Victoria and the Spiritualists

by glinda4thegood

Summary:

British, American and Russian governments agree to a joint mission: search for remaining research data on the most lethal bomb ever devised, hidden in an American castle. To meet the terms of a deceased millionaire's will -- and determine whether the castle will become the property of the Duchy of Grand Fenwick, or spiritualists with ties to independent Chinese agents -- Victoria, Ivan, Joe, Hero and Dulcinea must brave secret passageways, five nights of seances, and a ruthless Chinese American medium with a penchant for leather.
Sequel to Hidden Assets and Victoria in New York

Notes:

Casting for the movie: Alexander Hero played by David Tennant; Dulcinea Mountjoy played by Kiera Knightley.

Chapter 1

Taking everything into consideration, the most interesting things I have learned about people are these: their love of mystery, of something they cannot explain . . . and, most strikingly of all, the wish to believe in the supernatural, especially in some evidence of life after death. – Howard Thurston, magician, 1869-1936

MARCH 1971

Whoever woke in England on this morning would undoubtedly take one look out the window, and wish the calendar ahead to April. Lowering grey clouds had comprehensively blocked sunshine from London skies. Arriving at headquarters mid-morning, M mentally recited a few lines of Browning before he left the shelter of his Bentley. His driver noticed the hesitation.

"It's shaping up to be a particularly filthy afternoon, sir."

"Indeed."

M found the brief walk from Bentley to building unnecessarily invigorating. Stinging hail and slashes of freezing rain alternated on gusts of blustery wind that stabbed invasively between protective garments, leaving damp, chilly discomfort that leached through skin to bone.

Stepping over the threshold into his country's bastion of Intelligence, M gratefully entered an oasis of warmth and relative calm.

"Good morning, sir. Chief of Staff Tanner just rang. He's on his way up." Miss Moneypenny didn't waste time on chit chat in the morning. It was a restraint M appreciated, especially on mornings such as this. "Would you like the Mountjoy file for reference?"

"Please. And the Winslow and Hero files as well."

One last shiver racked his shoulders. M removed his gloves and continued into his office, an area that stayed at least five degrees warmer than Moneypenny's nook. As recently as five years ago he'd complained to the head of facility maintenance, who'd told him the specially constructed blast walls behind the traditional woodwork provided superior R-factor. Today the higher temperature was welcome. M rubbed one knee surreptitiously as he arranged his legs beneath the desk. He'd reached an age where the damp got right into his bones in foul weather.

"Can't really say good morning, can I?" Tanner came into the office, carrying three folders. He placed them on the desk in front of M, and took a seat in one of the leather arm chairs. "So, it's the Grand Fenwick business?"

"Damned queer thing. Not our usual. Unless it is." M pushed the folders around, settling on one. "Alexander Hero. I know you are familiar with his – exploits and inventions. Not one of our people, but he's been occasionally helpful. Did a significant service for the Americans in the recent past."

"The scientist who got hooked by a spiritualist con artist in '65? Hero did well to solve that one. American cybernetics program could have gone pear shaped. They were very grateful," Tanner said. "Since then Hero's been working as a private consultant here, although he took a brief sabbatical in South America in '67. Q branch keeps an eye on him. He's working to develop instruments that detect various kinds of physical phenomena associated with --" Tanner's lip curled for a moment before he finished his sentence with an obviously unpalatable word, "parapsychology."

"Good, solid man though. Good family," M said, stoutly defensive. As a much younger man he'd met Hero the Elder, one of the maths boys working on Ultra at Bletchley Park. It seemed the son had inherited his father's knack for the investigative sciences. "Ghost breaker. Nothing wrong with his mind. I'd like to send him along on this."

"Shall I arrange it?"

"Yes." M selected the next folder. "Countess Dulcinea Mountjoy. Currently attending class at Bedford College and London School of Economics. I have a letter here from Duchess Gloriana XII explaining the situation, and giving Countess Mountjoy authority to represent Grand Fenwick and the Mountjoy family in this matter."

"The sons wouldn't come?" Tanner's mouth twitched slightly. "They wouldn't come to England to be educated, either. A strange little country. Most of them hate to travel."

"I have some sympathy." M opened the last folder. "You've reviewed the Winslow assessment?"

"Yes." On more familiar territory, Tanner relaxed and crossed his legs. He met M's eyes with a probing look, a small frown pulling his eyebrows together. "You ordered a more than normally thorough follow-up after the New York assignment in September last."

"When one of our agents spends unobserved time with an enemy agent, especially a Russian, we need to analyze the interaction. What are your thoughts on Miss Winslow, as an agent?"

"She may be our best marksman. I understand she and Commander Bond shot to a tie on the range recently." Tanner spoke slowly, carefully. "In the New York assignment her resolution of the Smythe/Kuznetsov entanglement was satisfactory. She kept her head and stayed on task. Barry Giles spoke well of her."

"She formed no relationship with Commander Bond, although there was opportunity?"

Tanner couldn't suppress a small laugh. "They do seem to have a relationship, but it isn't sexual. Bond likes her. As a person."

"You sound surprised."

"You're not? It's a departure from his usual behavior," Tanner said. "Women with the skills Miss Winslow has seem to fall into two categories. We find female versions of 007, who spend a fair amount of time pursuing the opposite sex; and we find cooler female agents -- like Miss Winslow."

"She doesn't sleep around every weekend," M said, flipping through several pages. Tanner never liked to pry so deeply into agents lives; while he accepted the necessity, sometimes M had to prod him into making blunt statements. "She's had short relationships with agents in other branches. The last was in January. It lasted two weeks. They remain friendly. The folder includes our interview with him."

"That would be my interview with him," Tanner said. "Analysis of his information confirms what we already know about Miss Winslow. Her sex drive seems low, but otherwise normal. She's not prudish. When she feels the need, she looks for appropriate company. She enjoys sex, but does not form attachments. Her partners judge her to be desirable, if emotionally detached. Unsentimental, practical, low empathetic scores, although she is adept at reading nonverbal body language. She was one of two highest scoring agents after training with the American team last month. Microexpressions is the new terminology. Notation on the final report says her observational skills are superior."

"If she had a greater ability to feign emotion, we could find more ways to use her services," M said.

Tanner shook his head. "That type of mission was ruled out, early in her training. Her acting skills are minimal, just enough to shadow a target."

"Well. She'll never be a Daphne Park, but this is a career for her, not something she's doing until she can get married," M said. "Her name came up as someone who would be useful in the current affair. She has early experience with the spiritualist community. Seems to hold the whole lot of them in low regard."

"Her mother was potty for seances. You'll send her with Hero and Countess Mountjoy?"

"Yes." M shut the folder, dropped one hand to his knee and rubbed at the bone. "The Russian, Simanov?"

"In Russia, until the last few weeks. He executed three men while in New York. Smugglers. Two Americans, one Russian. Moscow wasn't pleased. He may be in the Middle East now. We don't have a lot of background on him, keeps very low profile. He's young, 23 or 24. They seem to use him on assignments that take a bit more imagination than most of their people have. He's intelligent, resourceful, and unpredictable."

"Tough looking chap. His file photo reminds me a bit of 007. Do women find him attractive?"

"I'll ask Moneypenny. There's no intel on sexual proclivities."

"Well, get intel." M gathered the folders, pushed them across the desk. "Return them to Moneypenny, and ask her to give Miss Winslow a call. I'll go over the details with her myself."

 

FRIDAY, BACK IN THE GAME

"Is that a Chanel knock-off? Very nice jacket, but I would have to go with a skirt. And, perhaps a brighter color, although that toast and grey works well for you."

Victoria laughed, trailing her fingertips over one lapel of the bespoke suit jacket. As usual, Moneypenny's inspection left her with the feeling she had been simultaneously x-rayed and strip-searched by a kindly prison matron. "Thank you. I do have a matching skirt, but it's a trousers kind of day. And I wouldn't say "knock-off" where Mrs. Maberrie might hear you. She claims Coco channels her while designing. As all my suits ended up with her for adjustment, it seemed most practical to let her take responsibility from start to finish."

"I knew Q's Mrs. Maberrie did a fabulous job altering James -- 007's -- suit jackets. I'll have to see if she has time to make something for me. It should be less of a challenge, as I don't need to hide holsters and guns about my person." Moneypenny glanced down at a flashing light on her intercom. "You can go in, Miss Winslow. He's waiting."

A rush of heat hit Victoria as she opened the door between offices. She crossed the expanse of carpet towards M's desk, wondering if a skirt wouldn't have been a better choice than wool trousers. "Good afternoon, sir."

"Please sit down, Miss Winslow."

M looked a bit grayer around the edges, and moved his arms as though his arthritis was troubling him. His eyes were as sharp as ever, raking over her in stern assessment. Victoria sat down, watched his face and waited.

"What do you know about Grand Fenwick?"

Victoria settled back in the armchair. Here was an unexpected, and interesting question. It was a question that, thanks to a recent cooking class discussion over what wine to serve with pomegranate-glazed duck breast, she could answer.

"Today, they are known for producing a superior pinot noir. Historically, Grand Fenwick is a small country on the border of France and Switzerland, founded by an English knight in the late 1300s. They have maintained a two-party parliament since that time. There was a notable incident In 1955 between America and Grand Fenwick, with an American scientist and an untested bomb rumored to be more powerful than either atom or hydrogen bombs. Today, Duchess Gloriana XII is titular head of the country. Countess Dulcinea Mountjoy, daughter of one of the oldest families in Grand Fenwick, currently attends university in London."

M's eyebrows fluttered with appreciative surprise. "Very comprehensive, Miss Winslow. When we are done here, there will be even more comprehensive files to read in Moneypenny's office. It is true, in 1955 Dr. Kokintz was working in America, but he had emigrated from Grand Fenwick to America with his father, when he was very young. Kokintz developed the quadium bomb for the Americans. After a series of highly improbable events, he ended up in Grand Fenwick with the bomb. He claimed the device had the potential to actually level a continent. At the time, pressure was mounting for global disarmament. A tentative agreement was reached among the nations of the U.N. that Kokintz would train and lead a group of scientists to act as monitors and observers against further development of weapons of mass destruction."

"What happened? There's no such program in existence today."

"Kokintz was proceeding along those lines; then in 1959 he returned to America to visit his half-sister, Amelie, whose health was poor. He died in a Boston hospital, due to an undiagnosed congenital heart defect," M said. "With his passing, Grand Fenwick issued a statement that the q-bomb had never been functional, and all of Dr. Kokintz' research notes had been destroyed."

"A hoax? I remember reading somewhere that Dr. Kokintz was a genius. His peers seemed to believe he had accomplished something extraordinary," Victoria said.

"We investigated. There was nothing left of his work." M tapped one finger on the desk absently. "The Americans investigated on their end, of course."

"You believe they may have missed something?" Victoria saw his eyes narrow fractionally, his nostrils flare. Something about the situation had awakened M's interest and concern.

"A bit more history. Amelie Kokintz married an American millionaire, Sterling Durant, Jr. Senior Sterling Durant was big in railways. He left his son an overflowing bank balance, and a castle."

"Castle? In America?"

"Indeed. During the later years of life, Senior was obsessed with one-upping William Randolph Hearst. When Hearst built a castle on the west coast, Durant started building a castle on the east. Durant Castle. That's where Dr. Kokintz was visiting when he died." M steepled his fingers and leaned back in his chair. "Amelie Durant died in December, 1967. Durant Jr. died three months ago, in January. He has, conditionally, left the castle and remaining money to the Duchy of Grand Fenwick, with the Mountjoy family named as primary trustees."

"I'm waiting for the bomb at the heart of this story." Victoria was rewarded for the small joke with a small flash of humor in M's eyes.

"Before Durant died, he told one of his lawyers that Kokintz had left something at the castle that would ensure Grand Fenwick's future. But what it was, or where, the old man wouldn't say." M cleared his throat. "Durant was a practicing spiritualist."

"Oh bugger." Victoria put her hand over her mouth. "Sorry, sir."

"Yes. I heartily agree. When Amelie was alive, they hosted weekend retreats, nightly seances. The terms of the will require that after his death, before the Mountjoys assume their role as trustees, an honest effort will be made to contact him. If he is reached on the other side, he will give full details about Kokintz' legacy. If he is not reached on the other side, he trusts the ingenuity of man to eventually uncover the legacy."

"Total nutter." Victoria shook her head. "How did he define an honest effort?"

"Durant stipulated five consecutive nights of services would be required. His will included a list of potential observers and participants, believers and non-believers. What do you know about American mediums?"

"Nothing. As I'm sure you know from my file, I'm more familiar with homegrown specimens." Tactile and auditory memories made a brief attempt to bridge the chasm between past and present: tatty velvet tablecloths saturated with old perfume and smoke rasping against her fingers as one of the many now faceless mediums manipulated a table and wailed that someone was sending a message. "And those experiences are not recent."

"Well, you can familiarize yourself with what America has to offer. You're going to accompany Countess Mountjoy. If you can find what Dr. Kokintz left in the castle, that would be appreciated. Another civilian will accompany you. Alexander Hero --"

"Ghost breaker?" Victoria was startled, both by M including a civilian on an operation, and a vivid memory of Hero's inclusion in one of the last services she had attended with her mother. "I am familiar with his reputation. What will Hero's role be?"

"We expect Hero to do what Hero does best. Observe, demystify, debunk and explain. Duchess Gloriana has requested our assistance in this matter. The will also states that if proof of contact with Durant can be provided under controlled conditions, the castle and money will go to an American spiritualist church instead of Grand Fenwick."

"I see. The possible nature of Dr. Kokintz' legacy will not be subject of loud discussion. Our public focus will be ensuring fair resolution to Durant's last wishes."

"Exactly." A small smile touched M's lips. "There will be no secure communications from Durant Castle. You have the usual code phrases. If necessary, there is a place in Boston you can visit, where a secure phone line is maintained. Any additional questions?"

"Not at this moment, sir. Do the dossiers include a list of the participants invited to the seances?"

"Yes." M frowned and leaned forward a bit. "The almost universal opinion is that Kokintz never made the breakthrough he claimed. While our people don't believe there's anything to find at Durant Castle, I can't allow myself the luxury of believing this until a final effort is made to confirm or deny the possibility. I'd like you to proceed as though Dr. Kokintz developed the q-bomb, and his research notes exist hidden somewhere in that castle."

"I understand, sir." It was an odd assignment, with spiritualists, but Victoria felt a sense of rising anticipation. She was going to America. Again.

 

SATURDAY, ALEXANDER HERO

Victoria put it off until late afternoon, then found it took her longer than usual to pack. She stood in front of her closet, pondering options. Formal dress would not be required on this assignment, although Dulcinea Mountjoy had a reputation for enjoying current fashion.

Victoria pulled the garment bag from the back of the closet. Price tag still attached, the scarlet silk dress inside was very similar to the one destroyed in New York. Slightly longer than cocktail length, this dress had a more fitted shape with a slit opening along the right side nearly to midthigh. If she had to run, or wrestle in it, her legs would move more freely. The vivid color seemed to pulse in the dim, amber light of her bedroom.

Adventure. Danger. Sex. When she found it in the shop, the dress had practically held her at gunpoint until she paid far too much and took it home with her.

Victoria zipped the bag closed and added it to the luggage on her bed.

Her jacket and trouser combinations were matronly, but each jacket had stitches picked out under the lapels to hide lockpicks, and the side seams had been eased by an old seamstress who worked exclusively for MI6 doing alterations. She could wear a shoulder holster comfortably, invisibly. Palazzo pants and slightly flared trousers would hide ankle guns.

The flat was damp and cold, like the rest of the world. She finished packing quickly, wanting a mug of tea. Going through the preparations in her small kitchen Victoria thought about the previous day's mission briefing with M.

They hadn't sent her out of country in the last six months. Not that there wasn't plenty to keep her occupied at HQ. Range practice, helping Q branch test weapons, assisting with the training of young agents filled her days. She knew, both from the length and number of interviews, and her observation of agents who interacted with her, that they had closely evaluated her performance in New York. And more. They had evaluated her.

She drank the hot tea, cradling the mug between her fingers. A check of the clock told her she had about forty minutes before the car would pick her up for transport to the airport.

M's scrutiny this morning had confirmed the necessity of a decision made in January. Taking Captain Thomas Brown to her bed had given them information about her character they expected to find.

Easy going, good looking, fair-haired Tom Brown had been as different from Ivan Simanov as she could find in an available man. His company was pleasant. The sex was unremarkable, verging on tedious. Lacking any connection, or passion, it had been easy to drift out of his company as easily as she drifted in. The first confirmation of her suspicions had appeared in his eyes, in the weeks afterwards. A small hint of guilt, of apology, of shame when his eyes met hers. Victoria knew he had kissed and told.

Which had been her plan.

They parked her in records for two weeks, and watched for any unauthorized curiosity. They assigned one of the new steno girls to chat her up, try and make friends and solicit confidences. James Bond met her on the range several times, but on the whole Victoria thought that was on his own account. They had watched, and watched . . . and now, finally, it looked like she was back in the game.

Victoria made a face. Did it have to be another untidy game with, of all things, spiritualists?

Information in the Grand Fenwick, Mountjoy, Hero, Kokintz and Durant folders had been both extensive and frustratingly incomplete. She had been on her second read through when Moneypenny cleared her throat several times.

"Six o'clock, Miss WInslow. I have this for you as well. Keep it for reading on the plane." Moneypenny handed her a commercially printed booklet with a photograph of a looming castle on the cover. "The history of Durant Castle."

"Thank you." Victoria smiled warmly. She liked Moneypenny's thoughtful efficiency. "Sorry if I kept you."

"Not at all. I hope you have a good trip. I've met Mr. Hero down at Q branch," Moneypenny said slyly, winking one eye slowly. "Good looking and unmarried, smart as a whip. I wouldn't mind flying to America with him."

The world outside was dark, slick with rain. Victoria set her luggage by the front door and stared out of the small window, holding her raincoat. At least at Durant Castle she would have no chance of stumbling across Ivan. Victoria tried to convince herself the thought was a relief, and knew she came nowhere close to succeeding.

During a visit at the invalid home currently caring for her father, Victoria had overhead a doctor explain an old woman's complaints to her family. A recent amputee, the woman constantly fretted about an itch on her foot.

"We call it a phantom limb, or ghost limb," the doctor said. "The body remembers it was there, and tricks the mind. The sensation usually goes away."

Waking alone in bed, Victoria sometimes thought she felt the heat from his body beside her. The first few weeks after New York had been most difficult, as she fought a constant sense of being incomplete, of missing a piece of herself. Her body remembered, complained to her mind, and neither would just bloody shut up about it, and go away.

~ ~ ~

Alexander Hero was already on the plane when she boarded.

