scrambled to pass out flashlights, she saw that the scene was one of barely controlled panic, as passengers sought out their loved ones or demanded answers from the shorthanded crew, and that it might all spiral out of control at any moment. “Your father built a strong ship. We'll all get out in one piece.”

As Maddy spoke, she put a hand on Nina's shoulder without thinking. At first, she thought the girl would pull away, but instead, she pressed closer, putting her arms around Maddy's waist. “I know,” Nina said, wiping her nose on the back of her sleeve. “It's all insured, isn't it?”

“I'm sure it is.” Maddy almost smiled, but the feeling died as she reflected what Tarkovsky's true legacy to his daughter would be. Nina was scheduled to inherit much of his wealth when she came of age, but this was nothing compared to her darker birthright, invisibly attached to her father's influence, which meant that she, too, would inevitably be drawn into the game.

A second later, Nina pulled free. Following the girl with her eyes, Maddy saw Tarkovsky's wife approaching from the port side, followed by Elena, who was carrying a set of life jackets as if she had gone to retrieve her employer's dry cleaning. Ludmilla gathered up her daughter, then turned to Maddy, a question in her eyes. When Maddy shook her head, the other woman only looked away.

Taking a life jacket from Elena, Maddy put it on, then did what she could to help the guests around her. A second later, the evacuation signal sounded once more, and the crew began to divide up the passengers. After taking a final head count, the nearest deckhand told them to head for the starboard side, in single file, where the lifeboats had been readied for their departure.

Maddy made her way with the others to a flight of steps that led to the davit below. The panels of the compartment had been slid open, exposing it to the night air, with a narrow walkway leading to an enclosed lifeboat with an orange roof. Because of the list, a gap had opened up between the walkway and the boat, the dark surface of the water visible forty feet down.

Leaning over the gap, the deckhand slid the hatch open and began herding the passengers inside. It was a slow process, and Maddy, waiting her turn on the walkway, was one of the last to board. For an instant, as she stepped across the empty space between the lifeboat and the yacht, she felt the yawning immensity of the sea below. Then she crossed the gap and found herself in a crowded space large enough to accommodate thirty passengers.

Maddy sank into one of the remaining seats, feeling the boat swaying beneath her. Some of the younger men were exchanging forced jokes in Russian, but most had fallen into an exhausted silence. Across from her, Elena was seated next to the oligarch's wife and daughter. Among the others were two members of the design team. Rahim was not among them.

As the remaining passengers climbed on board, Maddy helped the woman next to her with her safety belt, then fastened her own. Through the open hatch, she watched as the deckhand removed the pins and charge cable. After releasing the remaining grips, he got inside and secured the hatch behind him.

Climbing behind the aft console, the deckhand opened the vents, confirmed that all was clear, and instructed the passengers to remain in their seats as he lowered the boat. As the davit swung them over the water, Maddy tried to give Nina a reassuring smile, but the girl did not smile back.

The boat began to descend, moving in fits and starts as the deckhand worked the brake release, the passengers clutching their seats whenever the ropes gave way with another jolt. From where she was seated, Maddy could not see the view outside, and she was surprised a second later by the impact as they fell the last few feet and hit the water with a splash.

As the boat rocked on the swells against the side of the yacht, the deckhand allowed the lifeboat to settle, then released the falls. He started the engine and undid the painter that connected the boat with the deck above. Finally, he sat down, muttered something into the radio, and began moving away from the ship.

Maddy exhaled, the accumulated tension draining out of her body. She leaned forward in her seat, trying to look out the window. For a second, she could see nothing except the black glass of the surrounding waves. Then the view outside stabilized and she saw the lights of the city.

The ride to shore took ten minutes. As they drew closer, Maddy could make out the glow of the passenger terminal, a long steepled building with a red roof that ran along the concrete quay. A rescue crew was already lined up at the marina. Taking the lifeboat in, the deckhand maneuvered it around at a crawl until its hatch was parallel to the nearest berth. As he shifted into neutral, the team came forward to tie up the boat. Then the deckhand cut the engine and opened the side hatch.

Maddy was one of the first to leave. As she was helped onto the quay by a pair of rescue workers, she blinked at the lights of the emergency vehicles. A crowd had gathered to watch the excitement, kept back by policemen and barricades. It struck her for the first time that she was in Russia.

At her side, a volunteer said a few words she didn't understand and held out a rescue blanket. Maddy took it, handing over her life vest in exchange, and draped it over her shoulders like a shawl. Another woman offered her a paper cup of tea, which she almost declined. Then she thought better of it and took two.

A line of survivors had gathered along the water, ignoring the buses that were idling nearby. Maddy went to Elena, who was standing by herself, and handed her a cup of tea, which the assistant accepted without a word. As Maddy took a sip, she heard the sound of rotors overhead, glancing up as a pair of rescue helicopters flew by and continued toward the yacht.

