The woman crossed her arms and frowned. “What do you want?” she asked in English.
“Oh, you speak English. Great. My name is Darlene Mabry. I’m a journalist from the United States.” She told the lie without cracking in the least. “I’m doing a story on missing artwork from World War II, and I was told that Sonya Zaragova or someone in her family might know the whereabouts of a particular piece of interest. Would you happen to have a few minutes to spare so I could ask a few questions?”
“I am Sonya Zaragova.” Her lips creased into a right-side grin. “It is not often I get visitors asking about such things.”
“Well, not many people know about the specific pieces that were taken during the war. Those stories are starting to come out more frequently, but a lot of the details are still missing.”
“I suppose you are here to inquire about the Bellini, Madonna and Child.” She raised an eyebrow.
Allyson’s face brightened. “Actually, yes. We’re hoping that you have information as to what may have happened to the Bellini. If we can help uncover some of the clues, we might be able to retrieve the missing artwork and once again let the public enjoy its beauty.” She was laying it on pretty thick and hoped the woman couldn’t see through her lies.
Zaragova sized her up in five seconds, but she decided to play along. It couldn’t be a coincidence that this young woman and Adriana both showed up on the same day within twenty minutes of each other. There was something going on between the two of them. Zaragova’s instincts told her right away that whoever this new girl might be, she was completely untrustworthy.
“I am sorry, my dear. But I believe you have been misinformed.” Her face still sported a smile, although now it seemed cynical. “People used to come by all the time twenty years ago, all of them asking about the same painting. Finally, they all got the hint. I will tell you what I had to tell them. I do not know anything about the missing Bellini. If my father knew something about it, he never told me or my siblings. At least, not that I know of.”
Allyson didn’t try to hide her frown. She’d done her research. All of Zaragova’s relatives were dead. But something wasn’t right with the older woman’s story. She claimed to know nothing about the painting, but it was the first thing she mentioned when Allyson arrived. The Russian also said there weren’t many people that came by to ask about the Bellini. Her claims didn’t add up. So she was either crazy or lying. From her quick and dirty assessment, Allyson didn’t think she was the former. Which meant she was lying. But why?
Her brain kicked into overdrive as she attempted to make rapid sense of what was going on. Whoever was in the Mercedes had been there for nearly half an hour. Zaragova seemed ready to get rid of Allyson inside of five. That meant it was either a friend that had just left, or she’d told her competition more than she was letting on. Allyson decided to set a trap.
“Okay, I’m sorry to have bothered you.” She turned to leave, heading back to her car but spun around suddenly. “I apologize, but I was just wondering; this property is so beautiful and secluded. How long have you lived here?”
“All my life. It is a family estate.”
Allyson nodded. “Being out here in the countryside, I guess you don’t get many visitors.”
“The only people I see are when I go to the market to get groceries or other things I need. Now, I have work to do, so I bid you good day.” Zaragova started to turn and reenter the house, but Allyson stopped her.
“So you don’t have any friends or anyone that checks on you from time to time?” She took a few cautious steps toward the house.
“Nyet. I am alone and have no friends.”
Allyson feigned empathy. “That must be awful, being alone out here with no one ever checking on you. When was the last time someone came to visit?” She was at the base of the steps now. Her right thumb hooked on her belt and began to slip around to her lower back where her Glock was wedged into her pants. The woman didn’t notice the movement, too irritated at the pressing questions and the visitor’s approach.
“I have not had any visitors in quite some time,” she answered. “Now, I must be going.” She waved a hand meant to shoo Allyson away.
The front door slammed shut behind her; a flake of peeling paint flapped from the thud.
Zaragova stood inside her front door for a moment and sighed. Now she knew for certain that the second woman was not to be trusted. She made her way over to the phone on the kitchen countertop and picked it up. Her friend, Boris, worked for the police in Moscow. She’d not spoken to him in years but kept up via the occasional phone call. She wasn’t lying when she said she had no friends that came to visit. Boris barely qualified as a friend. He was more of an acquaintance she’d met during a particularly reckless time in her life right after her father died.
She wasn’t sure if this woman was who she claimed to be or if she was a threat, but Zaragova didn’t want to leave anything to chance. She started pressing the numbers on the phone, recalling Boris's number from memory with a little effort.
As she hit the fourth number, a bang sounded from the front of the house, and the door burst open. The woman appeared in the doorway with a gun in hand and instantly swept the room, stopping with the barrel pointed at Zaragova’s chest.
“Put the phone down,” she commanded.
The older woman froze in place, the cordless phone still in the palm of her hand with fingers hovering over the numbers.
“I said put it down!” Allyson shouted the order.
The volume and sudden staccato of her voice sent a shudder through Zaragova, nearly causing her to drop the phone to the floor. She recovered and slowly set the device on the receiver.
“That’s better.” Allyson let out a sigh, keeping the weapon trained on her target’s chest. “You know. I really wanted to do this the easy way, but you didn’t want to. You wanted to make things hard.”
Zaragova shook her head. “I don’t know what you are talking about, American.”
“Shut up!” Allyson snapped. “I don’t have a lot of time, and you’ve already wasted plenty with your lies. Who was the person visiting you before me? And where did she go?”
The Russian woman’s lips creased ever so slightly. “She didn’t tell me her name.”
Allyson twitched the gun an inch to the left and pulled the trigger. The barrel flashed, and Zaragova’s right palm exploded into a bloody, tangled mess with a crater in the middle.
She screamed a second later and gripped the wounded hand’s wrist with her good hand. Her face twisted in agony amid the howls, and she dropped to her knees. Tears streamed like little rivers down her face. The hardened woman softened instantly with the squeeze of a trigger.
“It’s amazing what hollow points do to the human body. Much messier than regular bullets. And a lot more painful.” Allyson spoke loudly so the wounded woman could hear her. She took three long steps over to the Russian and put the gun to her head.
Zaragova collected herself as best she could and looked up into Allyson’s eyes. “If you kill me, you will never find the painting.”
Allyson pouted her lips and looked up at the ceiling for a second, pretending to ponder what the woman said. “Yeah, I already knew you’d say that. Traffic at this time of day will be slowing things down. I’m guessing I could probably catch up to your friend if I hurry.”
“She will be long gone by the time you reach the city. She’s twice the woman you are, and smarter.” The fear in Zaragova’s eyes had been replaced with a staunch resolve.
“Maybe,” Allyson scratched the side of her head, still keeping the weapon aimed at the older woman’s head. “But I’m guessing I could probably get what I want out of you before I kill you.”