"Victoria Brown." She held out her hand as he unfolded his length from the aisle seat. Hero was a cleanly handsome man who looked younger than the 42 years his dossier claimed him to be. A shock of light brown hair peaked over his forehead in a way that brought bantam roosters to mind.

"Alexander Hero. Window or aisle seat?"

"Window, if you don't mind. My legs are shorter than yours." Victoria slipped past him into her seat. "My driver told me Countess Mountjoy is already enroute. She left this morning."

Hero made a noncommittal noise. "I'm not surprised. Dulcy's not known for her patience."

"You know her?" The file had said Dulcinea Mountjoy and his step-sister were close friends.

"Very well. She asked me to marry her when she was eight years old." He looked her over frankly. "You're one of the people who work out of the office I visit occasionally? Interesting. You don't look like a secretary. And you look even less like their other employees."

"I am multi-talented," Victoria laughed at his careful phrasing. "My credentials earned me a seat next to you on this trip. I've actually seen you before. At a demonstration of voice mediumship by Leslie Flint."

"Lord." Hero looked embarrassed. "Are you? That is to say, do you --?"

"My mother," Victoria said succinctly. "I spent my formative years in gatherings, seances, and demonstrations like Flint's. I hoped to find a published account of your investigation, but never saw one."

"I didn't follow Flint for the Society," he said. "It was a personal quest. My work for the Society of Psychical Research came later."

"What conclusions did you reach? That he really formed a voice box from ectoplasm to relay voices of the dead, or that he was an accomplished ventriloquist?"

Hero shot her a sideways glance. "So now I know, without doubt, how you view spiritualists." He shook his head. "I can tell you what Flint does can be reproduced by a talented performer. I can't make any further definite statement about his claims."

They prepared for the take-off, continuing to talk as the cabin lights died around them. It was the first time Victoria had ever been able to share those years with someone who understood what she had witnessed and felt, as her mother was taken in by mountebanks and charlatans.

"You saw a lot more of that scene than I did. I wish you had written it down." Hero stretched his long legs out as far as he could. "This Durant business. They told me you would have a list of the other people who would be at the castle."

"Do you want to go over it now?"

He appeared totally relaxed, on the edge of going to sleep. "Please."

Victoria made herself as comfortable as she could. "You and I, and Countess Mountjoy will represent Grand Fenwick and England. Dr. Franz Leibman from Vienna will represent the Austrian Society for Psychical Research. They have recently completed an investigation of a Uri Gellar who claims to have psychokinetic and psychic abilities."

"Ah yes." Hero shut his eyes. "I've heard of Leibman. Good researcher. Gellar is an entertainer, nothing more. Next?"

"Two American mediums, Fay Marie Green from the American midwest, a mental medium, and Yasmine Lee from San Francisco, a physical medium."

"I've heard of Green. She has a fairly clean record," Hero said. "But Lee is a new one."

"American mother, Chinese father, 32 years of age," Victoria said from memory. "Conducts business from her home, doesn't mix with the spiritualist community in California. She wrote to Durant during the last years of his life with a series of predictions that included contacting him after he passed over."

"Interesting. I wonder what she has to gain from this carnival?"

"Durant specified the mediums, and left them checks for $10,000 each," Victoria said.

"That's a start. Who else?"

"Benjamin Braeden will represent the American Society for Psychical Research. I believe he plans to record the seances."

"I've spoken with Ben many times. Good man. You've only got two for the other side so far."

"Representing the Unified Spiritualist Church of the Americas will be Sister Ruth Ann Grayling and Brother John Grayling," Victoria said. "They both have numerous complaints and police investigations to their credit, but have managed to remain respected in a segment of the spiritualist community. They were frequent visitors at Durant Castle when Amelie Durant was alive. Rounding out the number is an American journalist, Joe Deauville, a gentleman who also has ties to Voodoo and Santeria practices in New Orleans."

"Curiouser and curiouser," Hero murmured. "This should be worth leaving home for."

Victoria rummaged in her purse and pulled out the book Moneypenny had given her. "Durant Castle. Do you know anything about it?"

"I know something about the man who built it. Durant Sr. was fascinated with Welbeck Abbey, and the Swallow's Nest. Durant Castle is a good looking American mongrel of those two, with choice bits from other classic buildings. He loved underground tunnels, priest's holes, and secret passages," Hero said cheerfully. "He was an unrepentant womanizer, who probably thought discreet access to private rooms would be convenient and necessary in an American castle."

"You're not going to go poking about, are you? That's not your job." Victoria stared at the photo of Durant Castle. "Secret passages. Bother."

"It could be part of my job. I'm the ghost breaker, and there's nothing a charlatan loves better than a secret entrance or trap door to help set up effects."

"Promise me, whatever you find, you'll tell me about and not go haring off down a rabbit hole. I have my own job to do, Mr. Hero."

"Please. Meg and Dulcy call me Sandro." He opened his eyes wide and turned the charm on. "What is your real job, Miss Brown?"

"Have you ever run across a woman that doesn't work with?" Victoria laughed. "If you are Sandro, I am Victoria. And my job is to see you do your job."

Chapter 2

SUNDAY, DURANT CASTLE

They might as well have been in England. The same grey sky, the same cold rain after the long flight made it difficult to tell exactly what country they were in, or what time of day it was.

Victoria huddled in her raincoat, standing with Hero behind the shelter of the airport's glass doors. They watched a driver wearing a dripping rain slicker load luggage into the boot of a tan estate car.

"That's not all our luggage." Victoria evaluated the cream colored bags that kept appearing.

"The remainder of Dulcy's stuff," Hero said. "I'm sure they couldn't get it all in one trip. How many bags did you bring?"

"Three."

He laughed. "It isn't you, it's her."

The country would have been lovely in sunshine. Victoria tried to relax and let her body appreciate the difference in sensations the car's wheels transmitted to her bones. She wanted to stand and stretch, to walk for a while.

"It's not far. Forty minutes," Hero said cheerfully.

He had been watching her. And he was good at watching, and evaluating, Victoria realized. She would have to be guarded with him. "I'm not a medium, Hero. Give it a rest."

Hero looked surprised, then grinned with a quality of boyish guilt that made him look delicious. "Sorry. Can't help it."

He would be a good actor, if he chose to assume a part. "And give that a rest as well. You're adorable." She yawned, covering her mouth with her hand. "I can't resist your charms."

His wicked eyes did not promise a modification in behavior.

The car turned off the main road onto a wide, curving gravel road that swept through a stand of trees. When the trees thinned to groomed gardens, the castle rose into view, looking like an illustration in a book of fairytales.

Their driver stopped the car in front of a pair of enormous, iron clad doors. He opened one of the doors, leading them into a vaulted hall flanked on either side with smaller reproductions of the front doors. A harried looking, white-haired woman in a dark suit hurried down a majestic stone staircase to greet them.

"Welcome to Durant Castle. You'll be Mr. Hero and Miss Brown. I'm Mrs. Evelyn. I was Mr. Durant's chatelaine. Countess Mountjoy has requested we arrange a buffet in the breakfast room. That's off to the right, through there." Mrs. Evelyn gestured. "Would you like to see your rooms, perhaps freshen up? I'll have your luggage brought up first. Countess Mountjoy already has enough luggage to last her several years."

Victoria thought she would get on well with Mrs. Evelyn. "Thank you. That would be lovely."

"Your rooms are in the north wing, with the Countess."

Mrs. Evelyn led the way up the broad stone stairway, past nearly life-sized paintings of men and women in early nineteenth century dress, then turned left on the upper landing. As they walked down the hallway Victoria's first impression of a blended, eclectic grandeur deepened.

"It's quite warm, for such a large stone building."

"Very aggressive heating system," Mrs. Evelyn said, pausing and opening a bedroom door. "No one ever runs out of hot water here. If anything, it can get too warm in the upper bedrooms during the winter. Just one moment, Mr. Hero." She stepped away from the door into the room, leaving Hero standing in the hall. "I've been told who you are, Miss Brown. What can I do to help you?"

Victoria shut the door behind them. The bedroom was opulent, but tasteful. Curtains over the huge bed floated and shimmered on the small breeze that followed the action of shutting the door. "If you could scratch out a diagram of the rooms, and who's staying in each, that would be a start. We'll have a talk later, after I've met everyone."

Mrs. Evelyn nodded. "I'll be straight with you. I loved that old man, but he was a pain in the behind over this spiritualist stuff." A faint, drawling accent softened her crisp American vowels. "People took advantage of him, I don't hesitate to tell you, Miss Brown." She turned to answer a short knock in the door. "Here's your luggage. I have an office back by the kitchen. You can usually find me there."

Locking the door out of habit, Victoria pulled her toiletries bag from the luggage and stepped into the bathroom. She stood for a moment after flicking on the light. Even given the quality of the bedroom, the bathroom was unexpectedly just short of palatial. Victoria studied the separate shower and oversized bathtub with longing, but stripped to the skin and settled for a quick sponge down. She dressed in dark trousers and a deep blue twinset to bolster the sober secretarial image she intended to cultivate for the guests, then found her way back downstairs.

The huge double doors to the breakfast room were ajar. Victoria paused outside, listening to the murmur of voices. A woman's throaty voice with an odd accent, English with a trace of French perhaps, rose above the others.

"You must call me Dulcinea, or Dulcy. Sandro calls me Dulcy. May I call you Franz? Dr. Leibman is far too formal."

Countess Mountjoy's voice had an almost theatrical quality of sexiness. Victoria found herself smiling as she began to step through the doorway.

"Of course, Dulcinea. Natürlich, we shall be friends. Friends should dispense with the honorifics, I think."

Victoria thought the castle tilted around her. It simply wasn't possible.

Her feet completed the few steps into the room without conscious guidance. Large patio windows along the far wall gave the colorful, cheerful room a scenic view of the grounds. A large fireplace contributed the tang of wood smoke to food scents from the buffet: strong coffee, toast, sausages and ham brought a grumble from her stomach. A group of people standing between a lengthy buffet sideboard and oak table turned as she entered.

Hero smiled and nodded at her. "Dulcy, this is Victoria Brown. We flew in together."

"I'm glad you're here, Victoria. You'd better get something to eat before Sandro starts. As skinny as he is, he eats like he has a hollow leg." Dulcinea Mountjoy's shrewd brown eyes examined her with interest. "You look a little tired. I don't like to fly, myself. Let me finish introductions." She motioned to the man beside her. "Dr. Franz Leibman."

"Please. Franz." He stepped forward to take her hand and brush it with his lips. His hair was black, longer against the nape of his neck, with traces of grey at the temples. He wore a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles, and his clean-shaven face looked thin and pale against the blue of his eyes. His Russian accent had been softened, altered to something Germanic.

"We should be on a first-name basis," Ivan said.

 

Victoria ate something, drank something in a state of calm disbelief. Conversation continued without her, mostly between "Franz" and Hero. From Hero's excited interest about the Uri Gellar investigation, it was clear Ivan had done his homework for the role of Dr. Leibman. Dulcinea watched them both with a proprietary affection that made Victoria's numbness fade toward irritation.

When Mrs. Evelyn escorted Benjamin Braeden into the breakfast room, Victoria waited until introductions were complete, and Hero had pounced on Braeden.

"I need to walk, after that flight," she said to Dulcinea. "I'll take a tour of the castle, and speak with you later this afternoon?"

"We'll pry Sandro away, and get to know each other. Sweet of M to send you to help. The old bear," Dulcinea laughed. "Sorry. I forget. You should see your eyes."

Victoria took a deep breath. So there were at least three people at Castle Durant who saw too much. It was a needed reminder.

"Please. Let me walk with you. I too would like to explore the castle." Ivan stepped aside to let her leave the breakfast room first. "I believe the library is to the right, the formal dining room straight ahead. I am told there is a glass traverse that leads to a series of greenhouses on the southern lawn. Do you have an interest in flowers, fraulein?"

They walked through the glass tunnel, in full view of the entire world. Ivan led the way into the first fragrant, humid structure. Constructed as a vast glass-sided circle with a koi pond and benches at the center, the grey light from outside seemed to transform into pearly, diffused brilliance that sparkled off water droplets, then scattered from leaves as they passed.

"I have to tell London," she said.

Ivan pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped moisture from the bench's marble top. "Yes. My people expected Mr. Hero, and thought someone from your crime division would accompany him. They never considered you would be a possibility."

Victoria sat and stared at the koi pond. He was two feet from her, and it might as well have been two thousand miles. "Your dossier on me can't be that complete."

"This will change." Ivan's hand moved toward her, then pulled back to rest on his knee. "When you tell them I am here, tell them there is also another interested party. Tell them my people would prefer all traces of Dr. Kokintz work disappear, while this third party intends to build Dr. Kokintz' bomb."

"How long have you been here?" Victoria let her eyes wander in the jungle of plants. It was serenely quiet, with almost undetectable background sounds coming from hotwater pipes that ran along the base of the walls.

"In residence, since this morning. Only Countess Mountjoy's rooms are wired, and not by us. The rest of the grounds are clean. I have missed you, milaya moya."

It was like a shiver of heat lightning between them.

"Who is the third party?" Victoria swallowed to ease the dryness of her mouth.

"China. And before you protest, this is not a government sponsored endeavor. There is a group of far-sighted individuals who believe their country can rise to dominate the entire continent, eventually the world. There may also be an element of financial speculation involved."

"Why would your people want to destroy Dr. Kokintz' work?"

"Your people may not be aware of it, but Dr. Kokintz' correspondence with some of our scientists led to the successful launch of Sputnik. Those scientists considered him both friend and colleague. In a rare moment of total sanity, the decision has been made that since there has never been only one of a weapon in all of recorded history, this is a weapon that should not be held by even a single country. Not even Russia."

Victoria sighed. "We'll see how far that sanity extends." She noticed he maintained his German accent while he spoke with her. "Who is listening to Dulcinea Mountjoy?"

"I will find out. The entire structure has more passages behind the walls than an anthill. I have not had time to familiarize myself with the complexity of the castle interior."

"Hero said there would be tunnels, secret entrances and exits," Victoria said. "We have to assume others know about them."

Ivan grinned. "Ja. We will speak more fully tonight."

"Tonight?" Victoria took a deep, involuntary breath as anticipation and sexual awareness tautened the skin over her abdomen.

Ivan stood. "This greenhouse opens to others. Let me show you."

At the far side of the circular greenhouse a more traditional, opaque wall and door stood partially open under a trellis of climbing flowers. Ivan pulled her between the trellis and wall.

"Victoria. Do you still love me?"

It was such a foolish question. The need to reaffirm the bond between them with words seemed redundant. "There's something irresistible about the spectacles." She slipped them off his nose, folded and placed them in his breast pocket. "I miss the mustache." It was the last thing she said for several minutes. Winding her arms around his neck she found the wave of hair at the nape of his neck. "The grey adds just the right touch, Herr Doktor," she whispered against his lips.

"Do you love me?" Ivan's voice was thick and urgent. He locked his hands at the small of her back, pulling her tightly against his body.

"I love you." Victoria kissed the cleft in his chin, then found his mouth again. He made a sound somewhere between a groan and a laugh, loosening his grip, sliding his hands under her sweater to find bare skin. When she finally let him pull his mouth away, there was an expression on his face she had never seen. His eyes, rarely without humor, held only aching need.

"I will be in your bed tonight, though hell should bar the way."

Heady, intoxicating scents of tobacco smoke on his jacket and the scent of his body carried on the heat of his skin filled her lungs. Faint tastes of tobacco and his skin lingered on her tongue. "I've missed you. I need to have you inside me. But I refuse to play the landlord's daughter. I'm a soldier. You know it."

"I know it." Ivan's arms relaxed. "We had better return to the house. Ya teybya lyublyu. You go ahead. I will follow in a few minutes. When I can walk."

Victoria pushed one breast back into a bra cup, straightened her twinset into place and smoothed a hand over her hair. She saw no one on her walk into the house, or on the stairs to her room. A new pile of luggage and boxes was stacked near the front door. Others had arrived.

Her things had not been unpacked, which meant a shortage of staff. Not a bad thing, Victoria decided. She began to methodically unpack her luggage. She found a long black case in the bottom of the tall armoire, a locally provided set of tools. Two guns: Walther PPK, a snubnose .38, holsters, ammunition and sundry equipment fit tidily into the case.

WIth her clothing stored, Victoria began a sweep of the room. The abundance of carved oak woodwork made the process a slow, painstaking exercise. Finally, in a corner partially obscured by the armoire, she felt a bit of moulding give beneath her fingers and heard the subdued snick of a hidden latch.

This wasn't the time to go adventuring behind walls. Victoria pulled the moulding back into place without attempting to open the panel. After a moment's thought, she wedged her empty luggage between the armoire and wall, directly in front of the panel as a temporary deterrent to unannounced visitors.

The canopy swayed invitingly over the bed, making her consider if a nap might be a wise use of time. Strangely, seated next to Hero she had been able to shut her eyes for a while on the plane. Now fatigue hovered at the edge of mind and body, although nervous energy from kissing Ivan still buzzed through her skin.

Ivan. Here.

In the months since she had last seen him, Victoria had refused to indulge in too many fantasies. It would have been too easy to endlessly dream about field assignments that inevitably found him again in Paris, New York, Madrid. Memories of him were not off limits, though. Caviar in Paris. Custard in New York. Sometimes in a lift she smelled smoke on a stranger's overcoat and found her nipples embarrassingly tight and hard. Sometimes it seemed while her mind was making a determined effort to keep the fantasies in a tightly lidded box in her mind, her body was hyperaware of every sensory cue associated with those fantasies.

And now the reality. She and Ivan, both in America, apparently on dove-tailing assignments.

The outcome at Durant Castle would be measure of how good an agent she really was. Victoria decided defiantly she would do her job, do it damn well, and protect both of them. If the time came, and she had to answer for her choices, she would be able to say her country's interests had never been compromised.

Victoria took the ornate metal key out of the lock, shut and locked the bedroom door behind her, thinking it would take two seconds to pick the simple mechanism. Her first tactical assessment of Durant Castle was how ridiculously insecure the entire place seemed to be.

 

Methodical exploration of the ground floor eventually brought Victoria back to the breakfast room, and the low sound of voices. In addition to rows of bottles, the side bar now offered plates of biscuits. The table had been dramatically reduced in size and moved against the wall to make room for armchairs and a short sofa arranged in front of the fireplace.

"Victoria!" Hero waved a glass in the air. He was clutching an elderly briar in his other hand. "The afternoon isn't getting any nicer."

"Offer to pour her a drink, Sandro." Dulcinea poked at him with one foot. She sat next to him in a chair near the fire.

"Thank you, but I'm capable." Victoria studied the bottles, selected a dry sherry and poured a small amount. "My time sense is still adjusting."

"We'll have dinner at 8 o'clock. Our mediums and a couple of extra-larges have arrived," Hero said. "Does pipe smoke bother you?"

