Last Snow - Eric van Lustbader [112]
“What a clever way to put it,” Alli said, but then, seeing Jack’s admonishing look, at once shut her mouth.
“You can use any clever phrase that comes to mind, but the outcome is the same: Rochev was tortured. Why? Because your killer—Magnussen or whoever he was—couldn’t control himself.”
Kharkishvili, aware that Jack had thrown his phraseology back into his face, said, “I don’t want a fight with you, Mr. McClure.”
“You may have no choice,” Jack said.
Kharkishvili hesitated, then laughed. “I like you, sir.” He wagged a finger. “I see where your daughter gets her sharp tongue.”
“Do you think this is a joke?” Jack said. “Torture, collateral damage, murder—none of them are what I’d call a laughing matter.”
“Of course they aren’t.” Kharkishvili spread his hands. “What I mean to say is that none of us has complete control over events. I assure you that the perpetrator of these unfortunate atrocities has been punished.”
“Meaning?”
Kharkishvili pointed out the window. “You see that large blue spruce up on the rise there?” He crossed to a glass door that led out to a flagstone terrace, beyond which appeared to be an apple orchard. He opened it and gestured. “Shall we walk across his unmarked grave together?”
“Your dog could be buried there,” Jack said, “or your ex-wife, or nothing at all.”
“You don’t believe me.”
“Where is Mikal Magnussen? I want to ask him some questions.”
At that moment Annika appeared. Catching Jack’s eye, she motioned for him to join her on the other side of the solarium. Jack walked over without excusing himself.
“Harry Martin was an NSA hit man,” she said in a low whisper, “under the control of General Atcheson Brandt.”
“I don’t understand,” Jack said. “Why was he sent after you?”
Her expression of concern deepened. “The NSA must have found out about us. Your president is determined to sign this treaty with the Kremlin.”
Jack shook his head. “Even so, he would never authorize the NSA to do Yukin’s dirty work.”
“I want to take your word for it,” Annika said, “but then what’s the explanation?”
Jack thought a moment. “General Brandt is the joker in this particular deck.”
“What?”
“I have no idea what Brandt is doing handling an NSA assassin, that doesn’t track.”
“Mr. McClure.” Kharkishvili was beckoning. “If you’ll come with me . . .”
Jack stepped outside and together they walked through the apple orchard to the rise beneath the blue spruce.
“So then?”
Jack rubbed the toe of his shoe over the freshly turned earth, dug deeper. “Nothing is buried here,” he said, “or at least no one.”
Kharkishvili was eyeing him closely. “Are you saying that I lied to you?”
“Without hesitation.”
Kharkishvili stood with his hands clasped behind his back, breathing deeply. “This sense, or ability, is why you’re here now, Mr. McClure.” His eyes met Jack’s. “You see, we need you.”
“I don’t know what ability you’re talking about.”
“We’re inside a puzzle now, Mr. McClure. A Gordian knot, if you will. You have a special gift—a way of seeing around barriers that keep other people paralyzed.”
“I think you have me confused with someone else,” Jack said. “I uncovered your lie, but Annika fooled me.”
Kharkishvili nodded. “But there came a time when you began to have doubts about her, wasn’t there?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact there was, when we came out of Rochev’s dacha into the ambush.”
A vague smile played across Kharkishvili’s mouth. “Yes, we anticipated that probability.”
Sixteen diverse bits of information formed a pattern on the Rubik’s Cube in his mind. “Wait a minute, it was Gurov who shot her in the woods. He aimed for the fleshy part of her arm, a minor wound, it’s true, but my doubts vanished when she was hit.”
“You see what I’m driving at, Mr. McClure. It takes so little information for you to grasp the big picture, to determine how vectors intersect. You were the one who found your way here; Annika had no idea where we were, we couldn’t allow that. Compartmentalization is our watchword.” He brought one hand from behind his back, gesturing for them to walk