| |
Less than thirty minutes after having been handed signed confessions from the two assassins, Trevillian knocked on the front door of Liz Langdon’s house. It should have been joyful news that he was bringing, for the confessions of the two killers had cleared Talanov of all charges against him. But on the same day that his name had been cleared, news arrived from the Vanuatu police declaring Talanov to be dead.
And Trevillian was not sure how to break the news.
The front door was opened by Con, who noticed Trevillian’s grave expression. “What’s wrong, Ian?” he asked, stepping outside.
“Talanov is dead,” Trevillian answered, removing his cap.
Con was stunned. “How did it happen?”
“Shotgun. Tore him apart.”
The door squeaked and the two men looked around. Standing in the doorway were Liz and Andrea.
An instant later, the wailing began.
______________________________
Andrea was finally given a sedative, but was asleep only because she had no strength left for crying. Numbed and speechless, Demetria sat at the dining room table with Liz and Con, their eyes red and swollen. At the far end of the table was Spiro, still in a wheelchair.
Demetria wiped her eyes with a tissue, wishing she could slide a bowl of lamb stew in front of Alex. Like a persistent child, he considered his blatant hints somehow discreet. The man was a bottomless pit when it came to her cooking, and Demetria loved him for it. The joy of the kitchen would never be the same.
Spiro found it easy to recall the good times, although, in truth, they were not all so good. He could not remember which issue had divided them, although his refusal to compromise had infuriated Alex. Spiro remembered him storming out of the restaurant, not to return until the night of Helena’s wedding. Interestingly, it was that same uncompromising nature that ultimately drew him back. He recalled the look in Talanov’s eyes the night he returned. One look was all it took for him to know his old friend was innocent. And like brothers they had fought to prove it.
Then, just when his name had been cleared, some monster had gunned him down. The bitterness of the irony was almost unbearable.
It was the same for Con, who knew how hard Trevillian and his team had worked hard to break the assassins. Trevillian had skillfully used the tiniest differences in the two testimonies to create a schism of fear and suspicion. The cracks were then masterminded into a gulf, as one was then played against the other. Finally, in an effort to be the first to negotiate a reduced charge in exchange for the truth, Four confessed how Three had masterminded the murders in Talanov’s home. He went on to explain how Three had also been the one who killed a policeman the night Talanov’s house had been firebombed, and how Fiona Zinyakin had been the one who bludgeoned her husband to death.
When questioned about the identity of Tango Blue, Four stated he did not know, although the man known as Number One was Victor Cherniak. The only other information gleaned from the assassin was that he and Three were to meet the others in a Zug, Switzerland.
Four’s confession was, of course, relayed to Three, who feared that he would be saddled with the blame so responded with a similar confession that detailed Four’s involvement. In the end, Trevillian had more than enough evidence to clear Talanov’s name.
Then he was murdered.
“Anybody want coffee?” asked Liz.
No one answered.
“I do,” stated Andrea, entering the room. Although the skin around her eyes was still puffy from crying, the eyes themselves were no longer red. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she wore a loose denim work shirt hanging over a pair of black tights.
“Honey, are you all right?” asked Liz.
“When they killed Alex, those bastards made the biggest mistake of their lives,” she declared, glancing at Spiro. “And no bullshit about love and forgiveness. Those bastards are going to pay.”
Spiro did not reply.
“What are you going to do?” Demetria asked worriedly.
Andrea looked over at Con. “Did I hear you mention Switzerland?”
“Zug. It’s a town between Zurich and Lucerne.”
“And the killer? What was his name?”
“Victor Cherniak.”
“What does he look like?”
Con told her.
“Then Zug is where I’m going. With no phone, no credit cards . . . nothing that could be used to identify me.”
“What if you get into trouble?” asked Liz. “What if we need to call you?”
“I can’t have you trying to talk me out of this, or calling at the wrong moment and blowing my cover ... or reminding me of anything but the hatred I feel. I can take care of myself.”
“What if you can’t?”
Andrea shrugged.
Demetria turned anxiously to Spiro. “Say something. Those men will kill her!”
Andrea sat across from Spiro and Demetria and took their hands in hers. “I’m sorry I yelled at you, Spiro, but this is something I’ve got to do. Yes, you’re right; I’m not trained for this sort of thing and I’m liable to get myself killed. But they just murdered half of my soul and what’s left is bitter and angry. I know you love people – that’s your gift – and if I come out of this alive, I’ll be back because I’ll need lots of it. In the meantime, those killers are mine. Aside from that, I want you to know that Alex loved you very much. He was never very good at telling people – me included – but I know without a doubt that he felt it.”
Andrea squeezed their hands affectionately and Demetria started to cry.
“Are you sure about this?” asked Liz, joining them at the table with two mugs of coffee. “I don’t doubt you have the motivation, but those blokes are trained assassins.”
“When I was a prisoner on board that ship, my anger helped me survive. That anger, coupled with the influence of my husband, gave me the ability I needed to form strategies, calculate weaknesses and control my emotions in order to beat them at their own game. Qualities that I used to despise in Alex have somehow become my backbone, and only now am I beginning to understand the burden he carried. So you ask me, can I do this? The same rage that allowed me to shoot Fiona will enable me to see this through.”
“You’re one tough bird,” said Liz.
“Not tough, just mad as hell.” To Spiro: “I don’t mean to offend you, but that’s how I feel.”
Spiro smiled sadly at Andrea. “I think you misunderstand,” he said. “I, too, am angry, because Alexi was like a brother to me. And, like you, I want them stopped.”
“Then how can you stay bloody calm?”
“Do not be so hasty to judge. Your anger burns bright, but mine burns deep. If I was able, I would go with you to make sure those men never again commit such crimes. But I cannot, so I am left to grieve in the silence of my heart. In the meantime, I want you to know this: We will cover any expense required to bring Alexi’s body home. And if you need anything – anything at all – call me.”
Andrea covered her face with her hands.
Spiro placed a calloused hand on Andrea’s arm. Looking up, she saw an understanding smile on Spiro’s face. And, in spite of his weathered lines, there was also a deep strength that soared above his injuries. Andrea recalled the man who had strode into the center of the room the night of Helena’s wedding. His presence was commanding, and yet it was neither his powerful physique nor his personality that had drawn Alex back. It was something far greater.
“If you were me, what would you do?” she asked.
“The defeat of evil comes at a price. The question is, do you have the stomach? Many people today do not. They ask, ‘What’s in it for me?’ Gone are the days of helping a mate. Your husband was not a violent man but he was trained in its ways. And the knowledge of those ways both protected and haunted him. So you ask what I would do? I would go after them and I would stop them. I take no pleasure in the defeat of an enemy, but sometimes their defeat is required.”
“But how? How do I stop them?”
“Ask Alexi,” Spiro replied. “He lives in your heart . . . in your mind. But remember, justice is one thing, vengeance another. Take care that you don’t become like them. If you do, then their evil lives on.”