"Not at all." She watched him with amusement. Hero had the natural ebullience of a much younger man. It was easy to understand why Moneypenny had fancied him. "I need to have a private word with both of you, and I'm not sure where we should go for that."

"My rooms?" Dulcinea cocked her head and studied Victoria. "Now?"

"I think it would be unwise to speak in your rooms," Victoria said slowly. She saw the frown of concentration on Dulcinea's face, and the immediate understanding. Beautiful and intelligent, apparently.

"Have you been up top yet?" Hero asked. "Extraordinary view. Let's go up there."

"The square tower on the south side?"

"The crown jewel in Durant's castle. Follow me."

There were a lot of stairs, smaller stairways that stretched between floors. The final door opened onto a single round chamber with narrow windows that ran from floor to ceiling. Victoria stepped to the windows and looked out toward the heaving mass of ocean that filled the horizon in front of the castle. A quick survey showed a similarly good overview of the greenhouses, and what looked like a stables and garage. She was relieved to see the greenhouse roofs were visually a mass of green and foggy white.

"This would be amazing on a fine day." An oriental carpet covered the stone floor beneath their feet. Several chairs, ottomans and small tables stacked with magazines sat in the center of the chamber.

Hero closed the door behind them and leaned against it. "Now. What's this about Dulcy's rooms?"

"Bugged. Wired for sound," Victoria said. "I believe only hers are compromised, and I don't know who is responsible. Both of you should be careful of what you say, in general."

"But if Sandro and I don't know what's going on, apart from the seances, why would they want to bug my room?" Dulcinea tapped a finger on her lower lip. "Does this have something to do with --"

"Dulcy." Hero put a hand on her arm. "We're going to focus on the seances, and let Victoria deal with anything else."

"If you wake up in the middle of the night and have the urge to yell Eureka, which I'm beginning to think either of you might do, think twice."

"Oh," Dulcinea said. She looked at Hero.

"What?"

"Nothing." She stared at Victoria. "We'll let it go, for now."

"I need to go to Boston tomorrow morning, without drawing undue attention. If you could ask me to go with you and Hero, on some errand, it would be appreciated."

Dulcinea nodded. "I could visit the shops."

"And I could carry packages." Hero laughed. "Any other requests?"

"Not right now. Tell me about the new arrivals." Victoria folded her legs underneath her in the spacious armchair. The tower was the first cool place she'd found in the castle.

"Mrs. Green with a young female helper, small medium in training I think," Hero said. "Miss Lee with an assistant that looks like he came straight from the Triad."

"That would be one of the extra-larges?" Victoria couldn't help laughing at him. "Who was the other?"

"Brother Grayling looks like a Viking warrior," Dulcinea said. "Rather huge man, gorgeous. I nearly swooned."

"You never did." Hero raised his eyebrow. "Sister Grayling is a wispy, delicate blonde with a soft voice and eyes like a pawnbroker's."

"You saw that?" Dulcinea nodded. "And here I thought you only had eyes for her remarkable cleavage."

"I have been desensitized to cleavage in recent years," Hero said, with a meaningful look at her chest.

Victoria caught Dulcinea's tiny eye roll. She had the immediate conviction that Alexander Hero would not be on Miss Moneypenny's eligible men list for much longer. There was a 20 year difference in their ages, but they would work well together, Victoria was sure.

"So we're only missing Mr. Deauville?"

"He should arrive tomorrow morning at the latest." Hero was happily oblivious of his looming fate. "Sterling's lawyer chap will be here at 10 o'clock to explain the details of the week's activities."

"Are the Graylings married? My information didn't say."

"Brother and sister, I believe." Hero stretched his long legs. "The Lee woman brought a new kind of cabinet. Can't wait to see it assembled."

"We should go back down now. Hero, stay out of the secret passages. You were right, they're everywhere. I'll make sure no one can spy into your rooms."

"Secret passages?" Dulcinea looked between them. "You'll tell me later, Sandro?"

He held the door open and swept his arm in a dramatic gesture. "Absolutely, Dulcy. Your wish, etcetera."

 

There was time to close her eyes before dinner, and to her surprise Victoria slept for a solid hour. She spent another hour in the wonderful bathroom. Knowing she wouldn't come close to whatever splendor Dulcinea Mountjoy was likely to present, Victoria still spent too long deciding between her few dresses. She chose a simple sleeveless green silk with a modest v-neck. No guns for dinner. She could always steal Ivan's ankle gun if the need arose.

Victoria looked at her reflection in the mirror, at the natural color in her cheeks. It was time to do her job.

When she left her room she found Hero loitering in the hallway. He wore dinner dress with casual aplomb, his unruly hair more-or-less under control.

"I waited to walk with you," he said. "Dulcy's already gone down. Dinner in an American castle is apparently an informally formal occasion. I found the secret panel in my room, but didn't open it."

"There could be a chance of physical danger here, Hero." Victoria kept her voice low. They traveled halfway down the stairs before he answered her.

"I do realize that. You'd be surprised at the danger, intrigue, and odd chance of thrown acid you can find at a weekend in the country, with spiritualists," Hero said. "If you say there's more than the usual chance, I won't ignore you."

"Good." They crossed the floor toward the wide open doors of the formal dining room.

"I haven't told you how beautiful you look this evening," Hero took her arm through his.

Victoria laughed. "I'll hold onto that thought when I see what Dulcinea's wearing."

"It would not matter. Mr. Hero has flawless taste. You look beautiful, fraulein Brown."

Ivan had come down the stairs, silently, behind them. He was wearing dinner dress, a slightly more formal style than Hero's. Completely in character for a Viennese professor. He looked at her over the top of his glasses, letting his eyes travel slowly down her body, then back up to her eyes.

Her wretched nipples puckered into points. Victoria decided she wouldn't be wearing thin silk again around Ivan. "You're very kind. It looks like we're the last to arrive."

"Best for last." Hero took her arm and escorted her into the dining room.

Like all the other rooms in the castle, the dining room was a unique mix of expected and unexpected. The dining table was oval instead of rectangular. Instead of a central chandelier, globes of pastel-colored glass hung in clusters from the ceiling. With the dark blue-green carpet underfoot, and seascapes in gilded frames lining the walls, it had the look of an underwater grotto.

Dulcinea stood at the center of a small group. She was the youngest woman present, if Fay Green's young protege was counted as a girl rather than woman. To make up for her lack of years, she had a regal authority that increased the impact of her physical beauty. Standing at nearly 5'9", her heavy brunette hair secured in a chignon, diamonds sparkling at her ears and throat, shoulders bared in a low-cut dress of champagne colored satin and lace, Dulcinea looked like a porcelain dress-up doll come to life.

She was completing introductions as she assigned places at the table. Hero was seated on her right, Ben Braeden on her left. Braeden's stoop-shouldered, frail body looked lost in dinner dress, but his eyes were bright and alert. Continuing around the table clockwise were Fay Green and the girl Hannah. The white-haired medium had rosy cheeks and a serene expression; the girl had light brown hair and skin so colorless it was almost translucent. Both wore simple black dresses.

John Grayling came next, every inch the Viking that Dulcinea had suggested. Big, blond, with muscles that wrestled each other when he moved his arms, his chest was nearly as wide as his sister was tall. Yasmine Lee sat next to him, with Ruth Grayling coming next. "Franz" and Victoria completed the circle, ending at Hero.

The Triad had not come to dinner. Victoria wondered what he might be doing. She took her seat, finishing her appraisal of the guests.

Lee was a slight, slim woman. She had exquisite brown skin, uptilted eyes, and a full, sensual mouth that drew attention away from her other features. Heavily embroidered red robes emphasized the elegant lines of her body.

Ruth Grayling was tiny, almost child-like, except for breasts that seemed to endanger her balance. Her white-blonde hair floated in wispy curls around her head. Her sleeveless white dress was slashed down the front, cinched tightly at the waist by a wide golden belt. She only wanted a pair of prop wings to complete the image of a naughty calendar pin-up angel.

"I thank you all for your presence at Durant Castle." Dulcinea held up one hand, effortlessly commanding attention. "Mrs. Evelyn presently has only a small staff. While they are more than capable of providing sit-down meals, I feel it will be an unnecessary strain. For the duration of our stay I've asked her to provide a morning buffet and an early evening buffet in the breakfast room. If anyone gets hungry between those times, there will be food in the kitchen."

Dinner was served by a pair of boys who looked to be scarcely in their teens, but moved with serious, concentrated efficiency.

"Mrs. Evelyn's nephews," Hero said. "Nice lads. They live at one of Durant's old farms nearby. He used to grow and raise all the foodstuffs the castle needed."

Victoria ate the well-prepared, simple food and listened to the small, unimportant bits of conversation around the table. Ivan's knee brushed against hers, making her glad that topics of traveling weather and the hope for an early spring required little thought or response from her.

When they finished eating, Dulcinea made a further pronouncement. Drinks would be available in the breakfast room, and would the smokers please use the far end of the room near the patio doors.

"I like her," Ivan murmured as they left the table.

"So do I." Victoria fell in beside him as they followed the others to the breakfast room. "She has natural authority and a quick mind."

The table had completely disappeared from the breakfast room, and more chairs had been added in a wide circle around the fire. Victoria took a seat next to Fay Green that also happened to have a clear view of the patio doors and the smokers. Hero was already puffing on his briar, with Ben next to him working over his own pipe. Ivan courteously offered Sister Ruth a light before he lit a cigarette of his own. Victoria noticed he kept his eyes above Sister Ruth's mouth, although she suspected it took an effort of will.

"You're not a believer." Fay gave a little groan as she stretched out her feet. "I don't like to fly, myself. Hannah loved it, but it overwhelmed her. I sent her to bed."

The old woman's feet were swollen. Victoria got up, found a low ottoman and positioned it in front of Fay's chair. "Put your feet up. Would you like a drink?"

"Sweet girl. Brandy?"

Victoria poured two brandies, steadfastly ignoring the bottle of vodka. "Here you are. Where did you fly out of?"

"Omaha." Fay sipped the brandy. Her wrinkles smoothed out. "That's good. We don't have to talk about it tonight, but if you could find time to chat with an old lady later, I'd appreciate it. We'll have a few days together, with little to do until the evening services."

"Of course." The request was puzzling. Victoria studied the old woman as she sipped her brandy. "I wouldn't say I'm a believer, or an unbeliever, until you defined what beliefs were being discussed. My mother was a spiritualist follower, and I've seen cruel deception practiced under the banner of "spiritualism." So, yes, I am here as a skeptic."

Fay nodded. "It's a shame, but it happens. You're looking for concrete, physical proof. Of so many things."

Was Fay trying to cold read her? Victoria left the bait cold. "Did you meet Durant when he was alive?"

"I've been here twice. I couldn't help him." Fay finished her brandy with a sigh. "This structure looks like a castle, but it isn't even 50 years old. Few people have lived in it; only two have died in it."

"Amelie and Sterling Durant?" Victoria held out her hand and took the empty brandy glass. "More?"

"No, thank you."

Victoria replaced the glasses on the sideboard. When she returned to her seat, Ivan and Sister Ruth were in chairs nearby.

"Are you suggesting the age of the building, and lack of accumulated energy from human inhabitants, may have affected the quality of experience Durant was after?"

"There's a lot more to you than meets the eye, Miss Brown." Fay Green chuckled, her eyes shifting between Ivan and Sister Ruth. "That's a good part of my theory on why Castle Durant is so null energy. The land itself feels somnolent and content underfoot."

"I disagree." Sister Ruth spoke in an urgent, whispery voice. "There is immense energy here, like electricity. I have felt it during sessions with Sterling when he was alive. He has joined the energy, and now merely awaits our call."

"I, too, have felt the energy." Yasmine Lee leaned forward to join the conversation. "It reached for me across the land between us. I have no doubt we will speak with Mr. Durant before the week is gone." She turned to Dulcinea. "I brought a new cabinet with me, and would like to begin assembly. What plans have you made for the services?"

"Tomorrow morning --"

Dulcinea's answer was interrupted by Mrs. Evelyn. "Excuse me, Countess. Mr. Deauville has just arrived."

 

Victoria had not expected to immediately like the man described in Joe Deauville's single page file. Later, she thought that while Joe had an unmistakable presence, it was his dimple that got to her.

Tall and thin, with deep brown skin, smiling brown eyes, and that deep dimple partially hidden by a neatly trimmed beard, Joe looked to be in his 30s. In contrast to many of the current African hairstyles, Joe had only a modest explosion of hair, making it easy to spot a single gold earstud. He introduced himself with soft, but precise diction. When he took her hand in a firm handshake, Victoria saw humor and mischief in his eyes.

"Victoria? Vickie. Nice to meet you."

"If you're hungry, there will still be hot food in the kitchen," Dulcinea said.

"Mrs. Evelyn offered as well. I'll just grab a drink." He chose Scotch, a large measure, and stood near the fire. "Bitter tonight."

"Thank you for coming, Mr. Deauville." Dulcinea looked around. "I was going to wait until tomorrow morning, but with everyone here there's a lot we can cover now. The Durant lawyer, Mr. Easterly, will arrive at 10 o'clock tomorrow to fully explain Durant's instructions to us.

"Mrs. Green, Miss Lee, Miss and Mr. Grayling, you are familiar with the room used to host services in the past? Ben has set up recording equipment, and some instrumentation he can explain later to anyone who is interested. Miss Lee, I would appreciate it if you speak with Mr. Braeden before you set up your cabinet. He may have questions."

"May I begin this evening?" Yasmine Lee's face was expressionless, although her eyes shifted briefly to Ben.

"If you wish." Dulcinea reached to touch Ben's arm. "I know you must be tired. Would you spend a few minutes with Miss Lee before retiring?"

"I'm not doddering into the grave just yet, Dulcinea." Ben stood stiffly. "Lead the way, Miss Lee."

"Well frankly, I feel like doddering." Dulcinea covered a yawn with her fingers. "Sorry. Some of us are adjusting to a time change. If there are no additional questions right now, I'm going to my rooms."

"I'll walk up with you." Hero was on his feet. "Victoria kept me awake for the entire flight."

Fay swung her feet off the ottoman. "Bed sounds heavenly."

Victoria took her arm and helped her to her feet, feeling the uncertainty and frailty in the old woman's body. "I'll go with you."

"I'm going to smoke another cigarette," Ruth said, "and Franz can tell me more about that fascinating Gellar man."

"Uri Gellar?" Joe Deauville left the fireplace and joined Ruth and Ivan by the patio doors. "I'd like to hear that as well."

Ivan's assumed Germanic accents disappeared a few feet down the hallway. Victoria kept her pace slow to match Fay's until they reached the stairs.

"Go on with you." Fay made a shooing motion with her hand as they started up the grand stairway. "Sleep well, Victoria."

 

Sleep was not what she wanted, needed, or anticipated. Victoria completed the inspection of her bedroom with rapid thoroughness. The weapons remained untouched, the luggage was still in front of the secret panel entrance. There was no indication anyone had been in her rooms.

Victoria replaced her dress with a belted silk robe, retrieved the Walther from the armoire and slipped it under a pillow on the bed. She turned out the lights and paced in the near total darkness. She refused to look at her watch.

The interplay of personalities and individual actions in a group like the one assembled at Durant Castle was, in many ways, more challenging than direct military conflict. Victoria finally sat on the bed and contemplated what she had observed during the evening.

Friends: Ivan. Dulcinea and Hero. Probably Ben Braeden. Victoria promised herself she would find him in the morning and ask about his monitoring equipment.

Dubious: Yasmine Lee. Even if Ivan hadn't said the Chinese were going to be players, Victoria knew she would be wary of the woman. She exercised constant, conscious control over her body and expressions. A close look at the woman's "cabinet" would be necessary.

Dubious: Sister and Brother Grayling. A pair of con artists. Ruth had already targeted "Franz" for the laying on of hands. It would be interesting to see if Deauville became a secondary target. John Grayling's expression when the tall black man was introduced had been dismissive.

Undecided: Fay Green. Joe Deauville. Both had failed to waken the instinctive distrust that came when she met Lee and the Graylings.

Unknown, adjacent: Fay's assistant, Hannah, and the extra-large Triad gentleman who had failed to attend dinner, although Victoria was quite sure he would qualify for dubious and dangerous.

Tomorrow she would have to go to Boston, and be prepared to receive the instruction her friends would be reduced by one.

The scratch of wood against wood made her grab the Walther and step to the secret panel. She heard the single, soft knock and moved the luggage.

Ivan kept his thief's flashlight on long enough so she could see his face, then switched it off. Victoria heard the snick of sound as the panel closed back into place. He brushed by her in the dark, leaving a sensation like static electricity crawling over her skin.

"Sdrast voy krasotka. I have been in the cellar." Ivan turned on the reading light next to the bed. "There is much wine, and crates of spirits. Next time I will liberate bottle of vodka." Dinner dress had been exchanged for dark trousers and dark turtleneck. The spectacles were gone. He looked much the same as the first time she had seen him in Paris.

"You can put the gun away." He watched her put the Walther out of sight beneath the pillow. "We have things to discuss."

Victoria untied the belt of her robe and let it slip to the floor. Two steps took her into his arms. "First topic?"

His mouth moved against hers, slowing the tempo of her kiss. One hand settled loosely against the back of her neck, one at the small of her back. Victoria tried to press into him, but he broke the kiss and held her at arm's length.

"Patience, milaya moya. I wish to look at you." Ivan took a step away. His eyes traveled over her body slowly, marking the puckered white spots on her thigh. "How is it you are more beautiful each time I see you?"

"Ivan --" She wanted to feel his skin against hers, needed to have him inside her with an intensity of desire she had carried around since New York without acknowledging or examining. "Please take your clothes off."

He smiled and began to undress. "Continue. You know I enjoy it when you threaten me."

When his turtleneck came off, Victoria took a deep breath. A long, glassy-edged scar ran on the diagonal across his upper chest. "You were injured."

He shrugged and stepped out of his trousers. "Happened at home. There is no predicting who will bring a knife to a gun fight." When he took her into his arms again, his attempt at slow exploration lasted only a few minutes.

"Foreplay is overrated. Postplay is better." She tried to get her fingers between his legs, but he turned her in his arms, holding her against his chest.

"I told myself we would do this slowly, relish every second. That fantasy was good. This is so much better." His hands outlined the curve of her hips, wrapped around the dip of waist, then continued upward over the swell of ribcage. "I look at you, and all I can think is how good you will feel when I am inside you." His fingers cupped and lifted her breasts; his mouth touched her ear. "Do I need condom?"

"No." Victoria felt the shiver of heat lightning again, beginning at the places they touched, stirring the hair on her forearms, warming and tightening her nipples under his fingers.

"Bend forward a bit."

