Chương 10
“Was Marco hurt?”
“He tried to fight.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
Rosa looked away.
Clara touched the bruise on her face. “Did they hit you?”
“I insulted the lawyer’s mother.”
“Mamá.”
“She raised him badly.”
Viktor examined the office window.
“Why leave you here?” he asked.
Rosa rubbed her wrists. “They moved the suitcase below. Bell said Clara would come if she found me first. He seems to think he understands women because he has been divorced three times.”
Clara helped her stand.
Rosa swayed.
“When was your last treatment?”
“Yesterday.”
“Did you take your morning medication?”
“My purse is there.”
The vial was missing.
Clara looked at Viktor.
“Sergei found it at the refinery.”
Rosa frowned. “They drove us there first. Then here through a tunnel. Marco dropped it when he cut my ties.”
“He cut them?”
“He had a piece of metal. He got one hand free. Then Ivan came back.”
That explained the severed ties Sergei found.
Viktor asked, “Did you hear where Bell took the suitcase?”
“Basement boiler room.”
“How many men now?”
“I heard four, maybe five. One walks heavily. One coughs.”
“Entrances?”
“Stairs near the washing floor. Freight lift. Tunnel.”
A gunshot echoed beneath them.
Clara felt Rosa’s fingers tighten around hers.
Viktor opened the office door.
“You take your mother out through the yard.”
“No.”
“Clara.”
“The key opens the case. Marco is downstairs.”
“You are not trained.”
“Neither is Marco.”
“That is evident.”
Rosa looked between them. “Who is this rude man?”
“Viktor.”
“He is not your boyfriend?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Another shot sounded, followed by a man shouting.
Viktor moved toward the stairs.
Clara gave Rosa one of the key copies.
“If I don’t come back, take this to the police.”
“Which police?”
Clara looked at Viktor.
“Exactly,” Rosa said.
Clara removed the original from her apron and gave Rosa the copy with the smallest scratched dot.
“Go to Mr. Han’s hardware store. Ask him to call Luis at the diner. Tell Luis to upload last night’s video everywhere he can think of if he does not hear from me by noon.”
Rosa stared at the key.
“Upload what?”
“Evidence.”
“Evidence of what?”
“I don’t have time.”
“That is usually when explanations are most important.”
Clara kissed her cheek.
Rosa caught her chin.
“You do not owe anyone bravery because your brother made a stupid choice.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Clara could not answer.
Rosa closed her fingers around the key. “Bring him back anyway.”
Viktor led them across the sorting floor. He opened the side door, checked the yard, and sent Rosa toward the cut fence.
She took three steps, then turned.
“Clara.”
“What?”
“You still owe me forty dollars.”
Clara stared at her.
“For groceries,” Rosa said. “Do not die with debts.”
Then she disappeared through the fence.
Viktor looked at Clara.
“She does that when she is afraid.”
“I noticed.”
They found the basement stairwell behind a row of dryers. The lights below were on.
Viktor descended first, pistol raised. Clara followed with the knife held low against her thigh.
The basement had changed since childhood. Temporary electrical cables ran along the ceiling. Portable lamps illuminated the old boiler room. Folding tables held laptops, radio equipment, and tool cases. The second brown suitcase sat on a steel cart in the center.
Its outer leather had been cut near one lock.
Elias Bell stood beside it with a pistol pressed beneath Marco’s jaw.
Marco’s face was swollen. Blood ran from his nose onto his sweatshirt.
Ivan Sokolov leaned against a boiler pipe, alive and uninjured, holding a short-barreled rifle. He looked exactly like the photograph on the driver’s identification card, except the gray beard had been shaved.
Two younger men guarded the tunnel entrance. One wore a tan jacket and had a fresh bruise across his wrist—the man from Mr. Han’s store.
Bell smiled at Clara.
“You were early.”
Viktor aimed at Ivan.
Ivan raised the rifle toward Marco.
Everyone stopped.
The room filled with the hum of portable lights.
Bell’s reading glasses sat low on his nose. Without his gray coat and teacup, he looked smaller than Clara remembered. His expensive shoes were spotted with mud.
“Put the pistol down, Mr. Petrov,” Bell said.
Viktor did not move.
Bell pressed the muzzle harder beneath Marco’s chin.
Marco’s eyes found Clara’s. Shame came before fear.
“Do it,” Clara said.
Viktor lowered the pistol to the floor.
One of the younger men kicked it away.
Bell looked at Clara’s apron. “The key.”
She held up one of the copies.
“First, let Marco go.”
Bell smiled. “You have watched too many movies.”
“I work in a diner. I’ve watched the same six movies for years.”
Marco made a wet sound that might have been a laugh.
Bell struck him across the side of the head with the pistol.
Clara flinched but did not look away.
“Original key,” Bell said.
“This is it.”
“You made copies.”
The man in the tan jacket produced the unfinished key from Mr. Han’s shop.
Bell held it between two fingers.
“The old locksmith was more resistant than expected.”
“He thought you were rude.”
“People confuse manners with morality.”
“And lawyers confuse sentences with intelligence.”
Bell’s smile disappeared.
Good, Clara thought. Angry men made mistakes. Her father used to say that while losing money at dominoes.
Ivan pushed away from the pipe. “Search her.”
The tan-jacketed man approached.
Clara backed toward the steel cart.
“I have the key in my hand.”
“You have one key,” Ivan said. “We will find the others.”
His voice triggered the final piece of memory. He had called the diner two weeks earlier pretending to arrange a breakfast meeting. Clara had answered. He asked whether the back booth could be reserved and whether employees used the alley entrance after closing.
They had been studying the diner long before Aleksandr arrived.
The man grabbed Clara’s coat. She drove Viktor’s knife into his thigh.
He screamed and folded.
May you like
Everything moved.
Viktor lunged for the pistol on the floor. Ivan fired. The bullet struck the steel cart and spun it sideways. Marco slammed his head backward into Bell’s face. Bell’s glasses flew off. Clara dropped behind the suitcase as another shot punched into the boiler.
