Last Snow - Eric van Lustbader [103]
The two Trinadtsat agents, stalwart and intimidating, were cooling their heels on the corner, smoking indolently, speaking very little, and generally acting as if they owned the block of buildings. They saw Gourdjiev approaching at the same time and their hands went to the pockets of their ominous black trench coats. Gourdjiev already had his gun aimed at them, and he shook his head, causing them to freeze for a moment, then slowly remove their hands, presenting them in what in other people could have been interpreted as a sign of surrender or placation. Not in these two, of this Dyadya Gourdjiev was certain.
It was at this moment that Boronyov, walking behind the older man, chose to show himself. The Trinadtsat agents, even as well trained as they were, could not keep the expression of consternation off their faces. Their bewilderment served as entertainment for Boronyov, and he laughed, reveling in their dire predicament.
That was when Gourdjiev turned the weapon on him and shot him point-blank in the side of the head. Boronyov’s laughter turned to a burbling gurgle and then to stunned silence as he pitched to the pavement.
The Trinadtsat agents scarcely had time to register what had happened when Gourdjiev said, “Bring this traitor to Oriel Jovovich Batchuk. Tell him Boronyov is a gift from me. Tell him he can stop looking for Annika Dementieva. He now has the answer to what she is doing here in Ukraine.”
TWENTY-ONE
AFTER HOURS of wildly pumping adrenaline a stunning fatigue had set in. Jack lay back against the seat, closed his eyes, and allowed the vibration of the car to lull him to a kind of shallow sleep.
“Dad. Dad, tell me that story again.”
He opened his eyes, turned his head slightly, and there was Emma sitting beside him. So it wasn’t a dream, or perhaps it was, perhaps he was still sleeping.
“Which story?” His voice was so soft it barely registered over the road noise. Besides, Alli and Annika were talking to each other in low tones.
She was turned partway toward him, her right leg drawn up beneath her, the other one hanging down, the heel of her shoe tap-tap-tapping against the seat. “The one about the scorpion and the turtle.”
“I told you that so many times.”
“Dad, please tell it again.”
There was a tension in her voice, an intensity he found disquieting, so he told her about the scorpion and the turtle who meet on the bank of a river. The scorpion asks the turtle to ferry him across on his back. “Why would I do that?” the turtle says. “You’ll sting me and I’ll die.” “I can’t swim,” the scorpion says. “If I sting you I’ll die, too.” The turtle, a logical creature, is swayed by the scorpion’s reply, so he allows the scorpion to climb on his back and out they go into the river. Midway across, the scorpion stings the turtle. “Why?” the turtle cries. “Why did you lie to me?” “It’s my nature,” the scorpion says, just before they both drown.
Jack looked into Emma’s dark eyes, as if trying to peer beyond the veil of life. “Why did you want me to tell you that story again?”
“I wanted to make sure you remembered it,” she said.
“How could I forget it?”
“That’s what I thought, but I guess you need a reminder.”
“I don’t understand, honey.”
“Dad, everyone is lying to you.”
He was suddenly tense. There was a knot in his stomach. “What do you mean everyone is lying to me?”
“You know what I mean, Dad.”
“I don’t. Everyone, like Edward?”
“The president,” she said.
“And, what? Alli?”
“Alli, as well.”
“Why would Alli lie to me? Come on, Emma. What is this?”
“Dad, I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know.”
“You always tell me things I don’t know,” he said.
“About us, yes. The two of us. That’s why I’m still here. But about everything else, no, I can’t.”
“The way you say it . . . as if it’s some kind of law.”
“I suppose you could look at it that way.”
“A universal law, like physics or quantum