The solid weight of his body pushed into her. Victoria went with the motion, bending until her hands met the bed. Sex was mostly friction, she thought dreamily, listening to the sporadic words in Russian as the tempo of his thrusts went from slow and deep to quick and hard. Friction and pressure. She felt the hot brush of his breath on her back, a brief kiss, and she tightened and relaxed around him. When he came, she felt his release, the spasm of flesh, the hot wet between her legs. Victoria remained where she was, not wanting him to withdraw.

"You did not reach climax." Ivan's hands stroked her back. He pulled out of her slowly.

"It was only the angle, slightly off." She tried to straighten, to turn to him.

"Wait." Ivan's fingers quested between her legs. He laughed when she shivered and bucked against his hand. "I never thought these words would leave my tongue, but you are too wet. It is like trying to grab small fish in bucket."

"Lovely mental image. Thank you so much." Victoria glared at him over her shoulder and pushed away from the bed. She thought about telling him she didn't necessarily need to have an orgasm every time they made love, but she had been so close. And while it wasn't a lie in general, in this instance it would have been what the Americans called a whopper.

He let her turn and picked her up in his arms. "I did not say it was bad, just difficult."

Ivan carried her to the shower, set her down and adjusted the water to a warm, slow spray. Victoria watched the water run off his naked body. The wound had been deep, and he was thinner than the last time they stood in a shower together. Nothing extra remained between his bone and muscle.

He found a face cloth, held it under the spray, then knelt in front of her and began to wash between her thighs. He looked up at her when he found the right spot, water dripping from his wet hair and skin. "Here?"

"Oh. Ivan. Yes." The gentle pressure on her clitoris, the sight of him on his knees in front of her, water streaming over his shoulders and back finished what the intercourse had begun. A tumbling, joyous thrill of pleasure gradually faded to a sensation of overall well-being and content.

"You are the most incredible man." Victoria reached down and removed the cloth and hand from between her legs.

Ivan got to his feet, grinning. "We are incredible together."

 

They toweled off and returned to the bed. After a brief disagreement about pillow distribution, Victoria curled against his side, trying to touch as much of his skin as possible.

"There is a small, camouflaged panel van in the forest to the west of the castle."

"Listening post." Victoria traced a finger through the hair on his chest. "The Chinese?"

"Unconfirmed, but probable. The secret passages stretch from cellar to the third floor, and run between all the guest rooms. There are spy holes that are now mostly covered over. Your armoire blocks the spy holes to this room. It seems deliberate."

"Peep holes, the Americans would say. Dulcinea's room?"

"Peep holes are blocked." His chest moved in a laugh. "She would be worth peeping at, da?"

"Nyet." Victoria lay her hand over the new scar. "The real Dr. Liebman?"

"Is undamaged, still in Vienna. We will hear the lawyer tomorrow, and perhaps learn something new. Having cursorily examined this structure, I have only the slimmest hope we could locate a hidden document in one week through crude searches."

"It would have to be a document of some kind. Notes, or perhaps journal. Kokintz was a scientist, but old-fashioned," Victoria said. "No microdots or tapes. We will have to use the little grey cells on this one."

"I have read two of those mysteries." Ivan sounded triumphant. "Hercule Poirot. But he succeeds with the conspiracy of his creator."

"How do you find time to read so much?"

"What else do I have to do during long, cold, lonely nights in empty bed?" His voice was mournful.

Victoria slapped his chest lightly. "Is there more?"

"Other people are using passages. I have metal wedges with which you can secure the panel when you are out of room."

"Tomorrow I will speak with Mrs. Evelyn and find out what I can about Durant's last months of life, and his weekend spirit parties," Victoria said. "Dulcinea, Hero and I will drive to Boston after the lawyer leaves."

"It's personal in some way." His fingers tangled through her hair, turning her face up to his. "You despise them."

She met his eyes. "Obviously, I need to work on my reactions in this area. My mother was obsessed with spiritualists and seances. She gave away a lot of money to bad people."

"I see." He kissed her. "You have observed the number of people gathered here who see more clearly than average civilian?"

"Oh yes. Hero has made his life's work at catching out tricksters. Dulcinea seems to have a natural talent at reading microexpressions. Lee and the Graylings have the canny consciousness of the upper criminal class. Fay Green tried to cold read me after dinner with such delicacy I almost didn't realize she was doing it," Victoria said. "I understand, we need to be careful of what our bodies might give away when we mix with them."

"I have missed you too much." The words were almost frighteningly free of emotion.

"Ivan --"

"This time I want the fantasy." He pulled her onto his chest. His eyes crinkled in his usual smile. "Very slow, and one of us screams at finish."

"You call that a fantasy?" Victoria smiled back at him. Looking into his eyes she realized there was nothing about this man she didn't love, including the unfortunate fact he was a Russian agent. "I'll try and remember to hold my hand over your mouth."

Chapter 3

. . . belief in the occult leads to a deterioration in reason.

 

MONDAY: SEANCE 1

Victoria woke in Ivan's arms. She lay for several minutes, eyes closed, trying to ignore the fact her hand, wedged under his back, was tingling from reduced circulation.

"You're awake." Ivan shifted so she could extract her hand. "I should leave. Can you see time?"

She opened an eye and located the clock, visible over his shoulder. "Six o'clock. No one will expect us downstairs until 8."

His arm tightened. He shifted position onto his back, pulling her onto his chest. "It will be easy to take risks here. We must be careful, not greedy."

"I agree." Against her lips, his cheeks were rough with stubble. Against her body his skin was warm and a little damp where they had been touching as they slept. "Does it matter where you shower?"

 

By the time they showered together, and Ivan departed through the secret panel, it was 7:30 a.m. A glimpse between her bedroom curtains showed the weather outside had not improved overnight.

Joe Deauville was the only one in the breakfast room, but coffee, a tank of heated water, and basket of muffins had already been placed on the sideboard. The table was back in the center of the room.

"Good morning." Joe put down the paper he had been reading and stood. "Mrs. Evelyn said there would be additional food in a few minutes."

"Coffee is fine. Please sit down. I'm Victoria. There were a lot of introductions last night."

"I remember. I'm Joe." He gestured around them. "Crazy place. American castle."

"It has charm." Victoria took the chair next to him, casually glancing up as Ivan entered the room. "Good morning, Dr. Liebman."

Ivan was wearing the spectacles, and looked amazingly awake. "Victoria. Joe. This is a most restful place. I can't remember spending a better night in an unfamiliar bed."

A surge of heat flushed blood into her neck and face. Victoria buried her face in the coffee cup.

Joe laughed. "Yeah. Who says money can't buy a good night's sleep? And the bathroom -- I could live in that."

Victoria was saved from whatever double entendre Ivan was working on by the sound of voices in the hallway. Dulcinea and Hero entered a second later, followed closely by Fay, Hannah and Ben. Food in covered serving trays began to arrive as the chairs around the table filled up.

There was a friendly, quiet quality to the informal meal. Ivan behaved himself impeccably, bringing a blush to Fay and Hannah's cheeks, and made Dulcinea laugh as he charmed both young and old ladies. He was a superb actor, totally convincing as the slightly formal, but personable, academic. His vocal cadences and physical mannerisms were unique to the Liebman character; he brought his legend to life. The exhibition of tradecraft made Victoria feel a little envious, and consider whether she would do as well in a similar assignment.

When the Graylings arrived at 9:00 and Dulcinea and Hero left the room, Victoria followed.

"The lawyer will be in the library. I'm sure Mrs. Evelyn will have everything set up, but I'd like to see." Dulcinea paused to give Victoria a lengthy inspection. "You're trying to look like a secretary, and failing somewhat. It's not the clothes, exactly . . ." she shook her head. "We can drive into town as soon as the lawyer leaves. The estate doesn't have a full time driver right now, but there is a car in the garage for our use."

"Thank you." Victoria wondered what it was about her navy blue trousers, jacket and white blouse that didn't conform to Dulcinea's vision of a secretary, then put it out of her mind.

The library was floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on three of the four walls. Chairs had already been placed in front of the gleaming mahogany desk. While they waited, Victoria browsed along book titles, and assessed the rest of the room's interior. More oak paneling. More landscapes in gilded frames. Ornate plaster medallions on the ceiling and above the door and window. A wide windowseat. The desk. Everywhere she looked, a potential hiding place.

Good luck to anyone who tried to conduct a random search in this room, Victoria thought with dismay. It was obvious she needed to know more about Dr. Kokintz and Sterling Durant than the dry facts in the dossier provided, if she was going to solve this mystery.

The remaining guests gradually drifted in from breakfast. Mrs. Evelyn came in with the lawyer, who took possession of the desk. Yasmine Lee was last through the door, exactly as the second hand on Victoria's watch clicked onto the hour.

The lawyer cleared his throat. "Good morning. I'm Mr. Easterly, one of Mr. Durant's lawyers. I'll keep this short. Upon Mr. Durant's death I was instructed to arrange for a series of five consecutive seances. Fay Marie Green and Yasmine Lee were Mr. Durant's preferred mediums, although he included alternates for each category we will cover. As potential beneficiaries, the Mountjoy family and the Grayling family were requested to be present. A list of professionals who might lend their expertise to a fair judgment of the proceedings resulted in my contacting Dr. Liebman, Mr. Braeden and Mr. Deauville. Mr. Hero was also on that list, and Miss Brown is acting on behalf of the Duchy of Grand Fenwick. Are there any questions so far?"

No one spoke. Easterly continued. "The goal of the seances is to contact the spirit of Mr. Sterling Durant. If the seances fail, Durant Castle passes to Grand Fenwick. If proof of contact is achieved, Durant Castle passes to the Unified Spiritualist Church of the Americas."

"What will constitute proof?" Fay Green asked.

"That will be up to the ten participants. Audible, visual manifestation, automatic writing are among the indicators Mr. Durant has listed. At the end of the seances a vote will be taken on whether any phenomena indicate proof of survival. Mr. Durant notes that America is a democracy, and majority rules. In case of a tie, Mrs. Evelyn will be given a vote."

"But she hates us," Ruth Grayling protested. "She was always insubordinate when we had our weekends here."

Easterly snapped his briefcase shut. "Mr. Durant trusted her to make an honest judgment. I will verify and document each seance with Mr. Braeden. There are copies here of Mr. Durant's instruction document. Any further questions? Good."

 

There were a great many thoughtful faces, but no happy ones. Victoria watched Yasmine Lee leave without a saying a word, closely followed by the Graylings and Ivan.

"Come on Victoria. Let's get out of the cozy castle into sleet." Hero stood at the bottom of the stairway. "You'll need your raincoat. Dulcy? Shall I get yours?"

She waved a hand at them, and continued speaking with Easterly, who looked as if he wanted to run straight out into the weather.

By the time they returned with coats, Easterly was gone and Dulcinea was staring moodily out a window.

The brief walk to the garage left them damp and chilled. The weather was fiercer and darker than when they arrived, and the unanimous decision was for Hero to act as driver. Victoria regretted that decision once they were on the road. Even though the driving was bad, she found being a passenger was too passive a role for her. In the front seat next to Hero, Dulcinea kept up a constant, nervous commentary on road hazards and conditions. Victoria shut her eyes, tried to ignore the sound of hard water bouncing off car windows, and organized the information she would have to pass to London.

"Where are we taking you?"

They had made it from country to town. Upon opening her eyes, she noted Hero's knuckles were clenched too tightly around the steering wheel, although his shoulders were fairly relaxed. Victoria gave him the directions she had been given, and a few minutes later Hero pulled the car to the curb in front of a building that advertised itself as Ye Olde Irish Pub.

"Find somewhere warm and get Dulcinea a drink. I'll meet you back here in two hours." Victoria stepped out of the car before either of them could ask questions or argue.

The interior of the Pub was scarcely populated by incurious early drinkers. Victoria found the phone in back near the toilets and rang the number HQ had given her. It took less than ten minutes for a car to respond to her coded request for pickup, and another ten to pull into a covered car park next to a private residence.

"Miss Winslow." A tall, grey haired woman in a black dress opened the door. Her expression was neutral, verging on blank.

"Yes." Victoria added the appropriate coded identification and waited. She kept her hand on the gun in the pocket of her raincoat. But the woman nodded and made the correct reply. She was shown to a small room that held only a desk, chair and phone. Victoria sat down and picked up the phone. When someone finally answered on the other end, she recognized Chief of Staff Tanner's voice.

"Yes?"

"Russian agent Ivan Simanov, and probable Chinese agent Yasmine Lee, are at Durant Castle." Victoria delivered the succinct, unemotional brief she had prepared in her mind during the ride into Boston. "What are my instructions?"

Tanner was silent, then: "This has to go upstairs. If you kill them it can't be messy. Thoughts?"

"There are sheer bluffs near the castle, overlooking the sea. The castle has steep stone stairways," Victoria said. "Something can always be arranged. You have people here who could make bodies disappear, if it's necessary to use a gun?"

"Yes. Do you believe what Simanov says about his government's intentions?"

"I have no information on which to base any judgment about his story." She'd worked on that answer, knowing the question would come up.

"That's our job, eh?" Tanner barked a laugh. "Wait by the phone until I ring back."

Victoria relaxed into the straight, uncomfortable chair. She folded her hands and waited for London to work through the clues; the self-hypnosis technique she'd developed as a child, to escape during endless night meetings she was forced to attend with her mother, came in useful now. Victoria's mind floated in a clear, calm, timeless space.

When the phone rang, she didn't jump, merely left her sea of tranquility and answered. "Yes?"

It was M. "We've verified some of Simanov's story. There are concerns about the Chinese, from several sources. Your primary mission remains unchanged. Ensure the property passes into Grand Fenwick's ownership. Find what Dr. Kokintz left, if possible. There will be more discussion here concerning Simanov and Lee. Phone tomorrow, same time."

"Yes, sir."

"Two additional things. If they had such designations, Simanov would be the Russian equivalent of 00. And there's an American agent on scene."

"Joe Deauville." He was the only one it could be.

"Joe Matheson." M almost sounded depressed. "Stay on your toes, Miss Winslow."

Victoria checked her watch as the car returned her to the Pub. One hour and fifty-five minutes had passed. She doubted Dulcinea and Hero would be on time. She walked directly to the pub's toilets and shut herself into a stall. For a whirling, terrible moment she thought she would be sick. Leaning against the battered metal wall Victoria took deep breaths, working to recover her calm. They had another day's reprieve.

She washed her hands, stopped at the bar to order a scotch, then slid into an empty booth. She forced herself to drink the liquor slowly. By the time Victoria heard Hero's voice hail her, her equilibrium was rock steady again.

The trip back to the castle was, if anything, more harrowing than the trip into town. Ice generously coated the roads in sheer black sheets. It was nearly 3:00 when they pulled into the garage.

"I'm going to curl up in a chair in my bedroom and read magazines." Dulcinea stopped just before leaving the garage. "Do either of you want to join me?"

"If I can drink and smoke," Hero said, turning his collar up around his neck.

Victoria declined. "Thank you, but I'm going to speak with Mrs. Evelyn." She followed them up the stairs, hung her wet raincoat in her room, checked to see the wedge at the bottom of the panel was undisturbed, then went in search of Mrs. Evelyn's office. She found her without trouble, as the door facing the hall to the kitchen stood wide open.

"Sit down Miss Brown. I'll tell you anything I can."

Victoria looked around the tidy office. "There's another door in the corridor, before this one."

"That was Sterling's work office. He had another private office off his bedroom suite." Mrs. Evelyn pointed to a door in the wall to the right of her desk. "You can get in through here, too. Shall I unlock it?"

"Please. I'd like to look around. But first, what can you tell me about Dr. Kokintz and Mr. Durant. Anything, casual, personal, funny, strange. You knew them both. It would help me understand them better."

Victoria spent the next forty minutes doing more listening than asking questions. When one of the boys interrupted with a domestic question, she thanked Mrs. Evelyn and asked her to open the office door.

It was a small office, scrupulously neat and sparse. There were no obvious wall or floor safes. None of the desk drawers were locked. Victoria spent several minutes reading the headings of file folders in two cabinets, and found only receipts for estate purchases, and two bulky folders stuffed with correspondence bearing letterheads from California wineries. Attached to at least half of these letters were carbon copy originals signed by Dr. Kokintz. It looked like both Durant and Kokintz had been interested in east coast wineries.

Finding nothing of further immediate interest, Victoria exited through the door in Mrs. Evelyn's office. She gestured at the large floor safe in the opposite corner of the room.

"Did the lawyers --?"

"Yes. Mr. Easterly went through that after Sterling's death. I use it for petty cash, and the estate records I handle."

"Thank you. I appreciate your help. You'll let me know if you need my help?"

"Oh. How nice." Mrs. Evelyn looked slightly embarrassed. "We always had more staff. The lawyers said we had to run bare bones until the will was settled. I feel like I'm abusing guests."

"We're not exactly guests, and you're coping wonderfully. I'll even do dishes, or help with laundry if you need an extra set of hands." Victoria saw the smile of real approval displace Mrs. Evelyn's official mask. "Do you have a minute to give me a tour of the working part of the house?"

 

Victoria returned to her rooms without seeing another soul. She locked her door behind her and looked at her watch. Three more hours until they would set out the dinner buffet, then two more hours before the 9 o'clock starting time for the seance. It was dim and quiet in the room; even the daylight filtering through the draperies was dusky grey. Kicking off her shoes, she sat on the edge of the bed and thought about taking a nap. Victoria had just laid her head on the pillow when she heard the single, short rap on the panel.

A little wiggling and quick tug, and the wedge holding the panel closed came free. Ivan extended his arm, waving a vodka bottle, before he stepped through. Victoria replaced the wedge and double checked the lock on her door.

"It looks like home outside." Ivan had made himself comfortable on the bed, piling all the pillows behind his back. He was removing the top of the vodka bottle when she crawled up next to him.

"I wish this room had a radio," Victoria said quietly. "Have you checked to see how much sound carries through all this oak?"

"Very little, if any from the hallway." Ivan took a drink from the bottle, then closed his eyes and sighed. He handed the bottle to her.

Victoria took two long swallows. The liquor stole her breath for a moment, then settled like a small bonfire in her stomach. "I'm to ring them back tomorrow."

Ivan took the bottle from her, replaced the top and set it on the nightstand. "Come here." He pulled her into the crook of his arm and rested his face in her hair for a moment. "That's better. We continue working together then."

"For now." The heat from his body reached her through their clothes. Victoria closed her eyes and felt the tension in her muscles disappear as the warmth from within and without spread along her limbs. "I spoke with Mrs. Evelyn. She thinks spiritualists as a species are nothing but parasites. Sterling Durant had stopped the weekend retreats six months before his death, and spent hours in the library, and in the room at the top of the castle. She says Dr. Kokintz was a darling man, who dragged Durant off into the woods for hours bird watching, when the two of them weren't puttering in the greenhouses. He would never have participated in ghost shenanigans, according to Mrs. Evelyn."