The passengers stood in silence, looking out at the wreck a mile away. It floated at a strange angle, like a great animal on the verge of sleep, lit by its own emergency lights and by the rescue boats holding station on all sides. In the distance burned the shadow boat, its hull fringed with flame, carrying a wreath of bright water around it as it drifted out to sea.

Hearing a murmur of interest, Maddy saw a second lifeboat approaching. As it disgorged its passengers one by one, she kept an eye on the hatch. She recognized all of the faces, including the executives from Argo, but none of the ones she wanted most desperately to see. Once the last survivor had emerged, Maddy felt her fears, which had faded briefly, return in a sickening rush. If Tarkovsky had been in his suite when the drone crashed, he would have been killed at once.

As she considered the full extent of the betrayal, it hit her for the first time that they had no way of knowing if she had survived. Her phone had been lost in the initial attack. As far as they knew, she was one of the missing.

Which meant that she was free. She could just walk away. And they could do nothing to stop her—

Even as she felt herself seized by this thought, a voice spoke up at her side. “Maddy?”

Maddy turned. Standing a few yards away was a young, attractive woman with short dark hair, dressed in a light jacket and jeans. Around her neck hung a lanyard with a laminated badge. “Yes?”

The woman smiled with what seemed to be genuine relief. “Thank God you made it.” She took a step forward, then glanced around the scene. “This area isn't secure. Will you come with me?”

Maddy detached herself from the others, who were still looking out at the water. As she came closer, she saw that the badge around the woman's neck had a curious emblem, the image of a panther leaping across the globe. She had seen this insignia before. “Who are you?”

“I work with Rachel Wolfe.” The woman motioned for Maddy to follow, heading for the barricades at the far end of the port. “She asked me to bring you somewhere safe. My name is Maya Asthana.”

W
olfe's command of Russian had never been strong, shaped as it was by a few semesters of night school, but it served her well enough when necessary. Going up to the security line at the harbor, she approached the youngest man in sight and showed him her badge. “I'm an agent with the Serious Organised Crime Agency in London,” Wolfe said in passable Russian. “I need you to let me through.”

The officer hesitated. He had the smudge of a goatee on his chin and seemed out of his element as he stood by the barricade, keeping back the line of onlookers. “I'm sorry, but my orders—”

“I have my orders as well,” Wolfe shot back. “There were British and American nationals on that ship. If you have a problem with this, take it up with my office. But I need to see your incident commander. Where is he?”

As she spoke, she handed him a card with the number of the office in Vauxhall. The officer studied it uncertainly, then glanced down at her badge. Something in her air of impatience overcame what resistance remained, and he stood aside. “Command center is in the passenger terminal. You can check in there.”

“Thank you,” Wolfe said, moving past the barricade. She continued toward the terminal building on the harbor until she was safely out of sight, then turned and headed for the quay.

Within minutes of leaving her message for Maddy, she had been on the way to the airport, her every instinct screaming for her to get to Sochi. In the end, she had lucked out and managed to grab the last seat on the next plane to Moscow, racing from there to a connecting flight. All told, she had spent six hours in the air, and while they were not quite the longest of her life, they were close enough that she was very glad to be on the ground again.

Now it was close to midnight, and despite the late hour, the harbor remained crowded with rescue workers, volunteers, and gawkers. A hotel had been opened to house the survivors, but as she neared the water, Wolfe saw that many of them still stood on the quay, their blankets reflecting the light like gold leaf.

Drawing closer to the largest group of passengers, Wolfe saw no sign of Maddy. A second later, she noticed a face that she recognized from the newspapers. It was Ludmilla, Tarkovsky's wife, standing slightly apart from the others, along with her daughter, Nina.

Wolfe quickly weighed her options and saw that she had no choice but to jump in. Going up to the oligarch's wife, who was looking out toward the wreck, she raised her badge and said in Russian, “I'm sorry, but I was wondering if I could speak to you for a moment.”

Ludmilla turned slowly to face her. Taking in the badge, she looked up and replied in English. “What do you want?”

Wolfe identified herself and said, “I'm looking for a guest who was on this ship. Her name is Maddy Blume. Have you seen her?”

Tarkovsky's wife did not respond at once. In her eyes, Wolfe saw a clouded quality that made her think that the other woman was not altogether there. “Do you have news of my husband?”

Wolfe shook her head. “I'm sorry. If you like, I can see what else I can find—”

Ludmilla turned away. “Leave us alone. I don't want to answer your questions.”

Wolfe saw that there was no point in pressing further. She was about to leave, hoping to find someone else who had been keeping track of the survivors, when the girl spoke up at her mother's side. “I saw her.”

Ludmilla glanced down at her daughter. “Nina, please. You don't need to talk—”

“But I
did
see her.” Nina pulled away from her mother's arms. “We were on the same boat. We all left the ship together.”

Looking at the girl's mother, Wolfe sensed that she had a limited window of opportunity here. “Do you know where she is now?”

“I saw her leave with another lady.” Nina pointed to Wolfe's identification. “She was pretty. And she had a badge like yours.”

