“We are receiving the latest data from the targets,” Kozlov confirmed. “Dimitri said he will have everything completed to send the final commands in plenty of time.”
“Good. And the FBI woman?”
“I have told the men to do whatever it takes to extract the information from her quickly,” he answered in a dark tone. “Whatever it takes.”
Chapter 81
She was forced to strip down to her underwear as soon as they entered the room. The sheer purple underwear she had once considered cute now made her feel vulnerable. They were intimidating. Hard men, definitely killers, and they enjoyed the show. At first it wasn’t clear whether the two men were planning to rape her or just wanted to cause humiliation. They spoke in Russian, but lewd comments were a universal language, and she understood.
When they motioned her over to the bench, she reluctantly obeyed. She was paralyzed by the cold, deliberate eyes of her captors as they approached. Everything happened so fast. There was no time for her to react. They had strapped her to the bench and draped a damp cloth over her face before she could manage to take a breath. Her heart pounded as they fastened a restraint around her neck. She forced herself to breathe. She felt the bench rise up, which brought her feet above the rest of her body. Instinct told her to hold her legs together as the blood rushed to her head.
That was some minutes ago, she believed. She wasn’t sure… Now she listened, her covered eyes wide with terror. The next assault was on its way. She could visualize what was making the sounds — a spigot shooting a stream of water into a metal bucket. The initial pitter-patter on the bottom, followed by a crescendo of water as it tinkled its way to the top. Then three steps toward her. At first they weren’t sounds that tormented her. It was the third bucket that turned once-benign sounds into something she feared.
This was bucket number four, and the familiar noise had transformed yet again. Cathy Moynihan didn’t know how to describe what she felt. It was beyond fear; she was much more than horrified. Whatever it was, it numbed her. It was what she imagined a claustrophobic person might experience when locked away in a small, dark place. She contemplated whether this was karma, after what had happened to the man in the trailer. Maybe this was his way of coming back to haunt her.
The Russian didn’t bother to repeat the question this time, and he began to pour the water over her head. Panic set in.
“They took him!” she yelled through the water-soaked cloth.
The Russian poured the rest of the cold water over her bare skin as she coughed her airway clear. The last time they had emptied a full bucket over her head, she’d passed out and woke up with a Russian pressing on her stomach to drain the fluid through her mouth and nose.
Breathing was difficult. She gasped for air in between coughing the rest of the water out of her lungs. She didn’t want to go there again. They had broken her. The violent shivering was a brutal combination of cold and fear.
“Who?” the Russian said.
“The FBI.”
Moynihan began to cough violently again. She was afraid to tell them he was dead in case his life represented a way out of this.
“Where did they take him?” the Russian barked.
“I don’t know. Maybe back to headquarters.” She tried to control her breathing to suppress her panic.
There was silence for a moment, and then the two soldiers began to converse in Russian. She felt her muscles tense up as they turned on the water. Controlled breathing wasn’t enough to keep her calm, the sounds triggering a frenzied hysteria to which her restraints answered back and held her down. The Russian had just taken the three steps toward her. Her eyes were covered by the cloth, but she still closed them tight, hoping doing so would somehow take her away from this nightmare.
The Russian dribbled some water onto the cloth, and her body jerked reflexively. The goose bumps on her body felt like they were growing with each shiver. She couldn’t see the maniacal smile of satisfaction he shared with his accomplice, but she felt it.
“Why were you following us?” he demanded.
“You killed our people,” she said, her voice desperate as she prepared for the inevitable.
“Tell me what you were looking for, or I will kill you.” His voice was cold and calculating.
“The person who killed Senator Soller’s son,” Moynihan pleaded.
“What else do you know about us?”
Her fear turned to anger as she teetered on the edge of shock. The Russian poured the water over her head and stopped just before she was out of breath.
“Nothing!” she said coughing. “We thought you were Americans!”
This was good news for the Russians.
Chapter 82
They had spent the last thirty minutes huddled in the hallway, listening to her warm up. It was an extraordinary moment for Dr. Nathan Becker and his wife. Their attention glided along every passage as they instinctively inched closer to the door. The hairs on his neck stood up when he took his first glimpse of Victoria Eden through the narrow, rectangular window in the door. The couple held hands, their cheeks pressed together, astonished by the sight.
He had stolen a glimpse of the sheet music stowed in her violin case and reasoned it would be impossible for a musician he’d never heard of to do that particular composition justice. By the time she was ready to perform the piece, it was clear that she was special. Her hands glided effortlessly up and down the neck of the violin.
He had left the door to the soundproof practice booth open a crack for two reasons: to let the musician know she was welcome to approach them if she needed anything further, and so he and his wife could listen in as she played. Seven and a half minutes went by, and he felt as if he hadn’t taken a breath. Becker was considering an appropriate response, given the circumstances, when a deep voice startled him.
“Bravo! Bra-vo!” it said. His words carried the enthusiasm of a child waking to presents on Christmas morning. He clapped his hands triumphantly while he nodded his head in approval.
The couple joined in with smiles of adoration as Becker pushed the door open.
“Please. Excuse us. I’m at a loss for words,” he admitted. There was a spark in Becker’s voice that matched the fire in his eyes. “Absolutely enchanting.”