"Interesting."

Victoria raised her head and found his eyes were closed. "Are you going to sleep, or tell me what you did while I was gone?"

"Da." He grinned without opening his eyes. "Lee does not want anyone to examine that cabinet closely, so later tonight I will try. A small Chinese man has been going back and forth between hidden van, stables and house through the passages to Lee's room. "

"Does her bodyguard use the passageways? I haven't seen him yet."

"He would have difficult time in many places. He is very large. I hope not to come across him, it would be difficult to remove body." His hand stroked her hip.

Victoria replaced her head on his chest. "Deauville is an American agent. His real name is Matheson."

"Somehow this does not surprise me."

"The Graylings will need six votes to get the property. If you add Lee that makes three for sure." She felt herself begin to relax toward sleep. The thought that, until Ivan, she had never slept comfortably with another person in the same bed drifted through her mind. "Dulcinea, Hero, and I make three against. They will not know where your vote would fall."

"Putting me, Fay, Ben, and the American agent in their undecided category?"

"If we move Fay into the Grayling's column, since I would judge her to be more easily convinced than Ben, that leaves you, Deauville and Ben as the turning votes. They will need two out of three."

"Ben will be targeted during the seances," Ivan agreed. "I will be targeted after the seances. Sleep now. We will see what occurs this evening."

Secure, at home against his body, Victoria fell asleep.

 

"Victoria. Wake."

The room was very dark. Victoria lifted her wrist and found it was 6:30. She had slept for nearly two hours. Ivan found her chin and tilted her face into a quick kiss.

"Time to go to work." He left the room in the dark, quiet and sure-footed.

Palazzo pants had been the fashion industry's gift to the female agent, Victoria thought as she buckled on the ankle strap for the .38. Midnight blue velvet was as good for camouflage in the dark as black, and didn't make her look like a total corpse. The matching midnight blue, long-sleeved knit shirt had a high boat collar, leaving only a scoop of flesh across her collarbones visible below her face when she turned out the lights and inspected herself in the mirror. A scarf then.

Victoria turned the lights back on and found a silk scarf patterned with dark blue and deep green circles. She twisted it and tied it like a head band, letting the ends fall over her shoulders. If necessary she could shake it out, cover her hair and tie the ends around her neck for night work.

When she entered the hallway, she saw Ivan and Hero disappearing down the stairs together. She nearly followed, then turned and walked to Dulcinea's door and knocked.

"Come in." Dulcinea was wearing a simple silk dress of a deep chocolate color that would have made another woman look elderly. Dulcinea looked like something that would melt in the mouth. Victoria watched her fasten a triple row of pearls with admiration.

"You look absolutely gorgeous."

Dulcinea looked startled, then amused. "Thank you. I can't really take the credit. I was given the raw material, didn't have to work for it."

"What are you studying?" Victoria walked beside her as they left the rooms.

"Business management, with forays into horticulture, psychology, politics and languages." Dulcinea paused halfway down the stairway and glanced above and below. "Are you sleeping with him?"

Victoria froze. How could she know about Ivan? "Dulcinea. What are you asking me?"

Dulcinea turned to face her full on. "Are you sleeping with Hero?"

Hero; that explained the question. Some of the relief she felt must have made it to her face. The tension went out of Dulcinea's shoulders.

"You're not. I can see it. Sorry, Victoria. I was sure . . ."

"I'm not sleeping with Hero. We just met." Victoria touched her arm. "Come on. This isn't the place. I need to return to Boston tomorrow. You can go with me. We'll have lunch and gossip."

"That sounds lovely." Dulcinea continued her unconsciously regal walk down the stairs. "You're sleeping with someone."

"Bugger." Victoria heard Dulcinea snort, then found they were both giggling like school girls. "I think you should do very well in business management."

 

Almost everyone was in the breakfast room. Victoria sat beside Dulcinea after they filled their plates at the sideboard. She was easy to talk to, dryly funny and piercingly observant. Joe sat near them mostly listening and laughing. The smokers had already begun to cluster around the patio doors by the time they finished eating.

"Have you seen the seance room yet? Sterling converted the music room to a kind of chapel." Dulcinea led them through an arched hallway Victoria hadn't yet explored. "This is the ground floor of the south wing. Games room here," she pointed at a heavy wooden door with massive iron workings, "old music room here."

Joe whistled as they entered. "Church at home never looked like this."

The high vaulted ceiling had been painted black, with a delicate tracery of stars and moons barely visible. The south wall from waist height to ceiling was built of three wide windows capped with half-moon shaped stained glass. The wainscotting beneath the windows, and the rest of the walls was painted eggshell grey to match the slate colored carpet.

Lee's cabinet sat beneath the apex of the ceiling, facing the windows in front of a half-moon shaped table with chairs arranged along the curving side. Victoria walked around the lacquered black box. It was about ten feet around, covered with Chinese symbols painted in red. Three sides appeared to be solid, with the front covered with a double curtain. Victoria fingered the layers. The outside curtain was semi-transparent, a neutral color of coarsely woven cloth. The inside curtain was matt black.

"Please. Do not touch." Yasmine Lee appeared at the entrance to the room. "All influences must be neutralized before I can enter the cabinet."

Victoria caught the sideways look from Dulcinea. What did that mean, influences must be neutralized? Most likely it meant Lee didn't want anyone touching the cabinet. "Of course." She removed her hand from the curtain and joined Joe and Dulcinea by the windows. It was already fully dark outside.

"Never quite got to be day. I wouldn't be surprised to wake up tomorrow and find a foot of snow on the ground."

Joe was wearing a shoulder holster under his corduroy jacket. With the leather elbow patches, the well-worn garment gave him the look of a solid academic, if you ignored the presence of the gun. He had a thin, intelligent face with laughing, clever eyes that somehow reminded her of Ivan's.

"Want to sit and talk while we wait?" Joe gestured toward the chairs.

"Victoria will keep you company; I'm going to leave you. I'll make sure everyone finds their way here."

They watched Dulcinea pass Yasmine Lee with a gracious nod.

"She's the way I imagine your queen would be," Joe said. "Imperious and gracious."

"She's not English," Victoria protested. "And although I probably shouldn't say, our queen never looked like Dulcinea. Do you think she's going to stand there until everyone comes in?"

"Lee? No. There she goes. The bodyguard has arrived to take over. What do you think he weighs?"

The Triad had arrived. Victoria assessed the man who stood next to the cabinet, feet apart, arms folded.

"An inch or two over six feet," she said. "Mixed race, Chinese and Caucasian I think. Body builder. Strong, but his muscles are too bulky."

"For what?" Joe laughed. "Are you talking aesthetics or function?"

"Maybe both, from my point of view." And carried knives at both ankles, and up his black satin sleeves.

"I'd agree. And he's got knives at both ankles, and up his sleeves."

"Probably accurate with them, too. How much do you know about Voodoo, Joe?" Victoria turned to face him.

"Quite a bit. We should have a talk." He winked at her and smiled. "I'm sure I could tell you a few things you don't know."

Ivan and Ben came into the room, heading toward the recording equipment. In a few minutes most of the guests had arrived and found seats at the table. Victoria checked her watched when Yasmine returned, followed by Dulcinea who shut the door behind them. It was 8:35.

"Since we're all here, we can get started." Dulcinea stood between the cabinet and the front of the table. "The mediums have asked for extra time at this session, to let us know what they will expect, and what we might expect. For the remaining seances, each medium will have approximately an hour of sitting time, with flexibility allowed to accommodate events. Ben will record and journal each evening's seance. Hannah will also journal each seance. Mrs. Green, I'll let you begin."

Dulcinea took a seat next to Ivan, and Fay pulled a chair to the spot Dulcinea had been standing.

"First I want to speak about receptivity." Fay looked around the table. "Most of you don't believe in what we're going to do. It would make my job easier if you did, but belief isn't strictly necessary for a successful seance. What we can't have is active negativity. I see smart, intelligent people here who can make the commitment to quiet their minds and remain passive and observant even if they don't think anything real will happen. When we gather for these seances the first thing we'll do is spend a few minutes in reflection and meditation. I usually play music during this time. While I sit, I will ask you to join hands and hold in your thoughts the objective we seek: communication with Sterling Durant.

"Most of you never met Sterling. But the home he created has been all around you since you arrived. Consider what a home says about a person. Imagine what the man who finished building this wonderful place must have been like." Fay got stiffly to her feet. "That's enough for now. Miss Lee, it's your turn."

"Thank you, Mrs. Green." Yasmine Lee took center stage in front of her cabinet. "I am a physical medium. I use this cabinet to focus my energy. Dr. Braedon has been invited to inspect it, but I would prefer it not be casually touched. It is a balanced place of power, and can be disturbed. When it comes time for me to sit, I will give additional instructions. I believe it will be good if Mrs. Green begins each evening. Her ritual of preparation will serve us both." Lee nodded to Fay, then moved the chair back behind the table and sat down.

"I'm going to shuffle you all around a little. I'd like to be in the center of the table," Fay said. "Miss Lee, you may stay at that end; Ben you may stay at the other end, near your equipment. Sister Ruth next to Ben, then Franz, Dulcinea and Hero. On my right Brother John, Victoria, Joe, and Mrs. Evelyn next to Miss Lee." Fay waited for them to take their new seats. "Hannah will give each of you a pad of paper and a pen to keep in front of you. These may be used for writing down messages that come into your mind, or in the event that one of you becomes a channel for automatic writing. I know Sister Ruth has the gift for this. Hannah will operate the record player and the lights. "

The record player was situated near the master light switches at the left side of the door. Hannah hovered there, a sober expression on her pale face. She set the stylus on a record and something classical with a gentle melody began to play. The lights dimmed.

"Close your eyes and listen," Fay said. "I believe we are all children of God, brothers and sisters in a universal family. I believe in the divine energy that allows communication between physical bodies and spirits, who are part of the divine energy and so indestructible. I believe death is only a change of state. I believe we each bear personal responsibility for the use of our energy, and the readiness of our spirit, and that death does not mean the end of the spirit's growth."

Victoria studied what she could see of the participants through her eyelashes. Everyone was cooperating. Bodies and faces told the same story.

"Thank you Hannah," Fay said after several minutes. The music stopped and the lights dimmed further. "Please hold hands. I'm going to listen now."

Her mother had dragged her to a hundred similar services, but Fay had the most sincere, sympathetic presentation she had ever seen. Victoria felt the hair rise on the back of her neck as a low humming noise began to come from Fay. She hadn't heard many mediums do that. Joe's fingers tightened around hers; he'd felt a change in her grip

Victoria squeezed his fingers in response, then forced herself to relax and try to ignore the dead weight of Brother John's blocky, unmoving fingers closed around her other hand.

"I just don't feel him here, Hannah." Fay stopped humming and began to speak in a casual, conversational voice. "I hear a couple of hitchhikers, but they're slow and shy. I get an echo, an imprint of his energy from the plants, but that's just earth memory. It's so peaceful, that's why he loved his castle. So quiet. Just earth and sea. Earth and sea." She was quiet for a minute.

"If they listen, they might hear the ones who travel with them. Softly, softly, sweet heart. An apple a day, a little wine for your stomach's sake. It's not right, the things you do. Not right."

The humming began again. After a while Fay stopped. "You can drop hands now. I'd like to start with Ben and ask if anything came into your thoughts."

"My wife used to say that to me." Ben's voice was harsh. His face looked strained in the dim light. "It would be easy to find out. She said it a lot."

"Which part?" Hero asked, leaning toward him.

"She use to say - Softly, softly, sweetheart, when I was arguing with other faculty members."

"Let it go for now. Sister Ruth?"

"I felt Sterling, if you didn't," Ruth said. "Not close, but waiting."

"Dr. Liebman?"

"Nein."

"Dulcinea?"

"No. Nothing."

"Mr. Hero?"

"No."

"Mr. Deauville?"

"Nothing."

"Victoria?"

"Sorry."

"Brother John?"

"I, too felt Sterling. But Sister Ruth and I have been with him in this room many times. We are more attuned to his spiritual energy. He needs more encouragement from us."

"Miss Lee?"

"I feel energies in this place. I will probe deeper in my turn."

"Then I am done for now." Fay sighed and slumped in her chair. "I reached as deeply as I could."

"There is no need to hold hands. Please remain in your seats while I am in the cabinet." Lee pulled back the curtains and sat down in the metal frame chair in the center of the small stage.

"There is a control switch on the right arm of this chair for the cabinet lights. They are red, the only light which can be used without ill effect if I am manifesting ectoplasm. My guard will fix metal cuffs to my wrists, to keep my body from trying to wander while I am in a trance. Dr. Liebman has inspected the cuffs. Once I am restrained, the guard will pull the outer curtain to complete the integrity of the cabinet's circle about me. The secondary curtain is used for times when I need complete seclusion in the circle. When only the outer curtain is in place, you will be able to see me at all times."

The bulky Chinese man fastened a single metal cuff under each chair arm, over each of Lee's wrists, then returned to stand beside the cabinet. Lee lifted her wrists to show she had about two inches of slack in the cuffs, then bowed her head. "Please turn the lights off."

Even with the uncovered windows, the room was black. Victoria could see the tiny lights on Ben's recording instruments, and as her eyes adapted she could make out the difference in opacity between bodies and the general environment. As she focused on the outline of the cabinet, red lights began to glow and grow.

It was a sophisticated piece of equipment, no doubt. Faintly touched by the red lights, it was possible to see Lee's body as a dark shape. Her face was quite visible. She looked like a statue, eyes closed, head slightly bowed. The coarse curtain gave a quality of ancient tapestry to her pose. Minutes passed, and Lee did not move.

A current of chill wind fanned against Victoria's face, bringing smells of grass and fruit into the air around them. She heard Brother John and Sister Ruth speak almost in unison.

"He's here. I feel him."

"You've reached him, Sister Lee."

"Touched, but not touching." Yasmine Lee stared straight out at her audience. "Sterling Durant? We're ready to speak with you." Another few minutes passed, then Lee shook her head slowly. "I cannot reach him. Minds must be more prepared."

The red lights disappeared, and Victoria could see nothing.

It was only a few moments before Hannah brought the lights back up. Lee's guard was already releasing her from the chair.

"It was a good beginning," Sister Ruth said, the sound of premature victory in her voice. "I have faith we will reach Sterling before much longer."

"Sandro. What is this?" Dulcinea's sharp question cut across Ruth's words. She was pointing at the paper in front of her.

Hero picked it up. "My little sparrow." He raised his eyebrows and looked at Ivan.

"I did not put it there. Does it mean something to Countess Mountjoy?"

Dulcinea was staring at the paper with distaste. "What it means I will discuss with Sandro first." She stood. "I'm going to the breakfast room for a drink. Please join me there, if you wish." She took Hero's arm and hauled him from the chapel.

 

Everyone but Yasmine returned to the breakfast room. Fay, on Hannah's arm stopped just long enough to say she was going to bed. The old woman looked pale and tired.

Victoria let Joe pour her a brandy, which she took to a chair near the sofa in front of the window where Dulcinea and Hero huddled together, looking at the paper. Ivan was already lighting a cigarette for Sister Ruth near the patio door. The scent of snow came in through the hair's breadth open door.

"What does it mean to you?" Brother John stooped to put more wood into the fireplace and poke the flames to greater life.

"This is a phrase used by a family friend, who is now dead," Dulcinea said carefully. "Well known by many people."

"Similar to the phrase that Mrs. Green used." Joe looked a question at Ben, who had joined the smokers and was accepting a cigarette from Ivan.

"Yes." Ben nodded. His voice sounded angry as he added, "Well known by many people."

"If you feel you're being tricked, it will contaminate our sessions." Sister Ruth's bosom was heaving. She put her fingers on Ivan's arm and took a step closer, leaning toward him. "Franz. You were sitting next to Countess Mountjoy. Did anything alert you to another presence at the end of Miss Lee's sitting?"

Ivan smiled through the smoke. "Nein. I am sorry."

Victoria cleared her throat. "Ben, what will your routine be for securing the recordings, and journaling each evening's activities?"

"Thank you for the reminder, Victoria. I'll return to the chapel now and remove the recording media. I'd like to listen to a sample each evening. Mrs. Evelyn will secure the tapes for me in her office safe. I plan to write in my journal immediately afterward as well."

"May I suggest that either Mr. Hero or Dr. Liebman stay with you during this routine? Until you finish your journal. And perhaps, keep that in Mrs. Evelyn's safe as well?"

Ben looked perplexed. "I don't mind the company. Be boring for them, though. Why are you suggesting this, Victoria?"

She saw Hero looking at her with warm approval. "Just being proactive."

"I'll stick with Ben. Dulcy, you go to bed. I know you don't keep late nights." Hero took the note from her hand. "We'll include this with the journal and tapes."

"Right." Dulcinea stood up. "Good evening."

"I'm going as well. Sister?" Brother John put one last log onto the fire.

"Rest well, Brother. I'm going to take Franz into the library. He's interested in the work we do in the Church." Sister Ruth hooked her arm through Ivan's. "Let's find a comfortable spot to sit and put our heads together."

Victoria watched the fire as they left the room. "That leaves us, Joe." She finished the brandy and went to inspect the buffet table. She found the vodka bottle and filled her glass a third full. "There's a billard room near the chapel."

"I'd make you cry like a little girl." Joe refilled his own glass with whiskey. "Maybe we could find a game where we'd be more evenly matched."

"That's a rather big assumption. What did you have in mind?" The vodka tasted like power and Ivan. Victoria licked the roof of her mouth and thought about killing Sister Ruth with a single, quick shot. It was an unnecessary, but pleasant fantasy.

"Darts?"

"You poor man. I'd make you cry like a girl."

Joe laughed, finished his drink, then slipped the vodka bottle into one jacket pocket, the whiskey bottle into the other. "Why don't you show me your rooms? Grab glasses, if you don't mind."

The door to the library was closed. Victoria climbed the stairs beside Joe and reflected that, for as many guests as Castle Durant was presently entertaining, she seldom saw anyone casually wandering about.

"You're in the south wing?"

"Yeah. Next to the Brother and Sister, and the Lee woman." Joe stepped into her bedroom, shut the door and slid the bolt home behind them. "How long since you've been in here?"

"Three hours." Victoria watched him excavate his pockets and put the bottles on the nightstand. She added the glasses.

Without a word they divided the room between them. Victoria ran her hands over the panel as she searched, removing the wedge. She made a quick evaluation of the bathroom after they finished with the bedroom. All was as she had left it.

"There's a bug in Countess Mountjoy's room," Joe said. He kicked off his boots and made himself comfortable on her bed. "That's the only one I've found. They've got a listening post set up in a van in the woods." He patted the mattress next to him. "We need to make it look like we're having sex, so they won't get suspicious. The best way I can think to do that is have sex."

