Legacy in Blood (Book 1 of The Begotten of Old Series) (31 page)

Mr. Mayor, you should be grateful to me,
thought Dalana as she moved away from the future epicenter of the blast.
It’s just a pity that you will never know who spared you today. You’ll be able to get your hands on a load of state funds for reconstruction work.

It seemed to him that time was playing tricks on him. But at the same time, it seemed to him that it was still too early. The device was functioning. But he couldn’t activate it before the driver returned to the dark blue Dakota and sat behind the wheel. The man could not recall when he had become so sure that it needed to be done exactly at that moment and not a second earlier. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was the driver of the Dakota. Everything depended upon the driver of the Dakota.

And then he finally appeared – a small, somewhat inconspicuous young man. For some reason the boy looked around furtively a couple of times before he tried to open the car door. Then he opened it, apparently with some difficulty, and ducked inside.

The man walked right up to the Dakota. He took no notice of the strange, jerky movements of the boy, who was bent over and messing around with the ignition housing, but even if he had noticed, he still would have continued to carry out his objective.

Marisa devoured the melting, marvelously tasty chocolate as she walked, knowing that she did not have the will power to hoard this sweet treasure until evening. She did not even intend for her purchase to last until she got back to her car.

The explosion thundered out just at the moment when Marisa greedily bit into an elegant confection in the shape of a small egg.

Marisa let the box drop from her hand, and chocolates skittered across the dirty asphalt. Marisa paused for a second, slightly deafened by the blast, then rushed to the site of the tragedy, completely forgetting about the chocolate.

Something dreadful had happened in the square. Several cars, which had been near the epicenter of the explosion, were bursting with flames, giving rise to a column of oily, black smoke that smelled corrosive and evil. Marisa already realized that her Dakota was somewhere in that burning, metal mess.

Traffic on the Drottninggatan halted. People jumped from their cars, trying to see what had happened. An unceasing howl of pain and terror arose from the people in the square.

Marisa noticed a bloody body part not far from her and averted her eyes. How could she think about her car at a time like this, when so many people must have died? She should be grateful that she had miraculously escaped. She could have just as easily returned from buying her chocolates in time for the explosion. Or she could have not yet left.

But what had happened here? Another terrorist attack?

“Excuse me,” Marisa addressed a police officer who was running past her.

“I don’t know anything!” he yelled without slowing his pace.

Marisa resolutely headed for a group of people in uniform that had come running up the steps.

“What happened?” she asked as she walked up to the men.

“Everything’s taken care of, girl,” answered the tallest of then without even favoring Marisa with a glance. “Everything’s under control. Officers from the relevant bureaus are already on their way. Just thank God that you are still alive…”

“I’m from just such a bureau,” snapped Marisa, taking out her ID badge. “CRUSS, Special Agent Sukhostat. My car was over there, by the way. Lay it out for me.”

The police officer calmly glanced at Marisa and her identification.

“Oh, indeed, there you are, waving your papers around,” said the man with evident exhaustion in his voice. “I don’t know any more than you do. There was an explosion. Right now people are coming to investigate it. Most likely, it was a terrorist attack. So it’s not your concern. And it really isn’t mine either. So just go home. Or stay if you really feel like raking through someone else’s shit.”

Marisa was on the verge of an irate tirade when she was interrupted by her cell phone ringing in her pocket.

“Sukhostat,” Marisa answered bleakly.

What she heard next was good news, genuinely good news. For a moment Marisa even forgot about the explosion, its victims, her wrecked car and this morning’s message in her confidential email box.

When her conversation was finished, Marisa withdrew to the side and immediately dialed Volsky’s number.

“Hi,” answered Pavel cheerfully. “It’s been ages.”

“Listen, I have something to tell you,” she blurted out, but Volsky instantly interrupted her.

“No, it’s I who have something to tell you! Krook sent the results: They match! Both the sperm and the hair from the razor – they both belong to Soigu!” Volsky chattered blissfully. “We’ve got him, the murderer! You should stop by and…hey, what’s that noise?”

“There was a terrorist attack,” explained Marisa. “At Sergels Torg. Someone set off a bomb.”

