The Boy Who Glowed in the Dark (33 page)

He offered her his hand.

She took it. Grabbed it as though it were the hand of her personal Moses. The man who had come to rescue her. The man she knew was coming to rescue her from the moment she’d caught a glimpse of him at Fukushima.

The
Hawaii Five-O
beat gathered itself for its climactic run. The horns blared. The drums pounded. Bobby felt invincible.

He turned and pulled Eva toward the stairs. The name of Moses rang in his ears.

Luo, he thought. He couldn’t leave Luo behind. He decelerated. Felt the slack in Eva’s arm as she stepped closer to him. Luo would have crossed the entrance to the media room if he thought he could do so undetected. But he didn’t, so he couldn’t. There was nothing Bobby could do to help him. If Luo was an imposter, he deserved his fate. If he was Eva’s father, he would be screaming for Bobby to run—

Bobby raced down the hallway with Eva. He pulled the stairwell door. A dim light shone under the door at the top of the stairs. The peripheral glow from the lights aimed out at the lake, he thought.

Bobby released Eva’s hand. He powered up the stairs. He heard her follow behind him. The sound of her footsteps blended with his. Perfect cadence, just like in the Zone when they scavenged for scraps of metal that could be sold on the black market. They hadn’t seen each other in three years, but they were already communicating without speaking.

The music rose to a crescendo. It was muted by the door behind them, but Bobby could still hear it as he approached the top of the stairwell.

He pushed the door open. The handrail stood twenty-five feet in front of him. Beneath it, the cliff. Below the cliff, their skates. Beyond their skates, a runway made of ice, ready for takeoff.

Bobby emerged onto the observation deck. Eva pulled up beside him. The honey scent of her hair, the sound of her breathing, the heat of her shoulder rubbing up against his, electrified him. He found the grapple hanging at the bottom of one of the iron beams.

“There,” he said.

Someone slammed the door shut behind them. Two men in suits stepped out from against the walls surrounding the door. They pointed their rifles at Bobby and Eva. Both men wore earphones. One of them took his eyes off Eva and spoke.

“I’ve got the girl on the observation deck . . . Yes, the observation deck . . . Obviously he’s an idiot because she’s with me and not in her room . . . And get this. I can’t believe it.” The man looked at Bobby. “She’s not alone. The boy’s here. . . . That’s right . . . I have no idea how he did it, but he got inside . . . just like you said he would.”

CHAPTER 49

S
IMMY
’
S DRIVER PULLED
up to a square promenade at the entrance to the Swallow’s Nest. Two more armed guards awaited them.

“Milanovich?” Nadia said. “Have you heard of that name?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know him?”

“I know of him. Assuming it’s the same Milanovich.”

“What are the odds there are two Milanoviches with a mansion on Lake Baikal?”

“Low.”

“Then obviously it’s him. So who is he? Another oligarch? A former Soviet official turned capitalist?”

“No.”

“Then who?”

Simmy pressed his lips together. It was a slight gesture, one that would have gone unnoticed by most people. But to a forensic securities analyst used to vetting management during rigorous interviews, and one who’d spent time with Simeon Simeonovich, it was the equivalent of a major revelation during a poker game.

Simmy was concerned.

Nadia had never seen him display one moment of weakness. The sight of it sent a shiver up her spine.

The driver pulled to a stop.

“Simmy?” Nadia said. “Tell me. Who is he?”

Simmy took an audible breath. “He’s allegedly the head of a Russian crime syndicate. A global crime syndicate. Many businesses in the countries that once made up the Soviet Union pay roof to him. In some cities, you can’t get the electricity turned on without his approval. Drugs, gambling, weapons sales. Among other things. He was number three on your FBI most wanted list until he was mysteriously removed from it two years ago.”

Nadia imagined Bobby and the formula in such a man’s hands. “That’s great news.”

Simmy continued speaking as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “He may be the most dangerous man alive, except for one person.”

The driver stepped out of the car and opened Nadia’s door.

“Who’s that?” Nadia said.

“The goalie on my soccer team,” Simmy said. “The guy can stop anything. He’s lethal.”

Simmy grinned, winked, and nodded at the open door. His attempt at humor failed to wipe his moment of weakness from Nadia’s mind, but it endeared him to her. As did his moment of doubt. He was human after all.

A bored-looking woman in black tights and an obscenely low-cut blouse escorted them into a parlor and left them there. A minute later a man shuffled into the room. He appeared to be in his eighties, with pinched eyes and thick gray hair that swooped back from a widow’s peak. Age spots covered his face. The narrow shoulders beneath his baby-blue cardigan sweater contrasted with the belly that bulged below. From the neck down, he looked more like the estranged grandfather of the most dangerous man alive than the man himself. From the neck up, it was his eyes that defined him. Lively and inscrutable, they studied Nadia.

Simmy stood up when he entered the room, which was telling. Nadia wasn’t sure if that was proper manners or if his gesture implied deference.

No names were exchanged. No words were spoken. Milanovich sat down in the chair opposite the sofa where Nadia and Simmy were seated. He took a deep breath after arranging himself comfortably.

Milanovich addressed Simmy. “You and I travel in different circles, so we’ve never met. I know who you are. I read the paper. But do you know who I am?” He spoke in crude Russian.

“Yes,” Simmy said.

