Catherine was already out of bed and going through her duffel. Her voice was shaking. “I’m scared, Eve.”
“So am I.” Eve tossed Catherine her robe. “Let’s go see if that fear is warranted. I hope it’s not.”
Catherine was clutching the photo as she walked slowly into the kitchen.
Eve followed her.
Jeremy or Luke?
Sadness or total heartbreak?
Catherine stopped in front of the reconstruction, her gaze focused on the face.
Sweet face. Round cheeks. Turned up nose. Slightly pouty lips.
Not Luke’s face.
“Thank God.” The tears were running down Catherine’s cheeks. “It’s not him.” She was looking at the photo, then the face of the reconstruction. “I’m right, aren’t I? I’m not just fooling myself? It’s not Luke.”
“It’s not Luke.” Eve was staring critically at the reconstruction. The child was heavier boned than the age progression she’d done of Luke at age five. The corners of the eyes had a slightly Slavic tilt. “No, he’s still Jeremy until we find out who he is.”
“But he’s not Luke!” Catherine grabbed Eve and whirled her around in a circle. “Rakovac lied. Luke could still be alive. No, he is alive. I know it.”
“Stop.” Eve pushed her away. “I’m dizzy enough from lack of sleep. I don’t need you making it any worse.”
“I’m sorry.” She was staring again at the reconstruction. “And I’m sorry for that poor child. But I’m glad he’s not my Luke.”
“I gathered that.” Eve smiled. “It’s fairly obvious, Catherine.”
Catherine’s smile faded. “And I’m glad you didn’t see fit to make him look like Luke. You could have done it, couldn’t you? The stakes are high. Weren’t you tempted?”
“I’d lie if I told you I wasn’t. The situation is difficult, and knowing Luke is alive makes it even harder. But I found I couldn’t do it. If anything happens because I made that choice, my guilt is as deep as yours.” She shrugged. “Which means that I have to make sure what I did won’t have any bearing on Rakovac’s ability to put that catastrophe in motion. Otherwise, I’ll have guilt crushing me for the rest of my life.” She stared her in the eye. “We go after those records, Catherine. We’ll find your son, but we make sure that those records are in our hands before you kill Rakovac.”
She shook her head. “I’m grateful to you. But I can’t promise.”
“I’m not asking you to promise. I’m telling you how it’s going to be.” She took a step closer to the reconstruction. “Now go back to bed. I have to clean up here and put Jeremy in the case. You might start thinking about what we’re going to do and say when Rakovac calls you. He’s overdue. I thought we’d hear from him before this.”
Catherine didn’t move. “I want to promise you, Eve,” she whispered.
“I know you do. There’s no use talking about it. We’ve both already stated our intentions.” Eve was gazing at Jeremy. “We have to find out his identity. It’s not going to be easy. I don’t even know if Russia has a lost-children program.” She shook her head. “What am I thinking? Maybe it won’t be that difficult. How did Rakovac know where to find a skeleton with which to taunt you? We should just probably follow the source.”
“You think he killed this child?”
“Until I’m proven wrong.” She began to pick up bits of clay that had fallen on the table. “Go on. Try to get some sleep. I’ll go to bed myself after I unwind a little.”
She heard the bedroom door close behind Catherine a moment later.
Sleep well, Catherine. I have an idea we’ll need all the rest we can get in the days ahead.
If they even had days. She was overwhelmingly conscious of the giant shadow cast by Rakovac’s horror looming over all of them. Her stomach was twisting as she kept remembering those planes diving into the Twin Towers.
Catherine wouldn’t be able to hold her hand from killing Rakovac if it came to a choice. Would Eve? Sacrifice that sweet, innocent child so full life and joy?
Please God, don’t let it come to that choice.
Her eyes stung with tears as she stared at the reconstruction of Jeremy. Another victim of Rakovac. He, too, had been full of life before Rakovac had entered his world.
