Now they had a mutual problem, the reporter Stupenagel. Instead of universal condemnation of the Chechen nationalists for the attack on the Pope inside St. Patrick's Cathedral in Manhattan, she'd exposed the plan as a ruse to use terrorism as a scapegoat for political gain. And it had only gotten worse.
Malovo didn't use that name in her day-to-day business, preferring the Chechen name Ajmaani, so she had been incensed that the reporter had been given her real name and that it had then appeared on the pages of newspapers. But identifying her as a Russian agent had caused shock waves in Moscow, just as publishing Jamys Kellagh's name with the implication that he had ties to U.S. law enforcement had put the heat on him.
Her capture inside of St. Patrick's had angered her employers nearly as much as the ultimate failure of the plot. They had been forced to pull more strings to get her "transferred" to Russian custody, exposing their position. The official story they gave in Moscow was that she'd actually been working undercover to expose the plot against the Pope but had been discovered and held hostage by the terrorists. However, Stupenagel's stories-forwarded to Moscow from the Russian embassy in New York-had put that story in question, and Malovo dared not return home.
It was obvious to Malovo and Kellagh and the people who controlled them that Stupenagel's anonymous federal law enforcement source was feeding her the information. But that was Kellagh's problem.
Her target was the unnamed source with access to high-level intelligence in the Russian government and army, as well as the Russian mob. And that source was Ivgeny Karchovski, which had been confirmed when the spy warned her about the meeting between Gregory Karamazov and Stupenagel. She'd become even more alarmed when she learned that the purpose of the meeting was to hand over a photograph of herself with Kellagh and Kane at the bar in Aspen.
With Kellagh's help in obtaining the plastic explosive, she'd quickly assembled the bomb and then arrived at the cafe in the company of an accomplice, to complete the picture of a couple having dinner before leaving on a trip. When she was sure that Stupenagel and Karamazov were occupied with their drinking, they left the restaurant. She'd then walked across the street and away from the direct line of flying glass and ball bearings before detonating the bomb.
The bomb was intended to kill everyone in the restaurant, and was to be followed by a fire that would incinerate paper, including photographs. She could hardly believe her eyes several days later when she read the story by Stupenagel, who had somehow survived.
In a rage that had terrified the Muslim terrorists with whom she was staying at a safe house in New Jersey-they believed that she was Chechen-she cursed the phenomenal luck that seemed to surround Karp, his family, and their associates. Even the hardened, cold-blooded killers with whom she worked were speaking in frightened whispers that Allah favored these infidels. They were particularly afraid of David Grale, the madman who was hunting them. He, too, had apparently survived repeated attempts to kill him, and the superstitious idiots were calling him a shayteen, a devil, and attributing supernatural powers to him and his subterranean army.
The supernatural crap was all nonsense, of course, Malovo told herself, but there was no denying the luck of her adversaries. And in the case of her former lover, Ivgeny, and the Ciampi woman, she was troubled by the fact that they were not only lucky, they were dangerous.
After getting the call from her spy in the Karchovski organization, she'd met with Kellagh to discuss her options. The spy had told her that Ivgeny would have only one bodyguard with him, and who knew when Ivgeny Karchovski would thus expose himself again? As for the reporter, it would look like she had stuck her nose too far into gang warfare.
Kellagh had called an accomplice working security on the ferries to have a trunk filled with weapons deposited belowdecks on the ferry. But he'd then had to rush off to a meeting with his employers. It seemed he was always running late, including when he was to attend to the death of the bookseller in December, which could have exposed the organization he worked for and their March plans.
Of course, Malovo was not immune to spies and traitors. After Kellagh left to deal with the bookseller, one of her own men had been caught calling the enemy and giving away their position. She'd cut the man's head off with her own knife and left it for her would-be captors to find, laughing as she watched them storm the building from another apartment across the street. She imagined them looking in the grocery bag she'd left in the middle of the floor with its grisly contents.
However, just in case the traitor had passed on more than her location, Malovo had Karchovski and Stupenagel followed. But her spy had been telling the truth-Ivgeny was traveling to meet the reporter with only his driver-slash-bodyguard, and even that would mean a surprise for her former lover. Stupenagel had brought only her boyfriend.
Now Malovo waited in the shadows for her men to get set, smiling as the reporter gave the response: "Not as cold as it gets in Siberia."
Karchovski held out his hand, which Stupenagel shook. "It is time to introduce myself," he said. "My name is Ivgeny. I believe you know who I am." He turned away and leaned over the rail of the ferry, facing the water, forcing Stupenagel and Murrow to do the same. He then spoke very quietly.
"I ask that you keep your voices low so that we can't be overheard," he said. "There are others listening. In fact, you are about to meet the subject of some of your stories, as well as the woman who planted the bomb in my restaurant. Her name is Nadya Malovo."
"You set me up?" Stupenagel hissed.
"Actually, the plan is to set up Malovo," he explained. "But I did need you, and myself, as bait. I will apologize later, but this woman is responsible for the death of many people, and unless she's stopped, the death of many more."
"This was the woman with the suitcase at the Black Sea Cafe?"
"Yes."
"Good. Put a cap in her for me," Stupenagel said. "What do you want us to do?"
"When the shooting starts, just get on the ground and try to avoid getting killed."
"Great," Murrow groaned. "Doesn't anybody around here want to live to be a hundred?"
Before anyone could answer, a woman spoke behind them. "Put your hands in the air, Ivgeny, and tell your man to obey. The other two as well."
The party did as told and turned slowly to face Malovo. She was accompanied by several men, who spread out around them but remained out of earshot. She smiled and pointed her gun from Ivgeny to Stupenagel to Murrow. "Who should I shoot first?"
"Wait," Karchovski said. "I want to give you a chance to surrender before there is any more bloodshed."
Malovo opened her mouth in surprise and then started to laugh. "Ah, Ivgeny, you haven't changed," she said. "A killer with a sense of humor, and one who actually places a premium on life."
"Unlike you, I take no pleasure in destroying," Karchovski replied. "Do you really think your bosses' use of terrorism will cow the world into giving them a free hand?"
Malovo shrugged. "Why not? Most people are sheep, especially in the West, where they are so fat and happy they think that everything will be okay if you talk nicely to people who believe that God has appointed them to convert infidels or put them to the sword. You refuse to see that by being soft, the current governments of the West and Russia are allowing the lowest common denominator-the illiterate, the filthy, the plague of Africans, Asians, Arabs, and Latins-to inherit a world built by their superiors."
"So you would stoop to killing thousands of innocent people to get the rest to place their lives in your hands instead?" Karchovski asked.