“Are you alright?” asked Pavel fearfully.

“I’m fine,” she replied. “It’s just a pity that I lost my chocolates.”

“What chocolates?”

“Forget about it. My Dakota’s a lost cause. It’s burnt to a crisp.”

And it was no sleight of hand,
Marisa added to herself, recalling Volsky’s trick with his supposedly broken down car.

“Let it go,” Pavel said airily. “The engine was making a rattling sound anyway – you would’ve just had to get it fixed.”

Marisa just snorted bitterly in reply.

“So, is this what you wanted to tell me about, this terrorist attack?” asked Volsky.

“No, although about that too.”

“And what were you doing there anyway?”

“It’ll take a while to explain,” said Marisa. “I’ll tell you when I get in.”

“Take a cab,” Pavel said, his voice once again cheerful. “We’re waiting on you. By the way…”

Volsky suddenly faltered, and when he continued his voice was hushed.

“Say, did you…did you think about me?”

“I’ll see you at headquarters,” said Marisa in an even tone and she hung up.

Well, unless you counted inescapable personal issues, terrorist attacks and the loss of her car, everything was going as well as it possibly could. Volsky had unearthed evidence against Soigu, and now the case depended on Papa.

And as far as Marisa herself was concerned, she had almost reached her goal. She now knew the address that had received the delivery printed on the bloodstained receipt.

As she drove down Klarabergsgatan Dalana looked in the rearview mirror and discovered to her profound satisfaction that there was not a trace left of the wound she had sustained in her skirmish with the sewer beast. Then Dalana heard the explosion. Marisa Sukhostat was dead. It was now time to consider other matters.

Yesterday, right after Dalana had thoroughly washed off the sewer stench in a hot bath, she once again had a bad feeling. The Begotten of Old’s intuition suggested that it was time to quit the apartment and get to her place in the country. It was possible that her apprehension was premature, but Dalana was not about to risk it. Nor was she going to risk returning to the apartment. While Vasilisa slept, Dalana gathered her things and wrote the transmog a note. All she could do was hope that the quarrelsome girl would take her instructions to heart.

Dalana headed for her new suburban haven. She needed to properly study the area and feel it out. After all, the Lord helps those who help themselves.

After this Dalana planned to return to Stockholm and conclude her business with Vasilisa.

Dalana took her foot off the gas and tried to breathe deeply. She even turned the radio on. But she just could not relax.

The restless feeling grew with every minute.

Heavy grey clouds were gathering in the sky, promising rain. In her peripheral vision Dalana saw the one her homeland knew as Dolon scudding across the sky. Dolon was one of the seven Tengri of the stinging western wind and he had control over the cold autumn rains.

His appearance was an unspeakably bad omen. Dalana was aware of this.

Now and always, Dolon was the harbinger of catastrophe and evil fortune. Moreover, you never had to wait very long for the catastrophe to arrive.

3.

 

The heart is forever making the head its fool.

Francois de La Rochefoucauld

 

Upon her arrival at the office, Marisa found Volsky in an extremely bad mood. Arvid and Genaro also had expressions on their faces that were far from happy.

“Is it still alive?” Arvid asked sullenly.

“You mean my car? No. It died.”

“What a shitty day,” Genaro said laconically.

“What changed while I was on my way here?” Marisa asked. “Or did someone else lose a car today?”

“Someone …”

Volsky raised his finger upwards in an illustrative gesture.

“…upstairs is of the opinion that the latest evidence in the Soigu investigation was not obtained according to the correct procedures.”

“That someone is absolutely right” Marisa said, shrugging her shoulders. “What of it?”

“That’s what I say – what of it?” Volsky bristled. “What are we, regular beat cops? We just catch the small fries and ignore the big fish? You wanted proof that this degenerate was a werewolf. So take it!”

“It’s clear they’re passing the buck to us. They want to cover their asses,” Marisa frowned.

“They’re trying,” nodded Genaro. “But Papa says that if there’s a shakedown, he’ll shoulder all the complications.”

“Well, I have faith in Papa,” reasoned Marisa.

“They hope to make a mess of tomorrow’s operation,” snapped Pavel. “I’d like to shove it up their asses along with their procedures!”