“It’s not fair, is it?” she murmured as she gently touched the cool clay of Jeremy’s cheek. “We’re all so concerned about Luke, wondering, worrying, happy that you’re not him. It’s not that you’re not important. You have value, you are important. It’s just that he has a chance to stay with us.”
A chance.
If they could find and get him away from Rakovac before he killed him.
It wasn’t even certain that Luke was still alive. That skeleton in the grave might have been a macabre twist to raise their hopes, then dash them later.
But she didn’t believe that was true. Rakovac’s revenge had been simmering too long for him to cheat himself out of being able to watch Catherine’s final agony. No, Catherine’s son was alive.
But where are you, Luke?
The rat was staring at him, bright, black eyes fixed as he edged closer in the cell.
He was probably hungry, Luke thought. Rats came up from the basement and were often caught here. He didn’t blame him. He was hungry, too. He wasn’t afraid of the rat. Mikhal hadn’t tied him this time, and he could fight the rat off if it got too bold. He’d try not to kill it. Hunger was a good reason to attack and kill.
Maybe the best reason.
“Luke, your time is up,” Mikhal Czadas called out as he came down the corridor to the cell. “Now be a good lad and do what you’re told.”
Luke didn’t answer.
“Don’t be stubborn, Luke.” Mikhal opened the cell door, and the rat scampered away. “You’ve been in here for two days. Do you think I like to punish you? But Rakovac is determined you do this kill. All you have to do is point the gun and pull the trigger. Then you walk away, and I give you a fine dinner and let you get back to your books.”
“No.”
Mikhal knelt beside him. “Do it,” he coaxed. “It’s not as if you haven’t killed before. I put a gun in your hand when you were scarcely able to hold it. I’ve taken you on so many of my raids since you were eight. You fought for the great cause. Do you think when you fired that gun that you didn’t kill? What’s the difference? This is just easier. He’s tied and can’t try to kill you. You walk up to the man and press the trigger.”
“There’s a difference.” He would not have known that difference if his books had not said that fighting in a war and the killing of the helpless were not the same. He was still confused about it, but he would believe his books. He believed nothing Rakovac said. Rakovac was the enemy. When he had been younger, he had never thought at all. He had just done as he was told. But that was before he had found the books. “Why does Rakovac want me to do it?”
“I believe he thinks it may upset your dear mother. As I’ve told you, all your pain is caused by her.”
Luke had heard those words all his life too when he was growing up and at first he hadn’t doubted them. It was only in the past few years that his hatred of Rakovac had cleared his head of those lies. It was Rakovac who wielded the whip. It was Rakovac who punished and tormented. Usually not personally; he relied on Mikhal to carry out his orders. Luke had lived with Mikhal Czadas as long as he could remember in this crumbling stone house on the lake.
He had gradually become vaguely aware that Mikhal took orders from Rakovac about his care in exchange for the weapons he supplied him. It was a rare occasion when Rakovac visited Savrin House, and it usually involved a beating and Rakovac showing him the picture of the woman he said was Luke’s mother and telling him that she was responsible.
She was not responsible. She was not real to him. He had only a vague memory of her, but it was of kindness and warmth. But no one was responsible for this pain but Rakovac. When he’d finally gotten over the confusion and hurt, he’d realized that everythi
ng Rakovac or Mikhal told him was lies. Why should he believe the man who hurt him?
“Do it for me, Luke,” Mikhal said. “Look at all I do for you. Are you not treated well? Except for these little rebellions when you cause me trouble, I’m very kind to you. I keep you fed and housed and supplied with all those books you love so much.”
Books. It had been a magical day when he had been exploring and discovered the library, with the thousands of books that had belonged to Nikolai Savrin and his English wife, the former owners of the house. And when Mikhal had discovered how fascinated he was by them, they had become weapons. He had even had Luke taught to read both Russian and English so that the love would grow. Now the books were kept or withdrawn at Mikhal’s whim…or Rakovac’s order.
“Why should it matter to my mother if I kill this man or not?”
