Crate of Lies, page 12
He watched for some sort of reaction and saw her eyes flicker once, nothing more.
"You're English?"
"American."
"No, you're English. I know American."
"I moved to the States some time ago."
"Are you married, have children?"
"Yes and no. I'm separated and I have the loveliest of daughters."
"Are you making a movie here?"
He looked at her sipping the Scotch and noticed the legs and well-formed ankles without taking his eyes from hers. "You ask a lot of questions," he said.
She held the glass in her lap. "You let me drink your Scotch."
"I'm not in the habit of letting strange women do that but then I didn't have much choice, did I?"
"No. But I'm not a stranger. You introduced yourself in the restaurant. I know you were looking at me, no?" She raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips.
He breathed in. "Was it that obvious. I'm sorry."
"That's all right, for a woman it's nice to be noticed by a nice man."
"You don't know that," he bantered. He was beginning to enjoy her flirtatious conversation. "I might not be that nice."
"I know you are nice. You embarrass too easily and you still wear a wedding ring. You still love her?"
"Very much." He looked away.
"Ah. That is why you don't eat and drink to forget. Am I like her?"
"How about changing the subject and talking about you? Do you live and work in Moscow?"
"Yes and yes," she teased. "Now you know all about me, yes?"
"Come on, what do you do for a living?"
"I am a hair stylist and beautician. I run a small business in the shopping area of the business centre here. Most of my clients are foreigners staying in the better class hotels in Moscow. I live in the north of the city in a not too nice apartment but it does for now. One day I am going to have an apartment that looks out across the Moskva."
Raithe leaned over and took the glass from her. "Husband? Boyfriend? Children?"
"No, no and no." She laughed. "My husband left me when I was young and I've had boyfriends since but none at the moment. Why? You want a girlfriend?"
He drank the rest of the Scotch down and laughed. "You're very forward, Nina."
She took hold of his tie and gently tugged a couple of times. "Kiss me and say no," she said, pouting slightly.
They kissed. It lasted no more than a few seconds, the warmth of her mouth and the tip of her tongue flicking just inside his lips. His stomach knotted and his head spun. Suddenly, nothing else mattered except his own desire to love the woman who had become Terri. He rose and took her hand.
"What are you doing?"
"I didn't say no."
She let him lead her out of the bar and to the lifts. As they rode to the top floor, she put her arms around his neck and they kissed again. By the time they reached his room, the Scotch, the perfume and her hip moving against his had excited him to such a degree that his mind was oblivious to anything except lust.
"No, no." She pushed him away as he tried to put his arms around her. "You sit here."
She pushed him gently onto the sofa and bent over him, removing his tie and unbuttoning his shirt, pushing his hands away each time he tried to hold her. When she finished, she stepped back to the centre of the room. He watched as she unzipped the dress, pulled it down over her hips and let it fall to the ground. Removing the rest of her clothes, she stood in front of him, a little breathless, her ample breasts rising and falling slowly. She turned her body away from him and walked elegantly into the bedroom without glancing back.
When Raithe climbed into the bed beside her, he closed his eyes and was lost into the love of another woman. He cupped the breasts and gently ran his hands over the thighs he knew so well. When they kissed passionately or nibbled at each other's ears, he smelled her body, smelled her hair and later, as they made love, her perspiration. His eyes remained closed after he left her body, trying hard to savour the moment. When he turned to look at her, Terri had gone and Nina was standing at the end of the bed, zipping up her dress.
"I'm sorry," she said, "I thought you were asleep."
He watched her pin her hair up. "Where are you going?"
She ignored him and walked toward the bedroom door. "Don't bother to see me out. If you want to see me again I've left my card on your table in the other room."
"Just a minute. What do you mean, if? Of course I want to see you again. Why are you leaving? At least stay and have a drink."
Her voice came from the other room as she made to leave. "I took three hundred dollars from your wallet, Mr. Producer. Next time, maybe I give you a discount, yes?" The door slammed behind her.