“Don’t waste your strength, Pavel,” said Arvid with a smirk. “Who the hell knows what that monster will come up with tomorrow? You know he’s probably waiting for us.”

“I’m sure he’s counting the moments, just like I am,” said Volsky.

“That’s enough,” he said then he turned to Marisa “What is it you have to share with us?”

“I found the thing that ripped open my informant’s throat,” she said, rubbing her hands together.

“How’d you find him?” asked Arvid.

“He left a trail behind him. I’m not exactly sure why, but it seems that after the murder he wiped his hands with a receipt from a supermarket.”

“A complete moron,” concluded Arvid.

“Were there fingerprints?” asked Genaro. “Maybe we’ve got something on else on him?”

“Unfortunately, we didn’t manage to get any fingerprints. They were so smeared that the system wouldn’t recognize them.”

“So you’re going to get him? When?” demanded Arvid.

“I’m going to get him today. First I’m going to run down to Papa with a report, then I’m going to take a pair of brave young men and then – it’s into the trenches. Straight to his lair.”

“And are you really sure that he’s still there?” asked Genaro doubtfully.

“Well sure, I’m not sure…but my instinct tells me he’s still there. He’s sitting there twiddling his thumbs with no thought that I’m coming for his soul. I can sense it with my nose – that’s how it is. Like Pavel yesterday with that razor.”

“Do you need help?” asked Volsky, shaking himself free of his consternation.

“What are you talking about Pavel? You boys are too good for such crap. I’ll cope myself. I’m taking a couple of trainees with me, so you all should conserve your strength for tomorrow.”

“Sorry, I…” said Volsky, but he stopped.

“I mean, we’ll have a talk later, right?” he finished lamely after a moment.

“Yup,” she responded briskly. “Is Bumblebee here or has he still not recovered from yesterday?”

“He’s here,” said Genaro. “He just stepped out for a minute. Did you want to ask him about the package? Well, we already asked him. He says he has no idea who would send such a thing to him.”

“Clearly,” drawled Marisa. “But I actually need to see him for a different reason. I got a peculiar email this morning.”

“Peculiar?” asked Arvid.

“Peculiar,” affirmed Marisa. “I was wondering if there was something wrong with my computer.”

“Like a virus or something?” asked Genaro sympathetically.

“Something like that,” said Marisa, frowning.

“Well, then it’s definitely a job for Bumblebee,” said Arvid with a grin. “Nobody’s his equal when it comes to all this programming and hacking nonsense. Go see him – he’s in his closet. Where else would he be?”

“Okay,” Marisa nodded. “But first I am off to see to Papa. I’m going to deliver a written report on my adventures.”

Here she could not restrain a smile. Her ‘report’ amounted to a sheet of paper that she scribbled on while she was riding in the taxi.

“See you all later,” Marisa said as she headed for the exit. “If everything works out okay, we’ll see each other this evening.”

“Be careful,” the men replied almost simultaneously.

Marisa slipped out the door, heartened by Volsky’s gloomy preoccupation. The last thing she wanted right now was a conversation about their ‘relationship’. She still hadn’t thought about the wording of her explanation. However…could it be that Volsky wasn’t determined to have a relationship with her? So they had made love, and that’s that. What’s the use of complicating everything? They had satisfied their desire, and now they would forget about their little nocturnal adventure.

But something told Marisa that she wasn’t going to get away with laughing it off.

Goldberg rose from behind his desk to meet Marisa as soon as she entered her superior’s office.

“How are things, dear?” he asked in a fatherly manner when Marisa decorously placed a sheet covered with uneven handwriting on the edge of his desk.

“I brought you a report,” declared Marisa, masking her smile.

“I wasn’t asking about that,” Papa said, dismissing the report with a wave of his hand. “How are things with
you
?”

“Tolerable,” said Marisa laconically. “True, my car did explode. Luckily, without me inside it.”

“That is indeed a good thing.”

Goldberg nodded his head and pointed at the sheet of paper covered with chicken scratches.

“I’ll take a look at it.”

Volsky burst into the room as tempestuously as a hurricane.