“Rakovac believes she has the foolish idea that your soul may be damaged in some way. It will hurt her. Don’t worry your head about it. Just do as Rakovac says.”
He was silent a moment. Was it worth enduring the beating that was bound to come? All it would take would be to pull the trigger.
Rakovac wanted it. It was worth the pain. “No.”
Mikhal sat back on his heels. “The man’s going to die anyway. Rakovac thinks Medvar cheated him. He only sent him here because he had this brilliant idea of how he could use him.”
“No.”
Mikhal sighed and got to his feet. “Then I’ll have to do it myself.” He started to turn away. “Though Rakovac will be angry with both of us.”
He was leaving, Luke realized, stunned.
“You’re not going to beat me?”
“It doesn’t work anymore. The last few times I became very frustrated. I spoke to Rakovac about it, and he told me not to worry. That our time together was almost over anyway.” He smiled maliciously over his shoulder. “So instead, I’ll just burn all your books.”
“No!”
“I’ve been thinking about doing it for a long time. They’re beginning to be troublesome. At first, I found them useful in controlling you. It came as a surprise to me since I’ve never cared much for books. I couldn’t see why they meant so much to you.”
Because they took me away from this place, Luke thought in agony. Because when I was reading, you and Rakovac and what you did to me didn’t matter anymore.
“But that time is past,” Mikhal said. “I actually believe that’s where you got the idea of running away from here.” He tilted his head. “In fact, I’ll let you watch. We’ll make a bonfire beside the lake. Come along.”
It was no use refusing. Mikhal had ways to make sure he saw the burning. Luke got to his feet and stumbled toward the door.
“Unless you change your mind. Why make me do this? You know I’m right.”
Luke shook his head. He had to fight them, he thought in agony. They weren’t right. Everything they said and did were lies. Maybe the whole world was full of lies. There were stories in the books about truth and kindness and courage, but they might also not be true. How could he be sure? He only knew Mikhal and Rakovac and the few people he’d met when Mikhal had taken him away from Savrin House on the raids.
And he supposed he knew the woman, Catherine Ling, who Rakovac called his mother. But he only knew her face and Rakovac’s ugly words and that faint memory.
“You’re a fool, Luke,” Mikhal said softly. He turned on his heel. “Come and see your precious books go up in flames.”
Thirty minutes later, Luke stood on the bank of the lake and watched the black smoke curl up to the gray sky from the pile of books heaped on the shore. The wind was whipping sharply, stinging his cheeks and causing the fire to leap higher.
Don’t cry, Luke told himself.
Mikhal was staring hungrily at his face, waiting for him to break, for the tears to come.
He wouldn’t cry.
He stared defiantly at Mikhal across the fire. If he looked at Mikhal instead of the burning books that had been his only friends, he could hold the tears back.
And he would never let him see how much it hurt.
“The skull wasn’t Luke,” Kelly repeated. “I’m so glad, Catherine.”
“So was I. I wanted to fall down at Eve’s feet this morning when she brought me in to see the reconstruction.” Catherine poured a cup of coffee from the fresh pot that Natalie had just made. “But the problem still exists. I have to find him.” She sat down at the table. “We can’t just wait for him to call and hope that he’ll let something slip or give us our chance.”
Kelly nodded as she lifted her orange juice to her lips. “The surveillance report. I’m doing the best I can. You’re reading it, too. You can see that there isn’t anything that you can put your finger on.”
“I thought you said there was always a pattern.”
“The pattern is there, but it’s hard to define.” Kelly frowned thoughtfully. “But lately I’ve thought I’ve caught glimpses.”
Catherine tensed. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve tried to fill in Rakovac’s background, so that I could get a handle on him. In the past nine years he’s been involved in all sorts of corruption. Bribing of officials in the Russian Parliament, drugs, vice, arms deals. His manipulation of the members of the parliament is what made him golden in the eyes of the U.S. Congress. He seems to have a magic touch where that kind of dealing is concerned. He used bribery, intimidation, even murder to get what he wanted from them.”
