Firebird (14 page)

She stood quickly, catching her reflection in the mirror, and once more was startled by the stranger’s face.  For a brief moment, she thought she saw Eve’s face in the glass, shimmering in the shadows behind her.  And she knew, instinctively, that this was one of those moments when everything changes.

It’s all up to me, now.

She took a deep breath, called Olivia, and gave calm, precise instructions for her child’s safety.  Then she stood and moved to the window, gripping her elbows hard to quell the shaking of her body.  I don’t know if I can do this, she thought.

Outside, the dark night waited.  She could hear her father’s whisper on the wind.

Eve needs you, Alexandra
.

“Okay, Eve,” she said aloud.  “I’m in.  But you’re going to have to help me.  We have our two girls to protect. 
And we will keep them safe, I promise you
.  Tomorrow, we fight back.”

CHAPTER 14

“In a dense and mysterious forest, Prince Ivan is hunting...”

Ballet Guide
, “The Firebird”, by W. Terry

THE GREEN MOUNTAINS, VERMONT

24 HOURS LATER

The hunter moved quietly through the forest.

High above him, the late day sun painted the sky with fire.  But here, in Vermont’s high country, the trees were so thickly crowded that the last light could barely penetrate the branches.

He was almost invisible in the shadows, in spite of his red wool jacket.  A tall, older man, he still moved with a dancer’s liquid grace.  The dying light filtered in hazy bars through the firs, catching the quiver of arrows slung across his shoulder and turning the snowy hair around his temples to pewter.

Last night, he had dreamed of the deep woods of his childhood. 
And in my dreams
, he thought,
I see myself riding on a wolf’s back, riding along a forest path
…

He stopped at the edge of the clearing and peered through the splintered light.

The buck by the stream raised its head.  It stood frozen, huge antlers shining in the twilight.  The hunter retrieved an arrow, pulled back the taut bow, and sighted on the white star in the middle of the buck’s forehead.

Beautiful brown eyes locked on his.

With a soft oath, the hunter lowered his bow.  “I know how you feel, Little Brother,” whispered the man.  The words were spoken in Russian.

With a graceful leap, the buck disappeared into the dense pines.

The hunter turned and headed north through the darkening woods.  Ten minutes later, he stood silently in the shadow of the firs, watching the lodge.

The hunting lodge, built on the very edge of the mountain, was quiet.  One lamp burned in the huge wall of glass that faced the abyss.  Upstairs, the rooms were dark.  In the purple half-light of the forest, the old lodge looked mysterious and magical, like a czar’s refuge from the legends of his childhood.

For the man, it
was
a refuge.

Decades before, in need of a place to be alone, he had found the chalet on the edge of the deep wood in the heart of the Green Mountains.  Over the years, it had become his secret place - a place to stare into the stove’s embers on a cold dark night, to watch, through the high glass window, snow fall like great pearls from a vast cobalt sky.  To remember what it was like to hear the soft voice of Little Mother, murmuring the words of the ancient Russian folk tales.

Today, he had come to this place to grieve.  The death of Evangeline Rhodes was a terrible burden.  But the lodge held no solace - and no answers - for him.

All day long, he’d had an ominous feeling.  Now, in the darkening wood, the threat felt very close.

A column of smoke curled from the high chimney.  His breath caught.

Fire
! 
A fire in the hearth
!

The hunter drew an arrow from the quiver and moved slowly across the clearing. 

In the shadow of the porch, he saw the black Harley motorcycle.

He climbed the steps.  The huge oak door was unlocked.

Across the high foyer with its glass lantern swaying from a long chain, past the oak-paneled library, into the beamed sitting room.

The room was lit by the flames in the hearth.  A dark figure sat waiting in the chair facing the fireplace.

He felt, suddenly, like the buck trapped in the clearing.  “Show yourself,” he growled.

A man stood and turned to him.  Firelight flickered on corn-colored hair, in pale blue eyes.

“Prince Ivan,” said the stranger.  “We have been searching for you for a long time.”

The hunter froze. 
After all these years
...  “Who are you?”

