The Troika Dolls - Miranda Darling [115]
‘What do you mean “traffickers”?’ Stevie said quickly. ‘People traffickers?’
The girl stopped fidgeting and suddenly looked frightened. Had she said too much?
Stevie watched her face closely and decided to take a gamble: ‘Dragoman?’
The girl shook her head and squeezed her lips tight. Stevie wouldn’t get another word.
Out they popped from the butler’s pantry. Stevie led the now-quiet girl over to Douglas and Arik, introducing her as Olga Brolga because she realised she didn’t know the fawn’s name.
Douglas smiled politely, his eyes primly on her face, not her chest. He had, after all, cast himself as a family man and he took his role seriously. Arik, however, was quite taken with Olga Brolga.
‘Olga is an actress and a friend,’ Stevie beamed. ‘She’s been very helpful to me so be good to her. She’s not a toy.’ Then she left a very happy Olga to the grins of Arik Joel.
Dragoman. Stevie rolled the name around in her mind as she soaked in a hot bath. Her best thinking was usually done in the bath and, in any case, she was frozen to the bone. The right track was always clear and simple when you came across it. She hunted for it now.
Kozkov had made the existence of his secret list known. This made him too dangerous to keep alive, for the siloviki. Stevie doubted Dragoman would have as much to fear by being linked to Kremlin power players as they to him.
The order to assassinate him would have needed approval from the top. Kozkov was too important to be annihilated without it, something they had avoided doing up until now.
The siloviki must have assumed that Kozkov had shared that valuable information with Stevie, and now the shadows had come after her. What was another body to them? Better to be safe than sorry. The only reason they hadn’t just shot her dead was because they were in Switzerland, not Russia, and a point-blank assassination in this peaceful country would cause a massive stir.
A thought occurred: had Kirril given her away? It was a possibility. She would probably never know. It didn’t really matter. What did was that the assassins would certainly try again.
Stevie would not be safe until the siloviki decided she no longer mattered, or until they simply forgot about her. Trouble was, they had long memories and a wide reach. The mysterious deaths of prominent Russian émigrés who criticised various prominent politicians were evidence of that, no matter what the official line was.
But you couldn’t just go charging up against the red walls. Kozkov must have been on the right track or the siloviki—it had to have been them—wouldn’t have suddenly had him killed after all this time.
Cui bono? she asked herself. Who benefits from his murder? Not Dragoman. If he had wanted Kozkov dead, he wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of holding Kozkov’s daughter hostage.
Stevie needed to find Anya. She was hoping that Dragoman would want to keep Kozkov’s daughter close, savour the satisfaction of his revenge. Holding Anya hostage was more than business to him: it was pleasure. And he would want to feel that every day.
Stevie also needed to get the wolves off her tail, but the trouble was, she didn’t know who the wolves were. And if she found them . . . well, she didn’t think she was the sort of girl who could kill a man.
She slid her head under the warm water and listened to the blood rushing in her ears. Then it came to her:
Set a thief to catch a thief.
It was the only way.
She couldn’t unveil the identity of the siloviki. It would be close to impossible without seeing the list—wherever it was. Hunting for it would take more time and resources than she had, and it wouldn’t help get Anya back. But Felix Dragoman would have to know who the siloviki were. He would no doubt already be annoyed that they had killed Kozkov under his nose and possibly already suspicious of their motives. If he thought his friends in the Kremlin had turned on him, he would go after them himself. Stevie would never have to show her