“Which is why Ali Dabala hired him to set up his Armageddon project.”
Kelly nodded. “He came highly qualified.”
“But none of this is doing us any good,” Catherine said impatiently. “I read the reports of the agents shadowing him and every meeting he’s had with his so-called clients was purely business. They were all checked out, and none of them had anything to do with Luke. It’s as if once he took my son, Luke no longer existed.” Her hand tightened on her cup. “And that scares the hell out of me.”
“He had to know he was being tailed,” Kelly said. “The agents even mention that they had no problem keeping track of his movements. You tell me he’s very clever. That means he didn’t care whether Venable knew about those meetings or his activities with all those other criminal groups. Until he started meeting with Ali Dabala. One meeting, then we start to see more holes.”
“Holes?”
“Periods when the agents appear to have lost contact with Rakovac. Sometimes for as much as forty-eight hours.”
“You said more. You noticed other periods like that?”
“The first time I went through the report, I skimmed over them. The holes didn’t appear with any regularity and some of them might have been periods that weren’t at all suspicious. Times when Rakovac might just have stayed in his villa for twenty-four hours or more. But I was getting desperate and decided to go back in and examine them more carefully.” She added, “They’re definitely worth looking at and seeing if I can see any pattern. We have to assume that Rakovac knew and let himself be followed when it didn’t matter to him. He had protection from Venable as long as he gave him what he wanted, and no matter what other dirtiness he became involved with, the CIA wasn’t going to step in.”
“Until they had information he might have become involved with terrorists.”
“That was too much for anyone to swallow. Rakovac conveniently disappeared.” She took a sip of her orange juice. “But he left the holes for me. That may help.”
“Then what are you doing just lolling here drinking orange juice? Get to work.”
“I’m working. I’m thinking about the sequences and how I can tie it together with what I know about Rakovac.” She took another drink. “But I don’t know enough about him. I know the filth he became later in life, but I don’t know how he started out. Most patterns start in childhood and stay in effect throughout life. What do you know about his early years?”
“Not much. He was born in the Republic of Georgia and involved in that short vicious
conflict that involved South Ossetia and Russia. He was jumping from one side to the other all during the war. I wasn’t interested in his early years. I was too busy trying to fight the hell he was creating all around him as an adult.”
“I’ll see if Venable can e-mail me more details. I do know that he was only a teenager when he was first fighting the Ossetians, and he was exceptionally brutal and ugly. He’s had no permanent relationship with a woman. He prefers to have a variety of affairs with the kind of sadistic sex that he put Natalie through.”
“Oh, I can believe that. He’s mentioned in detail what he has in store for me.”
Kelly nodded. “But I’d like to find out more about his childhood. Maybe Kelsov can help me. No one should know more about him. After all, they did fight together before Rakovac betrayed him to Moscow.” She finished her orange juice and got to her feet. “I think I’ll go and find him. I saw him going toward the barn with Natalie.”
“You’re wrong. There’s one person who knows more about Rakovac than Kelsov.”
“Natalie?” Kelly nodded soberly. “I tried to do a little probing, but she shut down right away. I may try again. Or ask Kelsov to question her.” She opened the front door. “She seems willing to do anything for him.”
“Wait. You think these holes are really important?”
“Don’t you?”
“They could be. I’m hoping we’re not grasping at straws.”
“Sometimes grasping at straws can be productive. They’re a consistent in a multichanging landscape in Rakovac’s life. I have to look for consistencies and what events and personalities they’re associated with.”
“And then?”
She smiled. “Then I may see a pattern that may help you find your son.”
“I couldn’t make him do it,” Mikhal said when Rakovac answered the phone. “Luke’s become very stubborn. He’s beginning to defy me.”
“The little viper is like his mother. He’s just getting his teeth. You punished him?”
“In the most painful way possible for him. He’ll regret not obeying you.”