The Hunted

Golitsin, too, wanted Konevitch dead. Very, very dead. For a man whose emotions generally veered between heartless dispassion and expressive fury, he had developed a fatal preoccupation with Alex Konevitch. It was unhealthy, he knew, he just couldn't help himself. He enjoyed thinking about how Alex would die.

Also, though nobody needed to mention it, if Konevitch did eventually make contact with his old pal Yeltsin, this whole thing could come apart. The lush owed the boy wizard a huge debt. And no matter how hard Tatyana schemed and conspired, eventually Alex would break through-there were too many loose threads, too many suspicious connections, too many holes that could spring leaks. And as with all criminal conspiracies, they would inevitably be pitted against each other. The three of them knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that they would gladly hang the other two, if it came to that.

A legitimate investigation conducted by any halfway honest and competent official would be a catastrophe.

Tatyana confidently assured her partners she had a plan for their boy Alex, and ordered them to cool their heels until she told them otherwise. The combination of champagne and sex worked like magic. The past three nights Alex had slumbered a more reasonable six hours. He was eating again, even exercising for two hard hours every morning in the nicely equipped hotel gym.

He was toweling off after a shower, preceded by a fierce early-morning workout. Elena lay on the bed nibbling toast and browsing through the morning paper. A delicious breakfast of eggs, bacon, toast, and fresh coffee had just been wheeled in for Alex when the phone erupted.

Elena was closest, and she lifted it up, expecting it to be room service. She listened for a moment, then in Russian said, "Yes, he's here," and handed the phone to Alex. "Some officer from the Ministry of Security."

Alex put the phone to his ear and identified himself.

"This is Colonel Leonid Volevodz, special assistant to the minister of security." The voice was deep, with the clipped, irritatingly authoritative bark of a career officer.

"What do you want?" Alex replied in kind, in Russian.

"I have your number because a week ago, the minister asked me to look into your complaint."

"Pass him my thanks." He squeezed his eyes shut, and for a brief moment found it hard to speak. "What have you found?"

"What have I found? Well, there are… shall we say, certain irregularities and incongruities in your story."

"You think I'm lying."

"Don't put words in my mouth, Mr. Konevitch. I think there also happen to be big holes in the reports about what happened."

"Then why don't we discuss those holes?"

"Fine. For starters, on the fifth, you flew on Flight 290 to Budapest. The-"

"Yes, I-"

"Don't interrupt me, Konevitch. I will talk and you listen until I ask you a question. Are we clear?"

The arrogance was so thick the man probably was exactly what he claimed to be, a high-ranking bureaucrat in an important ministry. Alex drew a long breath and said, "No more interruptions."

"One more and I'll hang up. Now, where was I? Ah yes… the flight manifest confirms this. Also, Hungarian customs show you arrived there at 1:05. Nothing shows that you reentered Russia, yet bank records indicate your personal accounts were emptied out the morning of the sixth. A few hours later, fifty million more was stolen from your customers. The terminals that ordered the transactions were traced back to your own headquarters." He paused a moment, then asked, "What am I to make of this?"

This was the first time Alex had heard the precise details of the thievery, and he spent a long painful moment taking it in. Oh, how he would love to have Golitsin seated in a chair in this room, to have his strong hands gripped around the old man's throat. He would squeeze and squeeze harder until every last detail poured out. How did you get into my safe? Where did you send my money? Who's in this with you, and where is it parked now? Alex said, "I was on a plane to New York during that time. If you read my fax, you'd know that. It's easily confirmed."

"I read your fax, Mr. Konevitch. But that's not the only possibility, is it? Maybe you had an accomplice who moved the money."

"But I didn't. Is that all?"

"Not quite. From the Central Bank, I obtained copies of the letters assigning your properties to Sergei Golitsin. One of our handwriting experts gave your signature a look."

"Go on."

"The writing is pinched, nonlinear, and extended. He believes it is your writing. But perhaps scrawled under conditions of discomfort or duress."

"After three hours of beating and torture, it wasn't my best work."

Elena handed Alex a piece of buttered toast and a cup of coffee. She raised her eyebrows. He answered with a wavering hand. He took a large bite and washed it down with coffee.

After a long pause, the colonel said, "About the fax you sent the minister, it raises many provocative questions. For instance, you implicate General Golitsin."