"How romantic. Consider that you might find suspicion preferable to a bullet through an irreplaceable portion of your anatomy." Victoria filled both glasses and handed him his whiskey. "You're CIA? And the real Joe Deauville?"

"That's the hell of it." He lifted his glass in salute and grinned. "I am the real Joe Deauville. It's my identity among the immigrant community in Florida, Louisiana and elsewhere. Voodoo, Santeria, the white boys were getting scared at the bureau. I'm head of my own department. When Durant's lawyer called, they told me to come on up to the cold, white part of the US of A and find out what I could about Dr. Kokintz' legacy."

Victoria sat down on the bed near his feet. "Talk."

"The Graylings contacted Joe Deauville with an offer. Ten thousand dollars for his vote."

"You said yes."

"I said hell yes." Joe let his head rest back against the headboard and studied her. "They need two more votes. Coming in I would have said Fay Green. Now I'm not sure. Braeden got shook tonight, but Hero will calm him down."

"I reached a similar conclusion, although you were in the undecided column."

"So by my reckoning, that only leaves Dr. Liebman in the undecided column, unless they manage to unnerve Ben. I'll bet Sister Ruth is offering a little something for Liebman's services right now. I got the impression she was more than willing to take one for the team." Joe grinned over the edge of his glass. "And while we're speaking about sex, and who's probably having it, Brother John and the bride of Fu Manchu are getting it on. She's got short leather whips in long leather cases, and they aren't quiet when they go at it."

"You can hear them?" It was a troubling idea, for several reasons.

Joe snorted. "A few thuds. All this oak and the extra space between the walls smothers sound. No, they gave me Lee's file from the San Francisco post. They've been watching her, and listening, for a while. Brother John's been out there for the past month. You know she's representing the Chinese?"

"Of course."

"She needs the Graylings to carry the vote. Once the Church takes possession, they can search the Castle methodically, take all the time they need."

"Foolish man." Victoria finished her vodka. "Durant. Taken in by common frauds."

"He wasn't the first, won't be the last." Joe set his glass down on the nightstand. "Maybe we'll have time to talk about some of the things I've seen in Louisiana bayous."

Victoria heard the soft snick of sound from the paneling. "That's a better offer than sex," she said.

Ivan paused to fish in his pocket, then pressed a wedge under the panel. "Joe. Victoria. Am I interrupting something?"

Joe, very carefully, did not move his hand toward his gun, Victoria noticed with approval.

"I feel like I should be asking that question." Joe's eyes flicked back and forth between them. "Someone in the office missed a memo."

"What are your thoughts?" Ivan stood where he was, looking a question. He made a motion with his finger, a small circle that ended pointing at the bottles.

"Joe took them from the sideboard." Victoria tossed him her glass. "We checked the room when we came in." He had taken the time to change from dinner dress, so he couldn't have been with Sister Ruth for very long. "He's worth speaking with. The Graylings bought his vote. Deauville is his cover identity."

"You're not Viennese," Joe said.

"Ivan Simanov." Ivan shrugged, his German accent disappearing. "And your name is Matheson, CIA."

"So. KGB." Joe looked at her, frowning. "Victoria Winslow, MI6. They did get that right?"

"Yes." She waited while Ivan moved the vanity chair near the bed and sat down.

"I get the feeling you two have worked together before." Joe watched Ivan fill the glass with vodka. "This raises questions."

"Miss Winslow and I previously worked on a situation that was resolved to the best interest of both our governments," Ivan said. "It seems this may again be possible."

"It doesn't seem at all possible. If you're not working on the same team, that means your people want the same thing." Joe shook his head. "You'll forgive me if I say that sounds impossible, improbable, and complete bullshit."

"And yet true." Victoria sighed. "What we do next depends on you, Joe. I do know what I'm asking, but will you tell us what your government expects you to accomplish at Durant Castle?"

Joe reached slowly for the whiskey bottle and poured a small amount into his glass. "The American government paid for Dr. Kokintz' research. The q-bomb that Grand Fenwick "captured" was United States property. At the time there were people who didn't feel good about Dr. K's success. You both know what he claimed the bomb was capable of?"

"I do." Ivan looked at her.

"I was given only a single sheet on Dr. Kokintz," Victoria said slowly. "It noted the bomb was theoretically 10 times more powerful than an atom bomb."

"Something of an understatement. Joe, correct me if what I say is inaccurate." Ivan took a moment, then began to recite, as if reading.

"The quadium bomb is triggered using a conventional atom bomb. A bomb with the potential to destroy the north American continent can be assembled as easily as one that would destroy a single city. The after-effects of such an explosion would include windstorms, tidal waves, earthquakes and volcanic eruptions on a world-wide scale, regardless of where detonation occurred. The explosion will produce radioactivity, the long term effects of which include eventual sterility of the soil, and across the animal kingdom."

There was a long silence.

"That was accurate," Joe said.

"A single detonation, and the entire world dies. Why would the Chinese, why would anyone want such a thing?" Victoria turned on the bed so she could look directly at Joe. "I'll say it first. If Dr. Kokintz left any information about the bomb here, it's in my government's best interest to find and destroy it."

Joe nodded. "My people feel the same. There is much alarm at the possibility the Chinese might get the information."

"We live much closer to the Chinese, although that wouldn't matter if they were able to build this bomb," Ivan said. "Destruction of any remaining information is my primary mission."

"What's secondary?" Joe asked.

"To make sure this property passes to Grand Fenwick, of course." Ivan grinned. "I have been offered, by way of donation to Dr. Liebman's Institute, a large amount of money to find in favor of Durant's surviving spirit. The offer was put to me -- quite delicately."

Victoria bit her tongue.

"That's all she offered?" Joe had no reason to be reticent. "I thought her cleavage was going to jump into your hands a couple of times tonight. Did you accept?"

"I told her that, presented with sufficient proof, I could with clear conscience add my voice to hers in the vote."

"Why don't we just shoot someone? Your authorities would have to investigate. Surely that would put the Durant legal proceedings on hold and make a thorough, organized search of the premises possible." Victoria looked from Joe to Ivan. "I think a shooting could fall within my mission parameters."

"Messy," Joe said, "although as Plan B it isn't bad." He swung his feet over the edge of the bed. "I thought I'd take a look around the ground floor tonight."

"And I will continue finding my way around the passages. Have you found the panel in your room yet, Joe?"

"Yeah. It's blocked." Joe reached for his boots. "You're sure you don't want me to stay, Victoria? I was serious about the sex."

"I was serious about the bullet." Victoria unlocked the door.

"He gets to stay?" Joe's eyes were too shrewd and knowing as he looked at Ivan.

"He'll leave the way he came in. Goodnight Joe." Victoria locked the door and withdrew the key.

"Turn off light. Take off your clothes and come to bed." Ivan already had half his clothing off. "I need to replace the image of another man on your bed with something more pleasant."

She turned out the light and went to stand behind him as he stepped out of his trousers. When he straightened she lay a hand on each shoulder cap. His back had white traceries in places, very old scars. She had washed his back in the shower in New York, and noticed the scars. Victoria put her mouth against the nape of his neck, rubbing her face in the thick hair that curled there when he tipped his face upward.

"When I think of all the things I want to say to you, when I think of all the conversations we will never have, I do want to shoot someone." She spoke against his skin, moving her lips to his earlobe. Her body molded against his back, contours and curves matching up, fitting together. Even through her knit shirt the heat coming off his skin felt hot and immediate. One hand slipped beneath his arm, skimmed the contours of his chest. "I'm good at linear. Give me a target and an objective and I'm as good as our best, and probably better than your best."

Ivan's chest moved under her fingers, a small laugh. "Why underestimate yourself in other areas?"

"I feel like we're in a Conan Doyle mystery, but we're trying to prevent a murder, not solve one. I was trained to be an assassin, not a detective. I had an instructor who liked to say The choices you make in a moment of fear could determine the fate of the entire free world, so never let fear make your choices. Hyperbole for young trainees I always thought, but it turns out to be true."

Ivan turned in her arms. "What do you fear?"

"I look at you across a room, and only want to stand beside you." She touched his bottom lip, the small indentation on his chin. "I know what your body looks like beneath your clothes, know how strong you are. I watch your eyes for what you don't say with your voice, and know how intelligent and quick your mind is. I watch the story you act in front of others, and admire the skill you have for playing the chameleon."

He drew in a quick breath. "Victoria."

"No. That's not what I fear. I'm trying to tell you why I love you. It's not enough for me to say the words. People who have sex say the words all the time. It's a coded message that they find pleasure in a physical relationship, that they like the person they've had sex with, even that they would feel bad if their partner could no longer be with them. I mean all those things when I say I love you. I also mean that you are now so much a part of me that, back in London, it felt like one of my arms or legs had gone missing. I've never felt this way before."

"I know. It is distracting." His expression was bleak.

"They watched me very closely when I returned from New York, because of our collaboration. It was routine, a precaution only. I waited a few weeks, then had a short relationship with someone they would consider a natural, appropriate choice for an agent's bed partner." Victoria refused to let herself look away from his eyes. "I knew they would question him later."

Ivan's arms came around her in a tight hug. "I am sorry for the reason you had to take such an action."

Victoria rested her cheek against his chest. "I didn't want you to read about it in some file your people keep about me."

He slipped his hands under the knit top and pulled it over her head. "Please, take off your clothes and come to bed."

She undressed, then lay against his side, her head under his chin.

"I watch you across the room and I hear music. I want to take you in my arms, place one hand low on your back, close to the curve of your beautiful ass, and dance with you." His fingers stroked along the lower sweep of her back. "I watch your stubborn face -- you have the most intent, decided, single-minded look at times, milaya moya, and want to kiss your eyes, your mouth. I know what your body looks like, feels like. I know how strong you are, how brave." He stopped speaking abruptly.

"Ivan."

"Shh. When I look at you, I wish to be inside you. I wish to hear the sounds you make when we touch, to have your taste on my tongue. I have woken, hard, wanting you, thinking I would never have you again. Thinking what a poor thing life is without you." He pushed her gently onto her back. "I love you. I have never wanted a woman as I want you." He kissed the skin above her breasts. "I have never wanted anything as much as I want you."

Victoria sighed. She sat up and pushed him down beside her. "I like to look at your body as much as you like to look at mine." With fingers, lips and tongue she followed his scar, tested the response of his nipples. His stomach was hard with muscle and tension as her fingers outlined the trail of hair to his lower belly. When she took his cock into her mouth he made a sound that brought an answering shiver through her thighs.

She wasn't practiced at this form of love making. Other lovers had either been focused on quick, uncomplicated shagging, or had been men whose attempts to get her head between their legs met with tactics to distract them from that goal. Based on Ivan's response to her efforts, Victoria thought it might be worth the time and trouble to expand her repertoire. She concentrated on what action of mouth and tongue produced what sound and response from him.

Ivan's hand found her hair and tugged. "Enough. Enough for now." His voice had a strained, ragged quality.

Victoria kissed her way back up to the hollow of his throat. "It will never be enough." She rose on her knees, then sank with slick surety onto his cock. Their bodies came together and moved apart, a ballet of purposeful movement. His fingers found her breasts, and she arched in response to the sensation that burned from nipples to belly. Her single reality was the expression of hungry intensity on his face and the tightness of building orgasm.

She paused on the downstroke, leaned forward to take his mouth and rubbed against him. Ivan gasped away from the kiss, his fingers grabbing her hips. Victoria came on the wave of heat between her legs, laughing.

Chapter 4

If I were asked to define occultism, I would say it was compounded of wishful thinking, sleight-of-hand, music-hall tricks, the evidence of idiots, coincidences, unreliable reports, greed, human gullibility, and – the unexplained and to a certain extent the unexplainable . . . in my opinion, there has not been a single case proven of the dead returned, or the existence of a spirit world. - Alexander Hero, The Hand of Mary Constable (Paul Gallico)

 

TUESDAY: SEANCE 2

"Mrs. Evelyn made an appointment for me with a local hairdresser." Dulcinea looked out the car window with disfavor. It had snowed during the night, and now it was raining on the snow. She had driven the big, solid car with fearless determination. "It should take about an hour and a half. Then we can have lunch, but not at this pub again. Somewhere cozy."

"Pick me up here, then, in an hour."

Victoria made her phone call from the pub, then repeated the same actions she had gone through on the previous day.

Instead of Chief of Staff Tanner, it was M who came on the line. "Yes?"

"Matheson approached me, sir. We spoke about his country's objectives. He claims the Americans want all traces of Dr. Kokinz' research destroyed."

"I can confirm that," M said crisply. "This is a rare moment in a young agent's career, Miss Winslow. An agreement has been reached to join forces on this mission. While you may consider the Russian and American agents your allies, you have also been given temporary 00 status -- since I have no 00 that can reach Boston in the next five days. If you suspect anything is amiss, err on the side of caution."

"Even the American?" Victoria wasn't sure she believed what M was carefully not saying.

"Any threat, including civilian. I'm having personnel sent from Washington to the residence where you are now. We have located a concentration of Chinese operatives in the area. I'll expect you to report again tomorrow."

 

The restaurant, recommended by Mrs. Evelyn's hairdresser, seemed to perfectly match with Dulcinea's demands for cozy privacy. They were shown to a high-backed booth that curved around a table, ordered tea and salads, then sat looking at potted plants for a few minutes.

"Your hair doesn't look different," Victoria said. She wasn't sure where Dulcinea was going to take the conversation, and hair seemed like a safe opening subject. "Since I went shorter I have to get mine cut more often."

"It only needed a cleansing rinse and the ends trimmed," Dulcinea said absently. "I expect you have to cram your hair under wigs when you're in disguise. You would look so classically English with a chignon, but the short style suits your face. Men look at your hair, all wispy on the ends, and think about touching it."

"I'm not sure . . . "

"Believe me." There was a grimness in Dulcinea's tone of voice. "I have witnessed Sandro, Franz and Joe all entertain fleeting impure thoughts about you that started with your hair."

The tea arrived. Victoria tried to keep the expression on her face to a polite smile, but failed.

"You're laughing at me." Dulcinea poured tea for them.

"Yes. A little. Your appearance causes many more impure thoughts in the male population." Victoria splashed her usual drip of cream into the tea. "If you want Alexander Hero, what's stopping you from taking him?"

"That's a good question." Dulcinea added a fair amount of cream to her tea. "My friend Lady Margaret Callender was in love with him for years. Sandro's step-sister," she clarified. "Sandro is clever. Brilliant, really. Attractive, charming, with a never-ending string of women on his arm."

"And in his bed?"

Dulcinea's cheeks colored. "Yes. In his bed. Mostly women who already have husbands. Meg finally got tired of waiting and married a sweet man. I think Sandro realized he loved her, directly she was married. He concentrated on his work, behaved himself for a while."

"And now?"

"Flirting with someone's wife the last time I saw him at a party," Dulcinea said. "I'm not patient, like Meg. And I'm not at all understanding about male shortcomings."

"Have you ever taken a lover?" Victoria saw the teacup pause, then continue to Dulcinea's mouth.

"Yes. It was a very brief relationship. Why do you ask?"

"I'm trying to figure out what you want from me. I don't think you want advice. You know what you need to do," Victoria said. "If you'd like to tell me what that is, I'll be glad to listen."

"I admire you, and I like you." Dulcinea's cheeks were very pink now. "I'm not supposed to know exactly what your job is, but I know very few women work in your field. I only have a couple of close women friends in England, and I can't talk to Meg about Sandro. I have discovered it's very difficult to love someone and not be able to talk about it with anyone."

The salads arrived. They ate for the next few minutes.

"He thinks of you as the beautiful young friend of the step-sister he didn't know he loved until it was too late?" Victoria quirked an eyebrow. "Direct physical confrontation, then. Ambush, with no position available to fall back in retreat."

Dulcinea touched her napkin over her mouth. When she replaced it on her lap she was grinning hugely. "Yes. That was my thought. I am to be done at university soon, with a job of my own waiting at home. Sandro can do his work anywhere in the world, he isn't tied to England. But now I have no idea what hare-brained scheme Gloriana will conceive regarding the Durant property."

"What will you do at home?"

"I'll be director of the newly created Grand Fenwick Chamber of Commerce," Dulcinea said. "Responsible for product marketing, research and development."

"Anything else, Hero related? I'll listen as long as you want to talk."

The salad plates disappeared smoothly, and they declined dessert. The cool teapot was exchanged for a warm one.

"Not now. Thank you for listening. It's very comforting to have people in your life who listen when you need to talk something through. Do you have that? I wondered, considering who you work for. You can't exactly talk about what you've seen and done over dinner with friends." Dulcinea's eyes and voice were serious.

Victoria picked up her teacup and slowly drank the remainder of the cooled liquid. "I think you might do well in an intelligence career, Dulcinea. You see too bloody much. Let's just say I'm not a naturally confiding person, and leave it there for now. It you don't mind a change of subject, I'd appreciate it if you could tell me what you remember about Dr. Kokintz."

 

It was a few minutes after 2 o'clock by the time they got back to Durant Castle. The rain had changed to snow again, and the roads were treacherous. By common, unspoken consent they went straight to the breakfast room. Joe and Sister Ruth were in front of the fire.

Victoria poured two brandies and handed one to Dulcinea, who drank it straight down.

"Have you seen Sandro?"

"He's with Ben in the chapel," Joe said.

"Thank you." Dulcinea set her glass on the buffet, nodded to Victoria and left.

"We nearly went off the road twice. The weather is bad, and getting worse." Victoria took a seat next to Joe.

"They get some bad storms up here, early spring. Mrs. Evelyn said there was a weather warning on the radio during the noon news," Joe said. "I don't mind a little snow, but there's a time for it, and after March first that time is past."

"Have the others been down? We didn't see anyone this morning before we left."

Joe grinned. "Franz is in the library." He rolled his eyes toward Sister Ruth. "Reading. Apparently all he does is read."

Sister Ruth got up and stretched in front of Joe. She was wearing a fuzzy white angora sweater a size too small. It lifted to show a smooth white belly. "I would get eye strain and a headache, doing so much reading." She stalked out of the room, like a small disheveled kitten with a bad attitude.

"She wanted him to meditate with her," Joe said with a nearly straight face, "tune in to the spiritual harmonics. Achieve orgasm with the universe."

"I take it she didn't make you the same offer."

"I've already been brought into tune. I'm not a challenge." He leaned forward and rolled another log into the fireplace. "I've been sitting around all morning. How about a walk?"

"Have you seen the koi?"

 

The glass traverse was an almost opaque white tunnel. Victoria stood and looked out of an irregular patch of unfrozen glass at the clouds of snow that blew across the grounds. She shivered at the bite of frost under her fingertips. It would be a bitter, unpleasant night outdoors.

Humid warmth and the rich smell of fertile earth dispelled the chill. She led the way to the pond and benches, watching and listening. The storm drew small creaking noises from the greenhouse ribs, and alternately scoured and frosted the overhead glass.