“Good. That is good. Because I wasn’t sure. A man shows up unannounced. It makes him wonder if he has any respect for the person he’s visiting.”

“I apologize for that—”

Milanovich shook his head and waved his hand. “No, no. No apologies needed. I’m just making sure you understand that by coming here, you’ve wandered out of your boardroom and into mine. And I am the chairman of the board here.”

“Indeed,” Simmy said.

“And because I have respect for you—you are a good Russian who cares for his people—I want to give you a chance to leave right now. The door is open. You can walk out with your friend, get in your car, and leave. Because if you don’t—if we start having a conversation where information is revealed or exchanged—I’m going to have to protect my business interests. The same way that you would protect yours.”

“Let me explain why we’re here—”

“Don’t bother,” Milanovich said. “I know why you’re here. I will repeat my offer. Would you like to leave now?”

Simmy glanced at Nadia. She responded the only way a person with any self-respect or integrity could respond. By giving him a blank stare.

Simmy turned back to Milanovich. “We’re looking for a girl. We think you may be able to help us find her. I came here hoping you and I might come to a suitable business arrangement in exchange for your help.”

“What is it you think you might have that I would want?”

“That depends,” Simmy said. “What don’t you have that you desperately want?”

Milanovich considered the question for a moment. “Fifteen minutes ago I would have had a different answer. But since then my wildest dream has been answered so I can honestly say—nothing.”

Simmy chuckled. “Mr. Milanovich, you know the saying among Russian businessmen. That which does not grow, dies. Please reconsider. There must be something you want. Which is to say, there must be something you need.”

“No. I don’t want anything, but since you refused my offer to leave, there is something that you’re going to need. That something is called luck. And you’re going to need a lot of it.”

“I don’t believe in luck. I believe in preparation. And you should know that I don’t stumble in or out of boardrooms. Boardrooms quake when I walk in the door, and they reach for the oxygen tanks when I leave.”

If Simmy was intimidated, he’d left any visible signs of weakness in the car. Now he was matching strength with strength, which was the only way to deal with a willful person. The ensuing flow of Russian testosterone, however, was making Nadia queasy.

“You have a lot of nerve,” Milanovich said. “To arrive at my home and make a statement like that.” He slammed his hand against his armrest. “But that is as it should be. I would have expected nothing else. I’m afraid this is not going to end well for either of you. But we don’t have to worry about that now. Let’s go to the great room and join the others.”

“The others?” Nadia said.

Milanovich frowned as though disgusted the woman had dared speak. “Yes, Nadia, daughter of a thief. The others. The girl
and
the boy.” He glanced at Simmy. “They’re both here. They’re chatting with an old friend of yours as we speak.”

Bobby and Genesis II. In the adjacent room. Together.

She’d been dreaming of such a scenario for days. Now, under the circumstances, it was the worst possible development. Also, Nadia was left with the strange impression that Milanovich had turned his attention to her at the last second, and that the old friend to whom he was referring was hers, not Simmy’s.

She only knew three people in Siberia, former friends of her uncle, Bobby’s father. They’d known him from his days in the
gulag
, the Russian labor camp, in northern Siberia, thousands of miles away. Sharlam, Fyodor, and Ruchkin. The first two were indigenous Yakut and Evenki tribesmen who’d worked for the camp guards; the third was a bush pilot who’d served time with her uncle. All three of them knew Bobby. Had one of them discovered a formula existed? If so, her money was on Ruchkin. He was a native of Moscow. He was materialistic; the other two weren’t.

She followed Milanovich and Simmy into a sprawling room that was part office and part living area. Two sofas flanked a high-backed chair in front of a fireplace made of granite at the far end of the room. Nadia recognized Bobby immediately. She didn’t recognize the girl. But she fit the description Bobby had given her. Also, there was something intangible between the two of them. They weren’t seated at far ends of the sofa. They were sitting toward the middle. If either one of them stretched their legs, their thighs would touch.

Genesis II was Eva. She was alive.

As soon as Bobby saw Nadia, he stood. A fleeting look of joy washed over his face, replaced with a pair of sealed lips that suggested he wished she were elsewhere. He wished she were safe.

There was a stirring in the high-backed chair beside them.

A man began to stand. He gripped the back of the chair with his hand. The gold ring on his finger faced Nadia. It looked like the number three but it was actually З, the Cyrillic version of the letter
Z
. Z as in Zaroff. Nadia knew this was the case because she’d seen two such rings on the members of the Zaroff Seven who died in a fire in Chornobyl a month ago.

The man turned to face Nadia.

CHAPTER 50

J
OHNNY COULDN
’
T REMEMBER
when an alleged perpetrator had left him speechless, or when a cop had done so, for that matter. But the sound of Nadia’s name rolling off the cop’s tongue left him in a momentary state of shock. He sat dumbfounded for ten seconds, staring at Clark’s grin before he realized the truth. His appetite vanished immediately. It was replaced by a sense of utter hopelessness and despair. He wanted so desperately to be wrong, but he was certain he was right.

“Tell me about the pending charges,” Johnny said.

Clark cleared his throat. “They say I tampered with evidence.”

Johnny cringed. It was the answer he was hoping not to hear. The only question left was how they’d put the squeeze on Clark.

“Are you in debt to someone, Richie?” Johnny said.

Johnny’s deduction wiped the smile from Clark’s face.