Wolfe felt as if the ground itself had listed beneath her feet, and a sick dread began to spread through her body. She was about to ask for more information when she felt a spidery hand come down on her right shoulder.

She turned. Standing behind her was a tall police officer in plainclothes, with the kind of cold sparkle in his eyes that she was convinced such men practiced each night in the mirror. “Excuse me,” the officer said in excellent English. “My name is Boris Suslov. I am a lieutenant with the Department of Internal Affairs. Would you kindly come with me?”

Over his shoulder, Wolfe saw the officer she had encountered on her way in, along with two others. “What's this about?”

“Please,” Suslov said, speaking with the pointed patience of a responsible man with a great deal on his mind. “We merely wish to see if there is any way in which we can assist your inquiries.”

Wolfe saw that Ludmilla and her daughter had withdrawn, returning to the main body of survivors. She spent a fraction of a second considering the situation and finally concluded that there was no graceful way out.

Without looking back at the faces by the water, Wolfe followed Suslov as he headed for the terminal, the officers walking a step behind. “We've set up a temporary command center,” Suslov said, moving at a brisk pace. “It is customary for all foreign law enforcement to check in there.”

“I must have gotten turned around,” Wolfe said. “Has anyone on my end signed in?”

Suslov favored her with a thin smile. “I would have expected you to be aware of your own agency's activities. Why exactly are you here?”

Wolfe saw that no additional information was likely to be forthcoming. “There were American and British citizens on that ship. I'm here to make sure they aren't in danger and to get a sense of the situation.”

“The situation is clear,” Suslov said, approaching the main entrance of the passenger terminal. “This was an act of vicious terrorism, designed to assassinate one of Russia's most respected private businessmen, as well as to cast doubt on this city's security in advance of the games.”

As they entered the terminal, Wolfe sensed that Suslov's anger was genuine enough. Sochi was scheduled to host the Winter Olympics in just over two years, and the government had made a massive investment in security and infrastructure. “What has the law enforcement response been so far?”

Suslov continued past the marble pillars into the terminal lobby. From somewhere up ahead, Wolfe heard ringing phones, although the command center itself remained out of sight. “Officers have been called in from throughout the region. We are pursuing all leads with every available resource.”

As two of the officers remained behind, they climbed a flight of stairs to the landing, the sounds of the command center falling away. Going to a closed door, Suslov waited as the last officer came forward to unlock it, then turned on the lights and stood aside. “Here we are.”

Wolfe went in and saw at once that the office was empty except for a desk, a television mounted to the ceiling, and a map of Sochi tacked to the far wall. She turned back. “What's this?”

Suslov was still in the hallway. “We'll have someone to see you in a moment.”

With that, he closed the door in her face. Through the frosted glass, Wolfe saw him speak briefly with the officer, who remained where he was, before heading down the corridor again. She understood, too late, that she had been shunted unceremoniously to one side. Going to the door, she was about to demand to be let out when she realized that she needed somewhere to go first.

After a moment's thought, she went to the television set and turned it on. All of the local channels were devoted to ongoing coverage of the disaster. She cranked the volume up high enough to discourage anyone who might be listening, then pulled out her cell phone.

Powell answered before the second ring. “Tell me you've already found her.”

Wolfe looked at the footage of the burning shadow boat on the news. “No. I'm being given the runaround. The terrorism narrative is already locking into place, and anything I share with the police here will end up with state security. Any word from the embassies yet?”

“I'm working on it,” Powell said. “Our best chance is the embassy in Tbilisi. They're closer than St. Petersburg, but they won't be able to get a team there for at least three or four hours.”

“That won't work. I'll need to do this on my own.” Wolfe paused. “Alan, she's here.”

Powell didn't need to be told what she meant, or what the implications might be. “And you think she has Maddy.”

“Yes. So I need you to get me some information.” Wolfe went over to the map of the city on the wall, searching for the port where she was now. “I've been thinking about that drone attack. In theory, you can fly it from anywhere, but they'd want to stay off the satellite networks. Which means—”

“—it must have been controlled from nearby,” Powell said, jumping to the next point at once. “What are you thinking?”

“It would have to be line of sight, which means on the water. And somewhere with privacy and space. A drone big enough for three rockets would need room for takeoff, maybe even a pneumatic launcher. This wasn't a backyard operation.” Wolfe's eyes flew across the map. “South of the port is all commercial. It would be somewhere to the north. A dacha with all the necessary security in place. There can't be that many that fit the bill.”

“Give me ten minutes,” Powell said. “I'll send whatever I find to your phone.”

“Thanks.” Wolfe hung up. Checking the drawers of the desk, she found a recent street atlas, which she took. Then she switched off the television, opened the office door, and stepped out into the hallway.

The officer standing by the door looked at her in surprise. “Where are you going?”

“I have everything I need, thanks,” Wolfe said in Russian, already moving toward the landing. A second later, she was heading downstairs to the night beyond, and she did not turn around as the officer called her name.