If she had, Von Volker would have had both of them killed.
‘Where is my wife?’ Von Volker handed his evening coat and walking stick to the houseman.
‘With the piano, Herr Von Volker.’
Von Volker walked through the ornate front hall filled with a mural of significant images from Viennese history. Erich Von Volker had ordered pictures of early Rome painted on the walls, as well as images of the Battle of Vienna when the Ottoman Empire had been beaten back. Other images showed the Habsburg kings, with the Habsburg lion, red on a field of yellow, standing in proud prominence.
Von Volker passed through the formal dining room and turned left, opening the soundproofed double doors to enter his wife’s music room. Just inside, he paused for a moment to listen. It was a classical piece, but that was all Von Volker knew for certain.
She sat in front of the piano in a dark blue lounging coat and played with her eyes closed. Von Volker didn’t know if she was locked into the music or was imagining herself in happier times.
Alice played beautifully, making love to the piano with a passion she had never shown in the bedroom. In Von Volker’s arms and beneath him, she only performed dutifully. He felt certain that her enjoyment of the act was a bit of theater on her part, nothing more.
Tan and fit from tennis on the clay courts and swimming in the Olympic-sized pool, Alice was a striking woman. At forty, she maintained a trim waist, elegant features, and, if her blond hair was anything but natural, only her hairdresser knew.
She stopped playing suddenly, then turned and looked over her shoulder. For just the barest moment, her face was frozen, then the familiar false smile spread across her features.
‘Klaus. You’re home. Why didn’t you call me and let me know you were coming?’
‘I thought I would surprise you.’
She kissed him thoroughly, but he still felt the distance between them that had always been there. He’d given up on ever being able to bridge it, settling instead for having a trophy wife who helped him on a political front.
‘Why don’t you play some more? I would like to relax.’
The smile she showed him then was genuine, and he could tell the difference in a heartbeat. ‘Of course. What would you like to hear?’
‘Something by Norah Jones, I believe.’
Some of her happiness dissipated then. Alice was happiest playing classical pieces, but she had learned the American tunes from Norah Jones, Diana Krall, Harry Connick, Junior because he had demanded it.
As his wife began playing, Von Volker recognized the opening strains of the American pianist’s song, ‘Young Blood.’ He closed his eyes and listened, plotting how the rest of the evening was going to go. ‘Sing the words. In English.’
‘My voice isn’t very good tonight, Klaus.’
‘It is your voice. I will love it. Sing.’
She did, and her voice was beautiful as always. If he hadn’t had malice in mind, he would have been soothed.
‘Klaus, I’m sorry, but I’m too tired to continue playing. Perhaps another evening?’
Von Volker smiled at his wife. ‘You played wonderfully.’ She had, but he had been waiting for the sedative he’d slipped into her drink to take effect. ‘This has been a most enchanting evening.’
‘It’s so late.’
It was. By Von Volker’s watch, it was after one. She had sipped her wine instead of drinking it. Even though he’d requested American songs, some sung in English, others in French, and some in German, she had lost herself in the music, gotten off to a place that he could never reach with her.
‘Of course.’
She stood and almost fell, catching herself on the piano bench. ‘I’m sorry.’ She pushed herself up. ‘I guess the wine has gone straight to my head.’
That was exactly what Von Volker had intended. Over the twelve years of their marriage, he had drugged Alice before, but usually so she was passed out and much more pliable for whatever he wanted to do. That had been in the early years. Now he had mistresses willing to do those things. That was much more pleasurable.
Unfortunately, those willing mistresses didn’t make good political wives. It was frustrating that married politicians seemed to do the best with their constituents, and that well-married ones from moneyed families, as Alice’s was, fared even better.
He caught her hand and kissed her fingers. ‘Allow me, dear Alice.’ He folded her arm under his and guided her from the piano room to the lift. He didn’t want to try to navigate the stairs.
Later, in the bedroom, they both lay winded and naked from Von Volker’s efforts. She lay cuddled in his embrace, tucked up against his body, barely conscious.
‘Alice.’
‘Yes?’
Her lazy response led Von Volker to believe she was under the drug’s influence as surely as she had been her music. In the early days, he had asked her if she loved him. Even under the effects of those narcotics, she had always said yes.
The present sedative was supposed to be much better at getting to the truth, according to the man who had given it to him. However, Von Volker wasn’t even tempted to ask his wife if she loved him. He no longer cared. He controlled her, and that was all that mattered.
‘Tell me about your college days.’
Alice lay with her eyes closed, her beautiful blond hair spread out over her pillow. ‘College was wonderful.’
‘What made it wonderful?’
‘Everything. So carefree.’ Alice smiled.
‘Who did you know in college?’
She looked troubled at that.
‘Who were your friends, Alice?’
‘Thomas. Thomas was my friend.’
That surprised Klaus. It was the first mention he’d heard of anyone named Thomas.
‘Thomas was the best lover I’ve ever had.’
Von Volker restrained himself from striking her. He cooled his anger with the prospect of success. More than he wanted to beat his wife, he wanted to wipe the smug look from Colonel Davari’s face. The beating could come later, on another day, and the sex then would be wonderful — whether Alice enjoyed it or not.
‘You knew Lev Strauss while you were at the Vienna School of Languages.’
‘I did. Precious Lev.’ She smiled dreamily.
‘Did you love him?’ The question fell from Von Volker’s lips before he could stop himself from asking.
‘No. Lev was my friend. A good friend.’
‘Do you know where I can find him?’
‘I haven’t talked to Lev in a long time.’
Von Volker considered a fresh tack. He didn’t have long before the drug pulled Alice completely under. ‘Is Lev in Jerusalem?’
‘I don’t know.’
Stymied, Von Volker thought about his options. From everything Davari had said, Lev Strauss had disappeared into Jerusalem, somewhere in the City of David, the oldest section of the metropolis.
‘Thomas and I visited Lev in Jerusalem.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where?’
‘In the City of David. We went there for summer break. It was wonderful. Such a good time.’
Listening to his wife talk about those good times infuriated and pained Von Volker. The Ayatollah didn’t know the extent he was willing to go to in order to succeed at his latest mission.
Or maybe the old man did, and that was why he’d sent Davari to speak with him. The Ayatollah knew that Von Volker didn’t care for the colonel. Von Volker had made that explicitly clear.
‘You were in the City of David. Where did you go? You and Thomas?’
‘With Lev. We went with Lev.’
‘Where did you stay?’