The Property of a Lady - Elizabeth Adler [232]
“Jesus H. Christ,” Herbert said into the silence.
“That’s probably who he thought he was,” Cal commented gloomily, “or some sort of self-made god.”
“You can only imagine the problem this presents for Turkey,” Guisen said angrily. “The head of the KGB murdered in Istanbul.”
“It seems to me,” Ahmet said quickly, “that the first problem is to find Anna. Someone killed Solovsky and helped her to escape. It must be someone she trusts.”
Cal’s eyes met his as the Mercedes swung into the courtyard of the Villa Kazahn.
Cal nodded. “Of course,” he said. “I know who she is with. Valentin Solovsky.”
Michael Kazahn scanned the group of men standing around drinking whiskey and filling his beautiful room with cigarette smoke, listening gloomily while Cal explained what had happened. He was sitting beside Refika on the long divan under the window, and she put her hand over his as Cal told them they believed Anna—or Genie, as they all called her—was with Valentin Solovsky.
“Missie never told Genie the full story,” Cal said. “She never knew about the money in the Swiss banks. She didn’t even know about the jewels until Missie was forced to hand them over to her when she went into Fairlawns, and she still doesn’t know about the mines. Missie always downplayed the Russian background. She never showed her the old photos or talked about it much at all. She wanted it all forgotten so that when she died, the story—and the threat—would die with her. She was keeping her promise to Misha right to the end.
“Valentin is as dangerous as his uncle Boris,” he concluded quietly. “He is a career diplomat with his eyes on Russia’s highest position, and so far he has let nothing stand in his way. There is no reason to believe he will now. The last thing he can allow is for Genie to go on TV and tell the truth. He is looking to kill Anna Adair and he believes Genie will lead him to her. All we can do now is pray that in some misguided moment, believing he is her rescuer, she does not confess everything to him and tell him who she really is. Because there is only one ending to that scenario.”
“And what do you propose we do now?” Michael demanded, limping over to the police chief. “After you have bungled the raid on the ship and lost her? Are we supposed to wait around while your men get stuck in traffic again? Or do you have some master plan you haven’t told us?”
“It was not our fault.” Keliç blustered, red-faced. “Istanbul’s traffic is notorious. Even our own prime minister’s motorcade gets delayed….”
“Bah!” Michael limped back to Cal. He leaned heavily on his ebony cane, staring hard at him, assessing him. “You know her,” he said finally. “What do you think she is likely to do?”
Cal hesitated. He was thinking of Genie’s meeting with Valentin in Geneva and her odd behavior afterward. He was finally forced to face the painful truth. “Valentin is a handsome, charming man,” he said quietly. “Genie is … attracted … to him and I believe he is to her, but that would not be enough to stop him killing her if he knew who she really was. I think all we can do now is wait and let the police try to trace them. And we must pray that she telephones you.”
Refika met her husband’s eyes across the room and she knew what he was thinking. He was thinking of Tariq’s pledge of loyalty to the Ivanoffs—and that he had let his father down.
Ferdie Arnhaldt’s face was a mask of fury as he slammed down the telephone in his room at the Yesil Ev Hotel. Genie Reese had escaped and the Turk had lost them in a traffic jam at the Galata Bridge. If he had the bastard here now, he would strangle him. He would enjoy watching his eyes pop out of his stupid, mercenary face….
He flung back the fringed velvet curtains with shaking hands and peered into the busy nighttime street. She could be anywhere out there, anywhere at all, with the man who had rescued her. “A young man,