The Troika Dolls - Miranda Darling [143]
Out of the corner of her eye, Stevie saw Dragoman’s shadow flit to him with his robe.
‘My lawyer in Geneva is holding the amount of money I am prepared to pay you for your services. A phone call from me and the funds will be wired to any account you choose. I am sure that will be satisfactory for you.’
With that, he left Heini to continue his UV bath.
15
In the pale light of the winter afternoon, Stevie and Henning found themselves back by the windows of the main hall, staring out. This time there were a lot more than snowflakes to watch.
Armed men were crawling around the hillside, and even on the castle walls. They had passed three men in boots and guns on the way up from the treatment rooms.
The guests had been told, through the in-house PA system, that a security exercise was taking place with their safety in mind. The matter was routine and ought to cause no one concern.
Danke, und wir wünschen Ihnen einen angenehmen Tag.
‘Security exercise . . .’ Stevie sat across her chair, with the backs of her knees resting on the arm. She watched as two men outside frisked a holly bush. ‘I would say those men are looking pretty hard for something— or someone.’
‘Two men perhaps?’ Henning gave a wry smile. ‘With tattoos belonging to the Russian Special Forces?’
‘Trouble is, the tattoos I described were criminal tattoos. I don’t think anyone on a covert mission from Moscow would announce themselves with tattoos on their hands.’
‘Well the description certainly got Dragoman fired up.’ He shrugged. ‘You told me yourself that the siloviki use the mafia for all sorts of things—why not use them for killing? That way it’s all utterly deniable.’
‘As long as Dragoman sees it that way.’ Stevie fidgeted nervously with the antimacassar on her armchair.
Henning gestured to the window. ‘There’s your evidence. You’ve hit a paranoia button somewhere. That’s a small victory in itself. Dragoman obviously lives with the very real threat of assassination. It is not something far-fetched for him.’
Stevie stared at the commotion outside. ‘Maybe the plan is working.’
‘These things tend to gather a momentum of their own, Stevie, particularly when you are dealing with more paranoid personalities.’
She nodded. ‘I hope you’re right. At least we did find out for certain that Dragoman didn’t order Kozkov’s death, and that he was almost certainly the man Kozkov spoke to on the phone in the dacha.’
Stevie called the waiter and ordered a mud root tea.
‘Sounds very appetising, Stevie. One of your poisons?’
‘Almost.’
She had done a quick search of a toxins database that morning, hoping to find a way around the coffee ban. When the tea arrived, the smell wafting from the pot was of stagnant water mixed with head lice killer.
‘I’ve discovered that you can get a buzz off this if you drink enough—almost like caffeine. In the sanatorium, its use is restricted to narcoleptics and the obese, but I’ve managed to convince them I need it for my mental health.’
She downed two cups in swift succession. She grimaced, then poured a third cup. ‘It tastes worse than it smells.’
Henning wrinkled his nose, offended by the odour. ‘Is that possible?’
They went back to watching the armed guards.
The waiter reappeared, this time with an envelope on his silver tray. He offered it to Henning.
Inside the envelope, the notepaper was embossed with a gold crest—a dragon slaying a knight—and was as thick as cardboard.
‘The reverse of the legend of St George,’ said Henning.
‘And it’s addressed to you.’
Henning read aloud:
Dear Miss Duveen,
I am giving a dinner in the ballroom tomorrow evening for the occasion of Heinrich Hahanyan’s 65th birthday. All the guests are invited. It would please him greatly if you and your companion would do us the honour of joining us.
8 pm.
FD
Stevie took a gold-tipped cigarette from the slim, black box. ‘Surely that man is too hideous for birthdays?’
‘Inviting all the guests.’ Henning raised an eyebrow. ‘How old-fashioned.’
‘It’s rather delightfully “captain’s table” of him, I agree.’ She put