“Panov,” said the man.  “I am your new Control.  I have been traveling for hours.  Did you think we would not find you?”

The hunter strode past the stranger, reached for the tall pitcher of water that stood on a table next to a golden samovar, and flung the water onto the fire in the hearth.  As the logs sizzled and died, he stared at the cold-eyed stranger standing so confidently in his lodge.  “Who sent you?”

“My instructions come from St. Petersburg.  That is all you need to know.”  The stranger held out the front page of the
New York Times
issue that reported the discovery of a sophisticated eavesdropping device planted in the State Department.  “I assume you were responsible for this?”

“Why have you come here?”

“We must return to Washington immediately.”

Beyond the high windows, the last birch leaves quivered in the gusting wind and spiraled to the earth.  “I need to know why,” said the hunter.

The stranger reached into the pocket of his leather jacket and held out a small velvet pouch.  “I was told to present this to you.”

Very slowly, the hunter opened the velvet and stared at the winged brooch glinting in his palm.  “My God.  The Firebird...”

“Yes, Prince Ivan.  The signal you have been waiting for all these years.  The  time has come. 
Operation Firebird
has been activated.”

ACT II

ST. PETERSBURG

“the Firebird, rigid with fear, is trapped and earthbound...”

CHAPTER 15

“Who will grieve for this woman?”

Akhmatova

GEORGETOWN

TUESDAY, OCTOBER 26

“Welcome to CNN Headline News.  Today is Tuesday, October 26.  In the nation’s capital, CNN has been following a breaking story.  A listening device has been discovered in a high level conference room inside the State Department building.  The device was concealed on the 7th floor, one of the most secure areas of the building, where the office of the U.S. Secretary of State is located.

“Vice Presidential Republican Nominee Senator Rossinski said that this is only the tip of the iceberg and that he believes there is a direct connection to the recently uncovered East Coast network of spies who have allegedly been passing America’s secrets to the Russians.  The Senator…”

Anthony Rhodes’ housekeeper, Mary, turned toward the television as she smoothed clean linens on the four poster bed in the guest room.  “And aren’t most of those secrets already free for all on the internet, I ask you?” she murmured to herself.

Absorbed, she did not see the man in the doorway behind her until he spoke.  “So they think that the agent charged with spying at the State Department did not act alone.   Is anyone surprised?”

“Saints preserve us!  You startled me, Ambassador Rhodes.”  Mary turned toward the door, clutching the still warm sheet to her chest.  Her employer looked older and thinner these last few weeks, poor man.  Still Randolph-Scott-handsome with his eagle’s profile and shock of silver hair, but now the blue eyes that usually twinkled at her were dulled with sorrow.

He gestured toward the television.  “Just one more thing to love about living inside the beltway.  International news is local news for us…”  

She smiled at him.  “Yes, lost dogs, traffic reports, and spies infiltrating the top floor of the State Department.  Just your everyday events.”  She lowered the volume on the television and bent to finish making the bed. 

“That spy was literally under this old man’s nose, Mary.”

She tucked the last corner of soft cotton under the mattress and straightened up.  “You’re not old, Sir!  But I do remember your office is on the seventh floor, isn’t it now?  Never a dull moment in the State Department, I imagine.”

He shrugged.  “Never.  Betrayal, back-stabbing, political intrigue… nothing has changed since Julius Caesar.  You know as well as I, Mary, that politics is all about secrets, ambition and power.  It’s a wonder we accomplish any good at all.  Being an ambassador was a cake-walk compared to my work as undersecretary.”  He handed her the white down comforter she’d draped over the nearby wingchair.

She smiled her thanks and smoothed the comforter over the sheets in one swift motion.  “There.  I’ll be finished with Mrs. Marik’s room in just a few moments, Sir.  Is there anything else you’d like me to do?”