"I like this." Joe looked down at the koi. "The things people will find to do when they've got a lot of money."

"You have a way to contact your people?" Victoria asked quietly.

"This telephone works for me. It's a local call." Joe grinned at her. "Partner."

"With qualifications?" One of the koi surfaced, looking for a handout. "Franz?"

"He's one of the qualifications." Joe froze, cocking his head.

Victoria had heard the same sound. A rattling clash of metal against metal, muffled by the plant life around them. "More greenhouses through there," she whispered.

She led the way quickly to the trellis where she had kissed Ivan. The exit door was ajar, as it had been the first time she saw it. Victoria slipped through, feeling Joe's hand touch her shoulder briefly as he followed.

This greenhouse was the more traditional rectangular shape. A central aisle ran between racks of starter plants on the southern side, and stacks of crates and equipment on the northern side. At approximately the center point of the greenhouse the aisle detoured around an opening in the floor, with a hinged metal door that rested upright against the plant frames. Narrow wooden stairs led into a lightless void below.

Victoria skirted the opening and walked to the door at the far side of the greenhouse. This, too, was ajar. She stood for a moment, listening. There was a new sound underneath the structural noises now, more pervasive than wind.

It was the ocean. Once she recognized what it was, Victoria realized it was a very faint component of the ambient noise in the circular greenhouse.

Joe caught her eye, pointed down and shrugged.

If he started down those stairs, he'd make a perfect target. Victoria shook her head and mouthed wait.

The noise returned, louder now. Definitely metal on metal. Victoria pushed the door wider and looked into the final greenhouse. More crates, boxes and wire trellis skeletons crowded the smaller space, barely leaving a path through the center to a final door. Racks of hanging tarpaulins on both sides obscured the glass walls, cutting the dim light coming from the outside to an overall deep twilight.

"Hello?" Victoria stepped through the door. "Is there someone in here?" Her fingers itched to take the .38 off her ankle, but she took several more careful steps down the path. The hair on her forearms prickled alive, a physical response to an intuitive sense she was not alone.

She waited. Nothing, then a creak from the far end of the greenhouse. The exterior door shivered visibly. Caught by a gust of wind it flew open, smacking against the metal frame with a startling crash.

Behind her, Joe yelled something that started with mother then cut off. Victoria spun around, bending and reaching for her gun. Joe was not standing where she had left him.

Intuition and training took control of her muscles at the same moment. Victoria rolled onto her side, aiming the gun upward. A spreading blot of darkness fell toward her, cutting off light and vision. She tried to scoot backward and evade the descending tarp, but it was already well over her. Victoria pulled the trigger twice and kicked out before something heavy landed on her chest, pinning her arms and legs.

Shrouded by the mildewed weight of the tarp and her attacker, it was impossible to struggle effectively. Whoever held her down was very large, very heavy. Victoria went limp and began to take deep, controlled breaths. She felt the body above her shift his knee? foot? to her right wrist, fully immobilizing the gun.

There were two of them now, one restraining her left arm and leg. Her first assailant was still on her chest. She knew what he was going to do before his hands pushed down on her face. In spite of her effort to take small, shallow breaths from the corners of her mouth there simply wasn't enough air. Her body and free leg bucked against the restraint, against the fuzziness of impending suffocation.

Give in to panic, and you might as well shoot yourself in the knee.

With an act of fading will, Victoria stilled her body's uncontrolled reactions, pushed away impotent fury. When the big bastard on her chest thought she was out of it, she would . . .

 

A fragment of memory bobbed to the surface of consciousness, summoned by gull scream, white noise, and the sensation she was in free fall. Early days of training, parachuting onto some inhospitable piece of Scottish shoreline fluttered in her mind's eye like a television experiencing bad reception. Memory dissolved to reality as Victoria's hands groped for a ripcord and her eyes fluttered open.

There was no parachute.

A world of grey and white rushed toward her, salt spray pelting against her face then enveloping her. Victoria hit the water's surface, a hard slap that sent a surge of pain and distress through skin to bone. A second later her body bounced against the stony bottom of the ocean. Shock from the dual impact was immediately diffused by bitterly invasive cold. The small amount of air she had managed to take into her lungs was driven out in a froth of bubbles.

The natural, immediate response to push upward with feet and hands, to find air, was unaccountably hampered. Through stinging, clouded eyes Victoria saw her fingers claw at the water and nearly reach surface agitation. But her legs and feet would not separate to give her the stability she needed for an upward kick.

Right, then: if she drowned, she'd lose her chance to find and shoot persons responsible for this bit of exercise. The thought created a moment of transcendental calm. She forced her arms and hands to stop frantic movement, to let her body's natural buoyancy and action of the water begin to align her body into a nearly vertical position. Now she could use her arms and hands to effect. Two strong, desperate strokes moved her face into air that seemed almost warm in comparison with the water.

Air. Blessed air.

Victoria coughed, spitting salt water, struggling to take a full, deep breath. She wondered if catching a sledgehammer full in the chest would leave a similar compressed throb of bone-deep pain, and hoped she'd never have occasion to verify the comparison.

A rolling swell momentarily reclaimed the open air above her face. Suppressing an instinctive imperative to pull something into her lungs, or scream something out, Victoria rode the swell like a human fishing bob. This lesson had already been learned the hard way: loss of control would expend precious energy and risk filling her lungs with water.

They don't waste time teaching you things for which you'll never find a use, Winslow.

Wh-h-h-en exactly d-d-o they predict we'll find ourselves in the Ar-r-r-ctic?

An unpleasant sense of deja vu, and the memory of a man's sarcastic, drawling voice added fuel to Victoria's smoldering core of purposeful anger. With her upturned face back in the air, her feet just touching bottom, it was obvious she was oriented the wrong way, toward open water rather than the beach. Victoria tried to simultaneously push backward toward the shore and spin her body around to let the swells carry her further into shallower water. The maneuver was a partial success. Her feet tangled as she turned, folding her enough to put her head back under water.

What the hell was wrong with her legs?

Attempts to use her feet in a perfectly normal manner seemed inexplicably hampered. Groping downward, Victoria's fingers found a tangle of stiff, inflexible wire.

The bastards had hobbled her. The plan to find and shoot the wanker with the big knees and his little helper expanded in scope: she was going to get to the beach, track down whoever had tarped and ditched her, then shoot them in the knees before rolling them over the edge of the bluffs.

This pleasant fantasy floated on a grey cloud created by the almost anesthetic properties of numbing cold and looming suffocation. Victoria broke surface again, filling her aching lungs, visually orienting herself on the mass of beach and bluffs. Waves pushed past to crest on the shore, then retreat. She fought against the drag, swallowing more water.

There were worse places they could have thrown her. The bottom didn't drop off too quickly past the fringe of beach, under the gentler bluffs below the house. A longer drop into deeper or shallower water would have meant quick death. But Victoria knew if she didn't get out of the water, if she didn't slow her breathing and control her limbs, quick death was still an option.

First target: the beach.

By pushing against her immobilized feet and using hands and arms to stroke forward, Victoria made it to a place where she didn't have to continually strain to keep head and shoulders above the waves. When her breastbone cleared the water, she again tried to dislodge the wire fouling her legs. The fact her fingers were as dextrous as frozen sausage, her knees and feet leaden and unresponsive, made this endeavor agonizingly difficult.

Slow you down in deep water, shoes will. In this case -- short swim with light field kit -- Winslow made the right call and kept hers. She wins the chance to bugger off into the gorse and gather dead wood while you two shoeless wonders start a fire.

The summons to report for a 24 to 48 hours survival exercise had arrived just before Christmas. Victoria and two other agents, both with more field time than she had, found themselves chucked off a rowboat mid-Thames, learning about dangers of cold water immersion first-hand. She'd been the only one (apart from the damnable instructor, a man demonstrably sado-masochistic, having voluntarily jumped from the boat in their wake), who made it to the bank without kicking off shoes. Foot protection turned out to be a mixed advantage in that she escaped without frostbitten toes, but was expected to do most of the firewood scavenging.

Now, her shoes would have to go, along with her trousers. The bastards had woven the wire in and out rather than just wrapping loops around her legs.

Victoria got another mouthful of water before one trousered leg finally slipped free from the twisted length of trellis wire. Sputtering and spitting, she widened her stance. Improvement in stability against the action of the waves was immediately apparent, although a tentative shuffle forward revealed someone had replaced her feet with anchors.

The water dropped to her waist, then the tops of her thighs before her knees buckled.

Full submersion lasted only a few moments. Hands and knees propelled her forward and up, then her head was back in the air. Scuttling like an inebriated crab, she made it to the pebbled beach.

The transition to land was almost worse than full submersion. Wind scoured wet skin, stiffening her hair into a cap of ice. Victoria's numbed, overloaded senses seemed to report that she was being burned after having been frozen. Pressure grew in her stomach and chest as she collapsed on the sand. A moment later the reason for this feeling became obvious. Victoria drew her knees up into a fetal curl as saltwater left her stomach. When the gagging, retching, and coughing subsided it seemed the encompassing cold was less painful.

Exposure. Hypothermia. Unconsciousness. Death. Where would you imagine the best point to interrupt this progression might be? Another reason to get herself out of this situation intact. If she failed, Q Division's horrible survival instructor would have his opinion of her potential vindicated.

So, second target: the stairs.

Leaden and lethargic, Victoria crawled away from the ocean. It seemed a significant milestone when she crossed the sandy shingle to reach iced grass clumped at the base of the wooden beach stairs, the demarkation line between beach and sod-covered dune. There was no question of getting to her feet to climb. For a few seconds Victoria wrapped her arms around her middle, hunched into herself. If there was any body heat left at her core it was quickly vanishing.

Up, then. Victoria grabbed the grass next to the stairs with one hand and managed to raise her knees onto the first step. She began to crawl upward; one knee, one hand, one knee, one hand, keeping her will focused on the step just ahead of her. There were perhaps thirty stairs to the lawn. She tried to count, tried to estimate how many remained. From high above she thought she heard the sound of gulls on the wind, and tried to lift her head and look upward.

It was a bad idea. Her eyes swam out of focus. The muscles along the back of her neck and shoulders cramped fiercely. Victoria hastily refocused her eyes on the steps, encouraged to see the paving stone threshhold was only a few more steps away. When she lurched off the final step onto snow encrusted grass, she shut her eyes and curled into a ball, although she knew it was another bad idea. Her hands, wedged under her armpits, radiated stabbing pains along her forearms.

Third target: lawn to house.

It took an immense effort of will to open her eyes and weeble to her feet. Gasping and staggering like a shore leave celebrant, she took three steps, four, five . . .

Victoria blinked, and found herself full length on the ground staring at a frosty clump of grass. A surge of fury flushed illusory warmth into her chest. Hands braced against the ground, knees seeming to obey her will, Victoria continued moving across the grass at a snail's pace. Amoeba-shaped black and white bursts began to flash across her vision.

Well, she was headed in the right direction. She didn't need to see. Sooner or later, she'd bump into the house, then feel her way around to an entrance.

Hand after hand after hand after hand . . .

There were the gulls again. Or perhaps not. Gulls were never large enough to sweep her into the air, sweep her to safety and warmth, to Ivan and her Walther . . .

"Stop struggling. I have you, milaya moya. I have you."

 

"Victoria."

She was still wet. Things hurt, primarily around her ribs and legs. But now the wetness against her skin was gloriously warm. Cold lingered at her core, bearable and passing. Victoria opened her eyes and found Ivan and Dulcinea watching her.

Her vision remained a bit fuzzy, but she was clearly in her bathroom, submerged in steaming warm water. A wet towel draped her naked body. Ivan held her shoulders, his face close enough so she could feel his breath against her neck. Dulcinea knelt next to him. Both were extremely wet.

"That was unpleasant." Her words came out as a barely understandable croak, no surprise since her throat was raw from salt water vomit and coughing. She heard a small snort of sound from Ivan.

Dulcinea burst into tears, which quickly disappeared as she wiped fiercely at her eyes. "Sandro!" she yelled over her shoulder.

Hero appeared in the bathroom door. He gave Dulcinea a mug, then stared down at the tableau, white-faced and grim.

"She's going to be all right. Go away, Sandro. Bring her up a little, Franz."

The mug held warm tea liberally laced with sugar and alcohol. Victoria swallowed the first mouthful gingerly, then drank the rest without dribbling more than a couple of swallows over her chin.

"Don't try to talk. Rest." Ivan's voice was emotionless and steady, his accent marginally slipping out of character.

"She's awake?" Joe's head followed the question. "My god, Vickie. You scared the shit out of me." One of his eyes was swollen, and he limped as he came further into the bathroom.

"Joe. What happened to you?" She saw Ivan's quick look up, and Joe's half-glance back out the bathroom door.

"Victoria will be all right. Dulcinea, get them out of bedroom," Ivan said. "Have Mrs. Evelyn bring more hot tea." He waited until she was gone, then kicked the door shut with his foot. "What happened?"

"Ambush. Two people, one a very large man. Someone threw a tarp over me, then held his hand over my face until I passed out. When I woke up, I was headed for the water." She studied Joe's face. "How did they get you?"

"Something like a shepherd's crook, coming out of that trapdoor." Joe touched his eye gingerly. "Got my ankle, and I went down those stairs like a raw trainee. I think a punch to the head put my lights out for a few minutes. When I came back up the stairs, you were gone and the door was shut. I followed the blood drops to the door, out onto the grass. Franz showed up and started to follow the blood just as we saw you drop in the middle of the lawn."

"I got off two shots. Must have grazed him," Victoria said. "Damnable tarp was in the way."

"I want to take look at greenhouse, and the place Joe went down. Joe will accompany me," Ivan said. "I will ask Dulcinea and Hero to remain."

"My Walther." Victoria tried to sit up. "Armoire."

Ivan pushed her back into the water. "I'll get it." He released his hold on her arm, waited to make sure she was steady, then got to his feet and left the bathroom quickly.

"I was no help." Joe found a face towel, held it under the cold water tap on the sink. He pressed the wet towel against his face with a sigh. "You know he's going to kill someone?"

"Only if I don't kill them first." Her body had warmed enough for additional aches and pains to be revealed. Victoria held the towel against her chest and tried to sit up again. The action brought throbs of discomfort from almost everything located below her breastbone. Bruises and strains for the most part, she decided, although her knees were scuffed and a mass of red welts and an aching puncture on one calf decorated her legs. "That was completely bloody unnecessary."

"Gun." Ivan was back. He wrapped the Walther loosely in a hand towel and set it beside the tub. "We won't be gone long. Joe, come."

Dulcinea stepped inside and shut the door. She collapsed beside the tub, dipping one hand into the water. "Needs warming," she said. "We'll drain a little, add a little."

The newly heated water revealed sensitivity in her hands and arms. The sum total of discomfort was intensely infuriating. Victoria clamped her fingers over the edge of the tub and sat up straight. "Thank you for your help. I think I'm warm enough. I'd like to get dressed. You should find something dry as well. You're almost as wet as I am."

"You can thank Franz. He carried you into the house. I saw his face, and thought you were dead." Dulcinea stared at her. "But he brought you straight up here. I helped him get your clothes off, and we got you into warm water. Your breathing was good, although your color was horrible. What happened? Joe got hurt, too."

"I'll tell you after I'm out of the water. Go change your clothes, then find me something warm to put on."

"You won't move, and you'll call for Hero if you need help?"

"I won't need help. Go, Dulcy." Victoria waited until Dulcinea was out of the bathroom, then let the water drain from the tub. She dried herself, tucked the towel under her arms and picked up her gun. She immediately felt better.

It was a transitory improvement. Fatigue greyed the edges of her vision as she slumped at the vanity. While exhaustion was probably the most significant result of the misadventure, her palms and knees were scraped, the puncture on her leg throbbed. Her red-rimmed eyes felt gritty and sore, a bad color combination with the smudge of wine-colored bruise along her right cheekbone. Victoria told herself all she needed was a bit of sleep, then she could concentrate on finding someone to kill.

"You need more loungewear. I brought something to put over your shoulders, so you don't have to put on a bra." Dulcinea had changed wet clothing for dry. She carried a pile of clothing, and a first-aid kit.

Victoria turned on the vanity stool, facing away from the mirror, and let Dulcinea apply medicated cream to the puncture and the worst of the welts. She rubbed some of the cream into her hands, then pulled on panties, black velveteen palazzo pants and grey knit turtleneck. Dulcinea draped an unfamiliar shawl over her shoulders. It was a thick, soft, multicolored thing that felt wonderful under her fingers, and hid her nipples from view.

"Let me comb your hair." Dulcinea patted water from her neck, then smoothed the hair away from her face. "I've never seen anyone get dressed while holding a gun before."

The Walther was the first thing Hero noticed when they stepped out of the bathroom. "Is that really necessary? How are you?"

"Physically, mentally, emotionally?" Victoria ignored the query about the gun. "Sore and brassed off."

The tea tray was on her bedside stand. She made it to the bed, stuck her Walther under the pillow, and poured a cup of tea with mostly steady hands. She emptied the cup, refilled it from the whiskey bottle next to the teapot.

Hero pulled over a chair, and Dulcinea perched on the foot of the bed. Victoria held up her hand before either could speak.

"Franz and Joe will be back in a few minutes. Until then, give me your perspective on what happened." She let gravity have its way, and lay her head on the pillows.

"We were coming from the chapel toward the breakfast room," Hero said. He poured himself a teacup full of whiskey, looking to Dulcinea. "No? You look like you could use a stiff drink, my love. Joe opened the front door, and Franz came in carrying you. They headed straight up the stairs, Joe yelling for hot tea and liquor. Dulcy took off after them, I sent Ben to the kitchen."

"Franz had you in the bathtub when I got up here. We started with warm water, got your clothes off, and gradually increased the temperature. You were blue when I first saw you." Dulcinea took a deep breath. "You came around pretty quickly."

"Ben followed, then Fay sent Hannah to find out what was going on. Sister Ruth and Yasmine came in as Mrs. Evelyn brought the teatray up," Hero said. "Then Franz told Dulcy to get rid of them. They went to the breakfast room, to argue about tonight's seance."

"What time is it?" Victoria heard her stomach growl. The effects of the whiskey would need to be offset by some food. "I need something to eat."

"Four ten." Dulcinea slipped off the bed. "I'll let Mrs. Evelyn know you're recovering, and have her make up sandwiches for all of us."

Hero waited until the door shut behind her. "Someone tried to kill you. And if Franz and Joe work for who I think they work for, what the bloody hell is going on here?"

"Stop talking." Victoria pulled her feet wearily onto the bed. "I'm going to have enough energy to go over this one time, and make it through the seance tonight."

"Of course you're going to the seance," Hero said bitterly. "Is Dulcinea in any danger?"