Raithe sat on the edge of the bed trying to come to terms with the shock. Waves of anger welled up inside him. Then guilt replaced the anger as he thought of Terri and his daughter Natalie, hoping and praying that her parents would be together at her proudest day when she graduated from Zurich University.
He felt angry, sad, and very alone.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Liebermann listened intently as Jules gave his report. "He arrived on Aeroflot AF341, twenty-seven minutes late at seven-thirty, and was met by an office boy from the American Embassy with a limousine. I don't know what his listed profession is yet. I'll know when I've spoken to a contact in foreign affairs. An hour later he booked into the Radisson. He spent two hours in his room, had dinner, had a drink and then had a woman."
"What woman?"
"One of the regulars."
"Not off the street, surely?"
"No, one of the regulars that work the hotel. Very attractive and very expensive."
"What is he doing now?"
"He's in his room."
"Number?"
"The White House suite. It's on the top floor."
"Well done Jules, meet me in the cocktail bar in fifteen minutes. It's open until around three."
Liebermann finished the call and stood in the shadows watching two men sitting in an old black Zil 117 across the road. He stabbed the buttons on his mobile and waited.
"Who is this? What do you want?"
"Good evening, General, or should I say good morning."
"Hienrich. How did you get my private number? This is too much. I'll -"
"You'll call your watchdogs off or I'll deal with them."
"I don't know what you are talking about. What watchdogs?"
"The two men sitting across the road from me right now. They picked me up at the airport about forty minutes ago. Obviously you're missing a good instructor these days."
"Hienrich, there is no one following you. Would I do that to you? Now since you've woken me, perhaps you will tell me how things are going."
Liebermann looked across the square at the car. "Raithe is here in Moscow but you already knew that, didn't you?"
"No, of course not. What is he doing here?"
"He's looking for the Amber Room. Now tell me you don't know that either."
"Stop being impudent, Hienrich. You are being paid a lot of money and I want results."
"Call the men off, General or you won't get a result."
"I don't -"
"Get rid of them now, or else. I'll call tomorrow."
He clicked the phone shut and stood waiting for ten minutes. When nothing happened, he pulled the trilby down over his eyes and walked out from the shadows slowly, making sure the men in the car saw him. If the General thought his threat an empty one, he was in for a shock.
When he reached the far side of the square, he heard the engine start. He hurried down the street towards Borodino Bridge. Stepping into a doorway, he waited for the car to pass. If it carried on over the bridge, he knew he would see it parked outside the Radisson when he got there.
The car sped past, and then slowed briefly, before driving on and over the bridge. Liebermann walked back the way he came and crossed the square to where he left his car. Within a minute, he was over the bridge and driving towards the Radisson. The hotel was in sight, its tall, curved, white walls illuminated by floodlighting. He turned into the car park and was astonished to see the Zil parked at the front of the building.
Unconcerned, he walked past the car and into the hotel. His man Jules was sitting just inside the entrance to the cocktail bar. Liebermann removed his hat and sat down.
"Is he still upstairs?"
Jules nodded and pushed a glass of schnapps across the table. "You have company."
"I know," replied Liebermann, "and they must be dealt with tonight."
He sat thinking, formulating a plan. Wainright ordered Ravelle and Cohen dead but Liebermann wanted them together, to enjoy seeing them die for the way they deceived him. He took the icon from them and returned to Amsterdam in triumph. His elation did not last long. The Japanese client broke the seals and opened the crate, only to find pieces of hardboard. He had been smarting from the wound to his pride ever since.
Now it seemed, they were about to uncover the pipeline, whether it was closed down or not, all because of those stupid numbers. He made a mental note to tell Wainright what he thought of him for such stupidity. There was nothing to do but wait and clean up behind the delivery as it made its slow progress from Vladivostok.
Cohen was no fool. He would work it all out, eventually. Time was not on his side if he wanted the Amber Room as well as Cohen's demise. Liebermann decided to make an excuse to Wainright and buy a little time. He had to be present when the Amber Room was found and draw Cohen into the open. Ravelle was already in the trap. The room itself would cost more than the sum agreed with Zalesky. Wainright would pay a fortune for it.
