Last Snow - Eric van Lustbader [151]
Jack drained his glass; he was feeling better with every moment that passed. “How long ago was he hired?”
“I inquired of Magnussen; he was hired six days ago.”
Kharkishvili was proving to be a good man. Jack’s brain, which had felt as if it had been encased in jelly, was functioning again, enough, at least, for him to remember his conversation with the president, who had assured him that, the sanction canceled, no more government agents were in the field.
“I want to speak with him,” he said. He rose, took two tottering steps, and sat back down.
Kharkishvili frowned, making him look something like the ogre in the story of Jack and the beanstalk. “In your condition I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
“Please have Ivan Gurov come in, then bring the poisoner here,” Jack said, a certain snap returning to his voice. “We don’t have time to worry about my condition.”
Kharkishvili nodded and left.
When, in due course, Gurov poked his head in the doorway and asked how Jack was feeling, Jack said, “Ivan, the assassin who followed us here, the one you blew off the road, do you know anything about him?”
“I checked with Passport Control at Simferopol North. His name was Ferry Lovejoy.”
“A government-assigned legend.”
“Ah, yes.” Gurov nodded. “A false name to go with the false papers the American government gives its agents overseas. But, no, I checked with FSB in Moscow. Neither Mr. Ferry Lovejoy nor anyone matching the surveillance photo I took of him is in their database.”
Jack’s mind was working at such speeds that he felt momentarily dizzy. “It’s now more imperative than ever that I speak with my would-be murderer.”
“Mr. Kharkishvili has him outside.”
“Good. But first, please have Alli come in, would you.”
While Kharkishvili went to fetch Alli, Jack put a hand on the porcelain sink and levered himself up. For a moment he stood swaying slightly. He spent his time slowing his breathing in order to get his heart rate back to a normal level. All the while his mind was running full tilt. He now had almost all the pieces to the puzzle, though there were still important gaps to fill in. He hoped he could do that before the deadline of tomorrow night, or was it already tomorrow? He glanced at his watch, but his fall had shattered the crystal face and it had stopped working.
He pulled out his cell phone and that was when he saw that there was one voice mail message. It had been flagged URGENT.
ALLI EMBRACED him. “Are you all right?” She had arrived before he could pick up the message.
“I’m fine.”
“Then what are you still doing in the bathroom?”
He smiled. “It makes an excellent interrogation cell.” He pulled her closer to him. “Now, listen, in a moment Kharkishvili is going to bring in the man who tried to poison me and I’m going to talk to him. You’ll watch him, listen to him, assuming he says much of anything, which is doubtful. That shouldn’t matter to you, you’ll evaluate his facial and body movements, which will tell me a lot. Okay? Think you’re up to it?”
“Of course I’m up to it.” Her eyes were large and liquid. “I’m just . . . I can’t believe you’ll trust me with this.”
Jack brushed back the fringe of hair from her forehead. “It’s not my trust you can’t believe, Alli, it’s your trust in yourself.”
A moment later Kharkishvili appeared with a slight, dark-haired young man who Jack recognized as one of the kitchen assistants.
“This is the sonuvabitch,” Kharkishvili said, manhandling him through the doorway. “His name is Vlad, so he says.” He glared at Vlad. “He’s Ukrainian, that much is for certain, the accent is unmistakable.”
“Sit down.”
When Vlad made no move, Kharkishvili pushed him roughly down onto the closed toilet seat.
“You can do whatever you want to me, I’m not going to talk,” the young man said.
Jack ignored him. “Vlad, I’m going to tell you a story. This happened a long time ago, in seventeenth-century Italy. A Neapolitan woman named Toffana marketed a cosmetic, Acqua Toffana. It was a face paint that, as was the custom of the time,