“Yes, yes,” the newcomer chimed in. “I don’t believe there is an English word to describe something so beautiful. Please,” he said with a raised index finger, “one minute. Come, Nathan. Come quickly.”
The man gave a gentle tug to Becker’s tweed suit and urged him toward the hallway. The proprietor hurried his pace when he remembered the provenance of an instrument he had locked in the vault down the hall.
“You’re not thinking…?” Becker said, his eyes energized.
“Yes, I think it would be.” The instrument’s owner looked up as if he would find the appropriate word hanging in the air. “How do you say in English? Apropos?”
“Oh yes.” Becker nodded emphatically. “Apropos is the word. Eugène will look down upon us with a smile!”
He unlocked the walk-in vault, and they both went straight to the place where the priceless treasure was stored. Its owner carefully removed the case and placed it on a mahogany table in the middle of the vault. He unlatched the case and handed the violin to Becker. They shared a knowing look.
Becker was blessed with perfect pitch and instantly responded. It took less than a minute for him to confirm that the instrument was in tune, and he handed it back to its owner, before they marched back to the practice space.
“Please.” The man offered his violin to the musician with a slight bow. “Could you do this wonderful instrument the honor.” He made a circle with his index finger as he smiled and said, “Your admiring trio here would also be most honored.”
The old man could sense the butterflies that fluttered through his stomach were shared by the violinist. She handed him the violin she had been playing and accepted the mysterious instrument. She tilted the violin so she could peer into its f-hole.
Becker saw the sparkle in her eyes, and imagined her reading the maker’s inscription. He knew exactly what it said: “Antonius Stradivarius Cremonensis Faciebat Anno 1732.” He noticed her hands begin to tremble and her breathing quicken.
She cleared her throat. “It’s beautiful.”
The owner offered a broad smile. “Together you are a match made in heaven,” he said.
Eden blushed, still unable to fully grasp the moment, the instrument, the stranger.
“Please, please. Get familiar with it. Become one with its song,” the man insisted.
His enthusiasm managed to snap her out of the trance, and she began to play. First in short, quiet bursts, and then her fingers began to attack the instrument with confidence.
“It once belonged to Eugène Ysaÿe,” the man said with an approving nod. “He no doubt performed, perhaps even composed, the ballade you just played on that very instrument.”
She looked up in amazement, and he continued, “Herkules is his name, and it deserves to be played with the depth of expression and unbridled passion you command.”
Victoria played scales up and down instrument for a minute. She then took a deep breath and began. The instrument sang the opening vocal-like passage that began the movement.
Becker, his wife, and the owner of the instrument were left hanging on every note. She swayed and shifted, sometimes violently, expressing the longing half steps and executing the composition’s incredible leaps in pitch. She moved on to flawlessly play the rapid triplets and double-stops that climbed as she reached its conclusion.
There was absolute silence when she finished. She was exhausted from the emotion of it all, but after brief reflection, she came to life.
“That was better than sex,” she proclaimed with a laugh. Her expression changed to embarrassment just as abruptly. She bit her bottom lip and winced.
There was an uncomfortable moment of silence.
“Yes it was,” the man said with appreciative laughter and applause.
Becker remained speechless and slightly uncomfortable.
The stranger picked up the conversation to overcome the awkwardness. “And to what do we owe the privilege of your visit to the society?” he asked. Then, realizing they hadn’t been formally introduced, he said, “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”
“Victoria. Victoria Eden. I have an audition with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra.” She looked down at her watch. “In a couple of hours. A friend sent me here to get a loaner, since my violin was damaged on the plane.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Please do use this for your audition, if it’s your pleasure,” he said and smiled. “I will have them come here so you won’t have to be bothered with the transport.”
She was still in shock after what had just happened. “Thank you,” Eden said. “That would be incredible, and that way I won’t be in such a rush across town.”
“There is one more thing.” He looked to Becker and his wife with a raised eyebrow. “It would be a most delightful surprise, no?”
The couple looked at each other and smiled back at him.
“You mean?” Becker said, his eyes wide with excitement.
“Yes, I do.” He motioned to Victoria. “This young lady’s talent must be heard.”
“It would be unprecedented, unexpected, and unbelievably well received,” Becker admitted.
“Good. Victoria, have you any plans for this evening, say around six?” He reached into his coat pocket and handed her an envelope that held two tickets.
She looked down at the gift and then back up with surprise. “Tonight’s performance? I couldn’t. It’s too much, but thank you for the generous offer.” She smiled in appreciation. “You’ve already been far too kind.”
“Victoria,” the man said, understanding the need for clarification. “Those tickets are for your friends. Every performer, especially for an evening this special, deserves to have their friends present in the audience for support.” He bowed his head respectfully. “You wouldn’t mind doing us the honor, would you?” He could see she was stunned, so he added in a matter-of-fact tone, “It would certainly help fill the seats when you join the orchestra, and I have a friend who will be happy to set you up with the proper attire for such an occasion.”
She shook her head as though she was unsure whether she would wake up from this fairytale. “Of course,” she said nervously. “And you are?”
The silver-haired gentleman gave her a warm smile that spread to his eyes. The heavy lines on his face looked to have been chiseled from a hard life, but that looked to be behind him now.
“Forgive me. My name is Pavel,” he said as he made his way out the door. “An absolute pleasure to make your acquaintance. I will see you in a few hours.”