"I think I have the solution," he said, swallowing the schnapps. "I need Raithe to run without a place to hide."
"He has an American passport," said Jules, quietly.
"That won't help him if he's wanted for a murder enquiry. He cannot wander around Moscow or anywhere else if he's involved in a murder. The moment he's wanted, they'll come looking for him. Cohen will order him to hide and a crack will appear in the relationship between Cohen and the Americans. Remember, there are very few who know what he is doing and why."
Liebermann smiled and looked across at the entrance to the bar. Harry's biggest failing was his loyalty to Ravelle.
"With nowhere to hide, Ravelle will need Cohen's help here on the ground if they are to carry on with their operation. At this moment they do not have enough information to trace the arms shipment, not that Ravelle would stay involved in that part of the operation anyway. They can, however, follow the trail to the Amber Room, leaving the Americans to flounder over the arms issue, giving us enough time to deliver before they get to near."
Liebermann thought for a moment. Moscow police and the American State Department would be forcing Cohen to act quickly to get Ravelle out of Moscow.
"How will you arrange this?" asked Jules. "Who is going to be killed, supposedly by Raithe?" He snapped his fingers at a passing waiter and pointed to the two empty glasses in front of him. "Two more," he ordered.
Liebermann lent forward. "It doesn't have to be Raithe who causes the deaths. He just has to be near the scene."
"Deaths?"
"Yes. Two Russians and an American."
"Our friends on the other side of the bar?"
"Yes and an American chauffeur. Perhaps you could check with reception and find out what time Ravelle is due to leave. Tell them you're arranging a news interview over breakfast. You don't want to disturb him while he's asleep."
He saw the puzzled look on Jules' face. "He was driven here in an embassy limousine so it is safe to assume that on his first morning he will have an appointment at the embassy for a briefing."
Liebermann looked casually around the bar. "Another thing, when you've finished, go outside and have a smoke. When you come in, grab the lift and go to the top floor. The suite will be open but wait and make sure these idiots see you enter and close the door behind you."
"How do you know they'll both be following?"
"Because the one that doesn't follow you is just about to have an accident and won't know where I've gone by the time he's sorted himself out. He'll go looking for his colleague and they'll follow you. I'll be in the room before you."
"Surely they're not going to walk into a trap like that?"
"They have no choice," said Liebermann, "Zalesky has employed them to make sure Ravelle stays alive until he finds the room. When they see you entering Ravelle's room, they'll think the worst and follow."
Jules got up and left the bar, followed indiscreetly by one of the Russians. Liebermann opened his wallet as the waiter arrived back at the table with two glasses of schnapps. A hundred dollar bill changed hands after a hurried conversation and the waiter disappeared back to the bar.
He waited for a couple of minutes before the waiter came back through the bar carrying a large tray filled with glasses of beer. As he neared the Russian, he appeared to trip. The glasses fell across the table, one hitting the Russian on the head and the rest spilling over the table and the Russian's suit. Liebermann was up out of his chair before the last glass had hit the floor. Outside the bar, he managed to find an empty lift and moved swiftly into it.
On the top floor, he left the lift and moved cautiously along the corridor. Outside the White House Suite he stopped and listened while putting a pair of surgical gloves on. Taking a thin piece of mica from his pocket, he slid it into the crack between the door and the doorframe, just below the electronic lock. There was a dull click.
The room was in darkness and a cool breeze was blowing through it from an open window. He stepped into the room and pushed the door shut. Standing behind a couch so that his silhouette was not showing against the window, Liebermann waited.
His ears picked up the faint ding of the lift bell as it arrived down the corridor. A moment later the door opened and Jules entered. Liebermann motioned with his hand and Jules walked to the opposite side of the room and stood behind the sofa. He knew exactly what to do.
