Lynne Heitman - The Pandora Key aka The Hostage Room

Wasn’t everything? One way or another, everything was happening because of Zormat and what was found there. Nothing, I was finding, was coincidence. Coincidence, in fact, was to be regarded with deep suspicion.

“Where is this reunion?”

“Paris. Do you want to go? I can get you in.”

“Is it a private affair?”

“It’s very private. They don’t let anybody in.”

I would have asked how he could do that, but the answer was always the same. He knew a guy who knew a guy. “How long is this thing going on?”

“Tomorrow and the next day until noon.”

I went back behind the desk and sat down. It had been a rough day, and no matter how good the lead, a trip to Paris in the next twenty-four hours felt overwhelming. Besides, the more I thought about it, the less reason I could find to go there. Harvey was safe, I didn’t know what Rachel was up to, and as long as I could protect Harvey from her, I didn’t care. Roger Fratello was the FBI’s problem. I couldn’t afford a walk-up fare to Paris, anyway. That had to be at least a couple grand. But Dan had done a lot of good work for me, as he always did when I asked. I didn’t want to just dismiss the idea.

“Let me call you back after I figure out what’s going on. Harvey has more to tell me, and I’m still waiting for Bo.” I started to end the call but had one more thought. “But if I have to go, you have to give me a break on the fare.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

I would have said thanks and good job, but he’d hung up on me. It was so much fun to push his buttons. I was just about to dial Felix when Bo walked in. I took one look at his face and hung up. Felix would have to wait.

WHEN BO LOWERED HIMSELF ONTO THE FURNITURE, IT seemed to sigh. That’s what the couch did when he settled his bulk on it. “We have to talk.”

“Let me just check on Harvey. I left him in the shower.”

“It’s important.”

“I can see that. I’ll be right back.” Harvey’s room was dark when I got there. He had already managed to get himself into his pajamas and then into his bed. The light that fell across his face illuminated the fact that he had combed his hair and shaved. It appeared that he had also taken his meds. The bottles were arranged next to his nightstand, the milk was gone, and he was sleeping soundly, unbothered by his own loud snoring. I closed the door, leaving it open just a crack in case he needed something.

Bo started the meeting the second I walked into the office. “They were marked.”

“Marked?” I sat in the wingback across from him. “Those guys at the house?”

“Yes.”

I thought about how he and Timon had checked the bodies with both curiosity and concern. “The tattoos?”

“Yes.” He sat with both feet on the floor, one arm resting on his thigh and the other on the armrest. It was an oddly stiff pose. I could feel the tension coming off him in waves.

“What does that mean?”

“It means we never should have taken them.” I had never seen Bo regret anything. Things were what they were, and he simply dealt with them and moved on. Not this time. He shook his head. “Never.”

“Why not?”

“They belong to a man named Drazen Tishchenko.” He looked at me as if I should know the name. As if everyone should know. I didn’t know the name, but he sounded Russian, and Russians had already come up in this investigation. Given the lack of sleep and the high stress level, it took me a minute to connect the dots. Betelco. Russian investors. Russian mafiya. “This Tishchenko is a Russian?”

“He is Ukrainian. From Kiev. People confuse them, but they are not the same.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Most people fear the Russians. The Russians fear the Ukrainians. The Ukrainians fear no one.”

Worse than a Russian. Excellent news. “Borders notwithstanding, would this guy be considered a member of the Russian mafiya?”

“Not a member. A leader. Tishchenko is a vor.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Vor v zakonye. It’s Russian. It means…” His large forehead showed the effort as he searched for the words in a language not his own. “I do not know how this is said in English, but it is a brotherhood.”

“Of criminals?”

“Yes.”

“Like the Italian mafia?”

“Worse.”

“Is he like a mafia don?”

“Much worse.”

“Worse how?” I wished he would just give me the bullet on these guys so I wouldn’t have to keep pulling it out of him.

“They come from worse. They come from murder and blood. From the gulags and the work camps. It makes them hard, the things that happen to them and the things that they do. It makes them strong. The strong kill the weak. That is where the power comes from. The last man standing is a vor, which makes him a very powerful man.”

“And we just pissed one off.”

“Yes.”

I had one of those how-did-I-ever-get-here flashes. I didn’t get them much anymore, and when I did, I was able to trample them down. I was here because I chose to be here. But I hadn’t signed up for Ukrainian mobsters. I got up and started to pace.

“Those men we killed, the ones who came in here and took Harvey, were they his men, this…what’s his name?”

“Tishchenko. I’m sure they were. Former KGB…Spetznas…Russian police…Soviet Army. He has all of them. It could have been any of them.”

“This guy isn’t here, is he? He’s not in Boston.”

“He is here now. He came to talk to Harvey Baltimore, which is why we found him unharmed. Tishchenko hadn’t spoken to him yet.”

“Why…” I was having a little trouble breathing. “Why would someone like that want to talk to Harvey?”

“I couldn’t find that out.”

“Okay.” I made myself sit down and tried to channel all the energy to the exercise of my brain instead of my feet. “Let’s think about what we know. Harvey’s ex-wife, Rachel, came here yesterday out of the blue and sent me on a wild goose chase, which got me out of the house and left her alone with Harvey. That’s when they took him.”

“Do you believe she set him up?”

“It looks that way, but I don’t know why she would have. He would have gone anywhere with her if she just asked.” A new thought was occurring. “Maybe they took her, too. Maybe they only took Harvey to get to Rachel, or because he happened to be here in the way.”

“Why would they take her?”

“It all comes back to this company Betelco. I told you about Fratello, right? This embezzler who disappeared? Fratello’s wife told me Rachel brought Russian partners into Betelco.”

“There are no such things as Russian partners,” he said. “Only victims waiting to be.”

“That’s pretty much what she said. This Tishchenko must be one of those partners. Maybe he’s really looking for Rachel.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I do know that Tishchenko is looking for something or someone. He tore Susan’s house apart and threatened to kill her children. And now Rachel is missing, at least to me. Harvey claims not to know where she is.”

Bo sat there nodding while I rattled off the facts as I knew them. I wasn’t sure whether he derived as much benefit from hearing them as I did from saying them out loud. It helped me organize the bits and pieces into a coherent story. Well, a story. I sat back in the chair. “Somewhere in all this might be a private military firm called Blackthorne, but we hope not. And Fratello might have been hijacked. That’s all I know.”

Bo tapped his big fingers on the couch’s wide armrest. The thumping seemed loud in the quiet room. He pushed forward on the seat and assumed the tilt of confidentiality. He didn’t speak until I did the same. Other than Harvey asleep in his bed and Radik patrolling outside, we were completely alone, yet he still insisted on the cone of silence.