The Troika Dolls - Miranda Darling [73]
‘How lovely,’ seemed appropriate.
Maxim switched to business with no warning. ‘I know who you work for, Stevie Duveen, I know what you do for Hazard Limited, and I know why you are in Moscow. None of this is of any concern to me.
But it is relevant in the service I wish to do you—or rather, my friend Henning.’
‘In that case, I will be equally frank.’ Stevie lay very still and kept her voice flat. ‘Do you know anything that can help me find Anya Kozkov?’
‘No. And I don’t wish to be involved in that matter.’
Stevie could hardly hide her frustration. ‘Then you can be of no help to me.’
The whirring on Stevie’s machine clicked to a halt. The lights in her sarcophagus went out. The perspiration covering her body chilled her.
Maxim continued unperturbed. ‘I believe your company has a certain interest in a pair of American actors: Douglas Hammer and Sandy Belle, and their son, Clinton-Bill.’ Why, thought Stevie, did she suddenly feel as if she were being haunted by the Hammer-Belles?
‘Kennedy-Jack,’ she corrected cautiously. ‘Yes, go on please, Maxim.’
‘A Romanian kidnap gang may be planning to snatch them.’ His voice was matter-of-fact, as if he came across this sort of information every day, which he probably did in his world. ‘The Romanians are getting a little bit more organised, a little bit more ambitious, spreading their wings, shall we say, into Western Europe. A few token security bears are no longer enough to put them off.’
‘This is useful information, Maxim. Can you tell me anything else?’
‘They want a target that will get a lot of publicity because they want to make a name for themselves.’ There was a note of scorn in Maxim’s voice. He obviously did not think much of Romanian kidnap gangs.
‘So this is a PR stunt for the Romanians?’
‘More or less. They will, of course, demand a lot of money but they may panic, especially when the CIA go after them. I fear things wouldn’t end well for your Americans.’
‘I’ve come up against them before,’ Stevie said slowly.
‘The Swarovskis. Yes, I read.’
She trod carefully. ‘Any ideas on how they might do it?’
‘I would be surprised if they planned anything very imaginative.
A nice road block, masked men with semi-automatics; that sort of thing brings them enjoyment.’ Maxim made it sound like the gang was planning a picnic by the river.
Stevie made a mental note: highly visible protection measures and heavy arms might be the thing.
‘Really, though,’ Maxim continued, ‘you should advise your clients to keep a low profile. The whole of Moscow knows, for example, that Miss Belle’s Hermes bag alone is worth over $65,000—my girlfriend reminds me often enough. Discretion is the best defence against kidnappers, a tactic I myself have adopted with rigour.’
‘Trust me, Maxim, I have tried. They’re not the type to do much quietly.’
‘Then I suppose they have to accept the consequences of the attention they seek.’
Neither spoke for some time, the dull whirring of Maxim’s sunbed filling the silence. Stevie was feeling very sleepy in hers, the ice outside all but forgotten. She gathered her courage before it too left her.
‘Maxim, are you sure you can tell me nothing about Anya Kozkov?’
There was an even longer silence.
Stevie took a deep breath. ‘Gregori Petrovitch Maraschenko. Do you know him?’
She heard Maxim’s sunbed stop, the man climb out. The lid on her bed was flung open.
Through her purple goggles she saw the giant bald mastermind, dressed only in a paper g-string. It would have been comical if the man hadn’t been so dangerous, and if the expression on his face hadn’t been so frightening.
Stevie forgot she was naked as he bent down and spoke in a low voice. ‘Why are you asking about him?’
Stevie wondered if she was about to say too much, but there were so few leads . . . ‘You know him. Please help me. I think he may be connected to Anya’s disappearance.’
Maxim opened a cupboard and pulled out a machine gun made of glass. He unscrewed the tip of the gun barrel and poured vodka into two glasses.
‘It’s a new vodka—called Kalashnikov. It’s very good.’ He