The Property of a Lady - Elizabeth Adler [2]
His eyes disappeared into the fat folds of his face as he smiled at her. “Fifteen percent,” he suggested softly.
A chuckle rose from his throat, bubbling into a cough as she stared at him. They had already considered the man in Israel and the other in Amsterdam. Abyss was the only one, their only chance. “Ten percent,” she said, pulling the T-shirt from her sticky shoulder blades as she stood up. She stared hard at the trembling hand holding the emerald. “I don’t know,” she added doubtfully. “Maybe Amsterdam would be better after all….”
“Ten,” he agreed quickly.
“You have one month,” she told him, picking up her bag.
He gasped. “A month? Impossible. I need to handle the stone, to study it, to consider every point … it could take a year….”
“One month and ten percent. That is the deal. Can you do it or not?”
Her red-lacquered nails drummed impatiently on the desk as he stared at her, shocked. Then his eyes disappeared again in a mirthless smile. “Let us just say it will be a challenge,” he replied.
She nodded, then turned with her hand on the door. “We are being very generous, Mr. Abyss. There is more where this came from. You could be a very rich man—if you don’t get too greedy.” Her beautiful almond eyes raked the sweating folds of his face contemptuously. “And if you should—then my partners will know what to do.”
Leaving the threat hanging in the air, she closed the door softly behind her. She slid through the dank hallway and down the stairs, and disappeared like a shadow into the milling crowds as Bangkok’s nightlife got into full, raucous swing.
Moscow
The gray hair of the man occupying the large office within the Kremlin signified not only his longevity but also his importance within the Politburo. Marshal Sergei Solovsky’s ZIL limousine had cruised the central lane reserved for the elite in Moscow’s traffic for many years now. Apart, that is, from a long spell in Siberia under Stalin’s regime, and two years of banishment to the provinces when Bulganin, mad with lecherous power, had made a play for his wife, a young pretty dancer who had refused his advances. Solovsky had preferred Siberia: The provinces were a bleaker kind of wilderness, reminding him of a childhood he would rather forget.
A catalog advertising a sale of fine jewels to be held by Christie’s in Geneva lay on his desk. Alongside it was a note from his brother and enemy, Major-General Boris Solovsky, the head of the KGB. It drew his attention to the item on page fifteen, a large unset emerald of flawless quality. He read the note again.
“Although this stone is slightly less than half the weight of the Ivanoff emerald, there is little doubt that it is part of the same jewel. There is only one in the world of this quality. It is our belief that the emerald has been cut and is now being disposed of in separate lots, though the other half will probably not appear until some time has elapsed. In view of the diamond that came on to the market last year, which was also thought to have come from the same source, we believe that the Ivanoff treasure is being unloaded. At last.”
He glanced at the catalog again, checking the provenance. No name was given. The emerald was described only as “The Property of a Lady.” Sergei sat back, considering. He knew what his brother was after. It was something more valuable than emeralds and more powerful than the Ivanoff billions amassed in Swiss banks and awaiting a claim of ownership. The KGB wanted whoever was selling those jewels to be found and brought to Russia before someone else got to them first. And Boris Solovsky had a personal interest in the matter.
He ran his hands wearily through his iron-gray hair. The Ivanoff story was etched indelibly into his brain. The past had finally caught up with him, and now, ironically, he was to be the one to set the wheels in motion.
After pressing the intercom switch, he told his secretary to summon his son Valentin Solovsky, the