Liebermann took a silenced Mauser from the long holster under his jacket and held it firmly with both hands. Both men crouched behind the chairs and waited. Hurried footsteps approached from the hall. The door suddenly swung open and both Russians barged in, silhouetted against the corridor lights. In unision, Liebermann and Jules stood and fired. Their guns spat a small plume of white smoke from the end of each silencer, the only noise a low phutting sound. The Russians grunted and fell to the floor, one on his back and the other on one side.
Stepping over to the bodies, Jules pushed the door shut and fired another shot into the head of the figure lying on his back. The body twitched under the impact. This done, he bent over the body of the second and put the muzzle of the gun to the man's temple, then fired. Blood and brains spewed out in a cloud, falling in a wide area across the carpet.
Liebermann stood in the bedroom doorway, looking at the inert body of Ravelle. He felt the urge to finish it there and then but knew it would be harder to deal with the bigger prize. Apart from all else, he wanted Cohen to see Raithe die first; a fitting end for the bastard.
Silently, both men removed their shoes. Liebermann had taught every one of his men more about how to leave a crime scene than how to kill. Shoes walking through blood gave the police a good impression of the size of the foot, therefore the height of the wearer, and the sole pattern told who the manufacturer of the shoe was. The indentation sometimes gave away the weight of the wearer and any cuts or wear marks, particularly to the heel, gave the shoes a personal identity.
Liebermann carefully pushed the bedroom door, leaving enough of a gap to keep an eye on Raithe. There was little risk of Ravelle coming into the living room but just in case, he sat on an upright chair, watching the sleeping figure. Jules lay on the sofa, his eyes shut but his mind alert.
For five hours they waited patiently. At exactly 7.00, Jules picked up the phone and buzzed reception.
He spoke quietly. "Yes, good morning. I'm expecting a limousine from the American Embassy in fifteen minutes. Could you please send the driver up? I've got some bags I need help with. Thank you."
"When he gets here, I'll deal with him," whispered Liebermann. "As soon as you are down the corridor near the lift, get your shoes on and remove the gloves. Not before. You take the lift and drive the car to the front car park. Watch out for any of their friends."
He motioned to the bodies on the floor. "I don't mean the police, either. It won't be long before they are listed missing so I shall wake sleeping beauty in there before I leave. I reckon he'll have about ten minutes to get out. Oh yes, and there are two cell phones in the car. Turn them on and let me have one when I reach you. I'll go and wait on the other side of the building. As soon as he moves, one of us will spot him. I'll follow on foot and keep you positioned."
There was a knock on the door and both men moved. Swiftly, they stood behind the door, up against the wall. Liebermann reached across and opened the door, pulling it towards him. Through the crack, he watched as the startled driver stood looking into the room. Liebermann stepped smartly around the door, clamped one hand over the driver's mouth and drove the stiletto straight into his chest. The driver dropped to the floor silently. Jules stepped across his legs and disappeared up the corridor with his shoes in hand.
Liebermann picked up a large glass ashtray and threw it with force at the bedroom door. There was a loud crash. He quickly left the room, slamming the door hard. At the end of the corridor, he slipped his shoes on and pocketed his gloves. Taking the stairs, he bounded down. He wanted to be at the rear of the building within five minutes. By then Ravelle would be dressing and acting on instinct, knowing that he had a matter of minutes before someone came knocking on his door.
At the bottom of the stairs there was a fire escape exit leading out into the rear car park. Liebermann cracked the bar and hurried out. Walking to the front of the hotel he saw Jules sitting in the car and a tall figure taking an interest in the dead Russians' car. Nearby a small Stars and Stripes flag fluttered above one wing of a large, black limousine.
There were few people about, none walking past the hotel. Liebermann walked slowly past the man as they eyed each other, and then removed his trilby. There was no sound at all. Just a shocked look on the man's face as two 9mm bullets sent him sprawling across the tarmac. Liebermann placed his hands beneath the man's armpits and dragged him to the other side of the car. It was parked next to a wall and the body would stay hidden for long enough.