“Fresh flowers for her, Mary, please.”  His eyes lost focus for a moment.  “But not red roses…”

“Wouldna’ dream of it, Sir.  Red roses were Mrs. Rhodes’ favorite, surely, may she rest in peace.  I’ll find some lovely chrysanthemums for her sister.  She needs a bit of color in her life.”  She hesitated, then said, “It will be nice having Mrs. Marik stay in the townhouse again. “

“Yes.  She insisted on staying at the Hay-Adams when she was here for Eve’s…”  His voice caught.  “When she was here last.  This house is much too quiet, now, I’m afraid.  I’m grateful for the company.”

Anthony Rhodes raised a spiky silver eyebrow as he glanced at the lone suitcase and computer bag left by the foot of the bed.  “I was hoping she would bring Ruby with her this time.”

Mary nodded.  “Aye, it would have been good to see the wee one.  I baked cookies this morning, just in case.”

“Then all is not lost.” 

She laughed.  “There’s a casserole for you in the oven.  Would you be wantin’ me to stay the night, Ambassador?”

“No, there’s no need.  I’d rather you get your rest.  It’s only two days until the benefit.”  He shook his head.  “The guest list is closing in on 200.  You’re overseeing everything, I trust?”

“Aye.  But…”  She looked up at him, hands on ample hips, and waited.

“What is it, Mary?   I know that look.  Have I created chaos in my office again?”

“It’s this benefit, Sir, if you don’t mind me sayin’.  It won’t be easy for you, so soon after losing Mrs. Rhodes and all.  I know it’s not my place, but surely folks will understand if you want to postpone – ”

“Absolutely not.  I don’t have a choice, Mary.  Eve would want me to do this, she’d
insist
!  Good God, it’s for her favorite charity.  She’d haunt me forever if I cancelled!”

“And me as well, no doubt about it!  Then we’ll make her proud, Ambassador.”      

“Yes, you and I will be fellow conspirators, won’t we?  We won’t let my wife down.”  He glanced at his watch.  “After four,” he murmured with surprise.  “Where on earth
is
Alexandra?”

“She went off for a walk, Sir, just after she arrived.  But she said she’d be back in time to see you before you have to leave for your meeting.”

“Of course.  I should have known.”  He closed his eyes for a moment, then turned away.  “They’re predicting rain tonight.  I doubt she took an umbrella.  Enjoy your evening, Mary.  I’ll see you tomorrow.  And take those cookies of yours home to your grandbabies.  But leave one for me.”

The door closed softly behind him.

* * * *

Alexandra passed through the iron gates of Georgetown’s Oak Hill Cemetery just as the first rain began to fall.

She pulled the long hooded raincoat more tightly around her shoulders as the wind tore the leaves from the tall oaks and sent them skittering across the paths and headstones.

Head down, she passed by the gothic Renwick Chapel and hurried downhill past obelisks and monuments dating back to the Civil War.  Finally, in a dripping leafy glen that smelled of chrysanthemums and rain, she found the stone angel.

The angel was life-size, on bended knee with head bowed, her great stone wings folded about her body, soaked flowers scattered at her feet.  A testament to Anthony’s power, she realized, that a monument was already in place.

Alexandra stood for a long time, as still and cold as the angel, staring down at the words so newly carved in the glinting stone.

Evangeline Marik Rhodes

Beloved wife and mother

And sister?  A new wave of grief tore through her. 

What were your secrets, Eve
?

The last time she had seen her sister, she remembered suddenly, was the end of June.  She’d come to Washington on art gallery business, to discuss a joint exhibit with the Corcoran Museum.  They’d had dinner at the Prime Rib supper club and gone on to a reception at the German Embassy, a beautiful 19th century mansion on Massachusetts Avenue. 

Eve had been tense - and, as usual, the evening had ended in an argument.

The wind sighed through the trees and dying leaves blew across the grave. 
Why did you have to die so soon, Eve?  We weren’t
finished
...

Letting her breath out, Alexandra reached into the deep pocket of her raincoat and removed a small, perfectly shaped seashell the color of pink pearls.  “From our collection,” she whispered, as she laid the shell against the cold stone angel.  “I’ll find out what happened to you, Eve.  I promise you.”

“Evangeline was many things,” said a deep male voice behind her, “but the angel is pushing it just a bit, I think.”