"I don't believe so. Harming her won't get them what they want. But why don't you go give her a hand with the food." Victoria patted her pillow. "I have plenty of protection."

"So I saw. I'd go in a heartbeat, except Franz said to stay with you." Hero shook his head. "Having seen his eyes when he brought you in, I won't be putting myself in harm's way by ignoring his orders. I'm not sure which of you scared me more."

"You show good judgment." Ivan stepped soundlessly into the room. "Go. Help Dulcinea. Joe will be with us in a few minutes."

"Your accent is slipping." Victoria saw him turn the key behind Hero. He muttered a phrase in Russian she had never heard before, and crossed the room to pull her off the bed into his arms.

"You were very cold," he said finally. His hands were under her shirt. "You feel much warmer now. Is there anything I should know before the others arrive?"

"Only that my people consider this a kind of limited joint venture. I can officially work with you and Joe." His body still felt tense and rigid against her. "I'm all right. I'll be stiff tomorrow, that's all."

"Joe retrieved this for you." Ivan removed her .38 from his pocket. "Nice little American gun."

"Thank you. I wonder if I can take it home with me."

Someone tried the knob, then knocked on the door.

"We will speak later." Ivan lifted her hand, studied the raw scratches and kissed her palm.

 

They ate sandwiches without speaking, then drank more tea and whiskey. Joe had settled at the foot of the bed on one side. After looking at him consideringly, Dulcinea kicked off her shoes and sat cross-legged on the other corner. Ignoring the mix of unspoken speculation and amusement, Ivan had taken most of the pillows and made himself at home next to the nightstand. Victoria kept a discreet distance from him, sitting with her back against the headboard, and a pillow between them under her arm. She got the distinct impression they were no longer fooling anyone.

Hero pulled his chair close to the bed. "We should probably make this brief. The whiskey's gone, and Mrs. Evelyn, Ben and Fay are concerned about Victoria. It's going to appear odd if we stay locked up in here for any length of time."

"Joe, then Victoria," Ivan said.

Joe set up their search for the source of noise in the greenhouse in a few words, his abrupt trip down the trapdoor stairs and recovery in a few more. "Franz and I were headed down to the lawn when he saw Victoria," he ended his part of the story.

Victoria continued with an account of the ambush. "I think they wrapped my legs with trellis wire. I managed to get it off before I left the water."

"If they had taken the trouble to walk only a minute to the north, you would be dead." Dulcinea's mouth was tight. "The bluffs are higher, and the water deeper."

Victoria knew. She had assessed the coast near the house. "They were either in a hurry, or unprofessional," she said.

"Unprofessional." Hero looked at her appraisingly.

"Joe and I have examined what is beneath the greenhouse. There is a laboratory set up, quite extensive," Ivan said. "There are many soil samples, labeled, in drawers. Someone was searching the contents of the room. We did not take time to explore a passage leading away from the laboratory. I believe it ties into the passages that run beneath and through the castle."

"Dr. Kokintz was always taking soil samples at home. All this is about Dr. Kokintz." Dulcinea cocked her head to one side and looked down at her hands. "We should plan to start the seance at 9 o'clock."

"Yes." Ivan swung his legs off the bed. "Hero, keep a very close eye on Lee tonight. I will watch her bodyguard."

"I'll inform the rest of the guests that Dr. Liebman has medical training, and is taking great care of you, Victoria," Dulcinea said. "They will want to know how you ended up in the water."

"Tell them she was exploring past the greenhouse, and tripped on a piece of wire that entangled her feet," Ivan said. "The best stories contain element of truth."

"They certainly do." Dulcinea motioned to Hero. "Carry the tray for me, Sandro."

Joe paused at the door. "If Sister Ruth corners and questions me, I'll ask for more money," he said. "See you downstairs at nine."

Ivan locked the door behind them and turned out the overhead light. "You are going to sleep for the next few hours." He pulled the bed spread free, then resumed his place on the bed. "Come here."

Victoria went to him and lay her head on his chest. He pulled the bed spread over them. She closed her eyes and felt heat displace the last of the cold in her chest. "Ivan . . ."

 

Things hurt when she woke up.

"It's half past eight." Ivan still cradled her against his body. "I think you could wear your shoulder holster unseen under this wrap."

"I think you are right."

Victoria limped into the bathroom, took a couple of headache tablets from Dulcinea's first-aid kit, dabbed a bit of powder under her eye, and returned walking nearly normally. Ivan had to help her with the holster buckles. When he arranged the wrap over her shoulders, there was no visual evidence of the gun.

"You should probably change. You look apres shipwreck." She ran a finger along his jaw. "And shave."

"Come with me." He led the way to his room, a slightly more masculine version of hers with leather recliners instead tapestry upholstery.

Victoria sat on the uncanopied bed and listened to water run in the bathroom. When he emerged without a shirt, his chin smooth, she quit noticing how much it hurt to sit up straight. When he removed his wrinkled trousers and pulled clean clothes from the armoire, Victoria felt her nipples harden and her breath catch. She must have made a sound, because he turned and looked at her.

"Victoria. Close your eyes. If you don't stop looking at me in that way, we will have a problem." His eyes were laughing, but there was both threat and promise in his voice.

She closed her eyes. "I can't stop looking at you. Can we knock out Brother John and inspect him for flesh wounds?"

"Perhaps. I will quit thinking about your nipples. You will quit looking at my ass. We will enjoy seance theatrics. Afterward, I will need to get better look at how badly you were hurt this afternoon."

Victoria felt his lips brush her forehead. She opened her eyes and smiled at his spectacles. "You're the doctor."

They were the last ones to arrive in the chapel. Victoria met the outpouring of questions and concern by assuring them she was clumsy, but fine. No lasting harm done.

Fay Green seemed agitated and unfocused. She calmed during music and meditation, but after five minutes of sitting she told them there was so much inner turmoil present that nothing could be achieved.

Yasmine Lee entered her cabinet, and sat for another ten minutes, then called for Hannah to bring up the lights.

"It is as Mrs. Green says. While strong emotion may in some cases attract spirits, the emotion present tonight has caused them to withdraw." Lee looked directly at Victoria. "Everyone should spend tomorrow in quiet contemplation."

 

"Everyone should spend tomorrow not being thrown into the ocean," Victoria said. "I know that will do my own emotional state a world of bloody good."

She was wrapped around Ivan's naked body. Her skin buzzed with small pains, warmth from the medicated cream Ivan had applied to most of her body during a lengthy massage, and the sleepy satiation of careful sex.

"Sleep. There are things I must do. Tomorrow I will drive with you to Boston. I will say you may have broken bone in your wrist, you should receive x-ray." He kissed her, slowly and thoroughly. "Replace wedge after I go, then sleep."

The bed felt empty, but the pillows smelled of him. Victoria buried her face in the smell and went to sleep.

Chapter 5

The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed.
– Carl Jung

 

WEDNESDAY: SEANCE 3

Victoria's inner clock woke her at 6 a.m. She reached for Ivan instinctively, then remembered he had left her to sleep alone.

She took a long, hot shower. Various bruises had developed spectacular colors overnight. A large circular spot on her ribcage looked like the imprint from a knee, and her right arm was purple from wrist to shoulder. Victoria rubbed ointment onto her scrapes and massaged her stiff wrist and arm until mobility seemed mostly restored.

Both guns would be going with her today. She dressed in one of her secretarial outfits, dark trousers and dark jacket to hide the holster. Pulling aside the drapes revealed a world of fresh white snow and leaden skies. There would be a fire in the breakfast room, and although it was too soon for the breakfast buffet Mrs. Evelyn provided muffins and hot beverages for early risers.

Ben was already in front of the fire, drinking coffee. He started to get out of his chair as she came in.

"Don't get up." She poured herself a cup of coffee. "It feels like we're going into December, not April."

"It's been an unusual winter. Not much snow in December last year, so we're making up for it now," Ben said. "You look unscathed by yesterday's accident. How do you feel?"

"Stiff, but that will pass." The coffee was strong and sweet. It hit her empty stomach, sending a pleasant jolt of caffeine into her blood. "What do you find to do during the day here?"

"Alexander and I are collaborating on a paper about this endeavor." Ben smiled ruefully. "We must hope there's something of interest forthcoming in the days ahead, or it will be a singularly uninteresting paper. Although I've also had a chance to speak with Mrs. Green, and that has been educational."

"Do you believe it's possible, to have some kind of contact with the dead?" Victoria kept her voice carefully neutral.

"Possible? I'm just not sure." Ben looked at her shrewdly. "I'm a scientist, and I also believe in God. I believe in the existence of the soul. As a scientist, I know energy doesn't just evaporate, disappear. More than that is still a mystery. I've found Mrs. Green's recent remarks on the nature of this location thought provoking. She tells me the longer she is here, the more certain she is that Durant Castle is one of those rare psychic null spots. You should ask her about her impressions."

"I will." Existence of the soul was not a question Victoria wished to spend a lot of time thinking about. You either had one, or you didn't. Accept either scenario and you still couldn't predict who would be a saint, or who would be an evil tosser. Her early handlers had pressed her on the issue, probably because assassins who thought a lot about the possibilities inherent in the question became unqualified to do the work. After years and hours of watching people attempt to speak with the dead without success, Victoria steadfastly refused to speculate about what happened to the people she killed for her country.

"Guten morgen." Ivan's hair was damp. His eyes behind the spectacles looked heavy lidded and tired. He made a bee-line for the coffee. "How does your wrist feel, Victoria?"

"Sore, but improving. I massaged it this morning with some of that ointment you gave me." She flexed her hand.

"I still believe you need to have the x-ray. The bones of the wrist are fragile." He started on his second cup of coffee, yawning. "I will drive you into the city this morning."

"Go early," Ben said. "The radio said to expect more wind and snow, possibly even freezing rain, by afternoon."

 

Ben's weather forecast was off by a few hours. It was raining as they left the castle grounds; snowing before they traveled more than a quarter of the way to town.

"I have driven in much snow. You are perfectly safe."

"While I respect your experience and talents, it seems essential that one should be able to see where one is going, if one is driving a car," Victoria said. The wipers were either damaged, or incapable of clearing the icy crust from the car's windshield, and visibility in general had deteriorated to a few feet around them.

"I can still see the road." His voice was calm, unstressed. "What is wrong?"

"I woke up without you."

Ivan nodded, his mouth tightening for a moment. "Joe and I searched the laboratory last night, and followed the passage that leads to the house. There is only evidence of agricultural research. Other, careless hands were there before us."

"Dulcinea said Dr. Kokintz had two hobbies in Grand Fenwick: birdwatching and viniculture," Victoria said. "It must be his workshop."

"She would have been -- eight, nine years of age when he died?"

"Yes. She may have been young, but I believe precocious. She remembers the discussions about rocket fuel with foreign scientists, remembers Dr. Kokintz and Tully Bascomb talking about how best to organize the volunteer weapons inspection teams." Victoria shifted her feet to a spot directly under the car's heater. She had saved the most interesting part of Dulcinea's reminiscences for last. "She overheard a conversation between her father and Duchess Gloriana after they received news of Dr. Kokintz death. Gloriana told Count Mountjoy the q-bomb had never worked."

"Which is what Grand Fenwick told the world." Ivan nodded. "Why do you think they tried to kill you?"

"It may have been an unconsidered action to our presence in the greenhouse. I was in the wrong place, at the wrong time. There's no doubt about who I am, and why I'm with Dulcinea. I'm probably at the top of any expendable guest list." She caught a glimpse of a familiar group of buildings through the blowing white. Other cars passed, throwing spray at the struggling wipers. "I should be back at the pub in an hour and a half. Is there anything else I need to tell them?"

"We killed no one," Ivan said mildly. "Although there is a great deal of traffic through that cellar. They keep three very cold people in the listening post. One is nearly as large as Lee's companion. And they go somewhere, not too far, for hot food and supplies. Tonight I will find out where they go."

 

Although the pickup car had the same driver, a tall young man wearing a suit that could not disguise his military bearing opened the door and exchanged passwords with her.

Chief of Staff Tanner answered her call, listened to her report, then spent several seconds commenting on the inadvisability of repeating her previous day's adventure.

"Thompson is my man from Washington there. He'll give you an update on what they've found in Boston," Tanner said. "I'll pass on your information and evaluation of Kokintz. We've had more conversation with the Americans about the Lee woman, and Mr. Matheson has been given instructions. They would prefer not to take her into custody, but they insist she not leave Durant Castle unless they escort her."

"I understand."

"Exercise caution. Part of our new information includes the name of a Chinese American inventor who most certainly constructed the cabinet Lee is using. Donald Wang is a California Institute of Technology graduate, with background in cybernetics, computing systems and laser technologies."

"Gadgeteer?" Victoria used the code word for the kind of work they did in Q Branch.

"Yes. The Americans would also very much like to speak with Mr. Wang, but don't believe he is on site. Thompson will give you a number you can ring from the Castle, if you need assistance."

Thompson's summation was brief. Victoria was back at the pub in under the hour and a half. She ordered a cup of coffee, then sat by the front window until the estate car pulled up at the curb.

Victoria picked her way through the slush that coated the sidewalk and gutter. "Bloody weather." The car was toasty, and smelled like tobacco smoke. Ivan looked warm and completely relaxed behind the wheel, although the ends of his hair were damp.

"I like this weather. People don't move around in such weather." Ivan took her hand, briefly, then concentrated on driving.

"The Chinese have a storefront location in town, and a rental property near the Castle. Both places are under direct observation by my people." She repeated the information Thompson had passed on.

"That is good to know." His voice sounded abstracted, thoughtful. "I enjoy working with you. I enjoy working with Joe. In past I have worked with team, but more often alone."

"I enjoy working with you." Which didn't even begin to express the complexity of what she felt. "I still think we should shoot them all and let the Americans take the Castle apart at their leisure. It would be so much simpler and quicker."

Ivan grinned. "Always an option, zaychik moy. We will have a team meeting before the seance and discuss it."

"It would be my preference to include Hero and Dulcinea in the meeting," Victoria said. They were civilians, but they were already involved, and in danger.

Ivan stared out at the snowy road, frowning in concentration. "She is very good in emergency," he said at last. "And Hero is observant and useful. Yes. We keep them informed."

The road to the Castle had accumulated another few inches of snow. When they reached the garage, Victoria made a dash to raise the door, then shut it again after Ivan parked the car.

"Come here." Ivan sorted through several bags. He took out a length of elastic bandage and wrapped her wrist and hand. "Too tight?"

"No." There was only a single layer of the cloth over her palm and the functionality of her fingers was unhindered. "This would be a great way to secure a short blade."

"I would like to kiss you." He released her hand, slipped the spectacles from his pocket and put them on. "I plan to kiss you very soon. First a stop at the breakfast room."

Everyone but Brother John, Yasmine and the Triad was in the breakfast room. Even Mrs. Evelyn had a cup of tea and a place on the sofa. After the flurry of questions about Victoria's health and the weather, everyone returned to quiet conversations. Ivan joined Hero and Sister Ruth by the patio doors and lit a cigarette.

"I can barely keep my eyes open." Ben stood and yawned. "Take my chair, Victoria. I think a nap before dinner is in my future."

She waited until he was out of the room, then took his chair and leaned toward Joe. "The side of your face is the same color as my arm. Considering the difference in our skin tones, that must mean something. And you can't keep your eyes open, either. You should get some sleep."

"I was headed that way." He stretched his long legs toward the fire. "Just wanted to make sure you both got back okay. Want to tuck me in?"

"Want to die screaming?" She smiled back at him. "I'll walk up with you, though."

At the top of the stairs Joe turned right when she turned left. "Let him get some sleep, Vickie. He shouldn't have to be up all day after he's been up all night," he said over his shoulder. He grinned and walked away before she could think of a suitably crushing reply.

Victoria locked her door, then leaned against the armoire with her eyes closed. The early morning stiffness had gone in spite of the time spent riding in the car. Muscles in her legs and in her right arm still felt sore when she moved, but nothing inconvenienced or impaired her ability to function. When the single knock on the panel came, she pulled out the wedge, waited for him to step through, replaced the wedge, then turned and pinned him to the wall.

She was kissing him before he had a chance to remove the spectacles, her hands burrowing beneath his shirt to touch flesh. She kept her eyes open and watched the dark sweep of his eyelashes against his cheeks, watched the half smiling expression of peace and pleasure relax the muscles of his face. When she broke the kiss, bitter tobacco and coffee tastes lingered on her tongue.

"I'm covered with that ointment you gave me. I doubt it tastes very nice. We should probably wash anything you're interested in putting your mouth on."

"Head to toe, then," Ivan said, folding away the spectacles.

Victoria took his hand and led him to the bathroom.

 

This time when she woke it was because all the pillows were gone, and he had his knee wedged against her back. Victoria turned over, pushing his leg straight. The lamp on the nightstand was still on, casting a golden glow over his skin, bringing a faint reddish tinge from the stubble along his jaw. It was 7 o'clock, and the sliver of perpetually dim light between the drapery edges had already darkened to black. Ivan opened his eyes to narrow slits, then closed them again.

"I'm starving. It's seven already. There will be food downstairs." She lay her head on his chest and draped an arm and leg over him. "I was going to tell you how much I love sleeping with you, then you took all the pillows."

"Most of the time you are using me for pillow. We slept too long. There won't be time to have team meeting before the seance." He stretched, rubbing one hand over his face. "I am also hungry."

VIctoria withdrew her arm and leg and rolled off the bed. "We showered, but you need to shave." She retrieved their clothing outside the bathroom door and sorted out his things.

"Look in the jacket pocket. I brought you something."

"Little binoculars?" Victoria looked through the small eyepieces. The room through the lenses looked as bright as though it was in noon sunshine. "Very nice. Thank you."

"Hero recommended." He dressed quickly, but took time to kiss her slowly. "Replace the wedge after I go."

"I always do."

 

Victoria ate seated between Dulcinea and Hero, who seemed a little twitchy and uncomfortable. None of the usual easy conversation passed between the two of them. Across the table Ben and Joe traded stories of bad spring weather in the states, agreeing that snow was preferable to flooding and tornados.

They had finished eating when the Graylings and Ivan came in and started on the buffet. Fay followed seconds later, leaning on Hannah. The girl seated Fay at the table, then brought her a plate of food.

"Are you ill?" Dulcinea looked at Fay with concern. "You're very pale."

And shaking, just a little, Victoria thought as the older woman smiled and took a drink of water.

"It's the weather. I've got a touch of arthritis." Fay began to eat slowly, obviously preferring not to talk about her health.

Hero pushed away from the table and headed toward the smoking corner after muttering "See you in the chapel."

"Victoria, walk with me?" Dulcinea rose regally, with a small sniff. She was wearing a knit sweater dress the color of raspberries, her usual pearls, and looked like a magazine cover.

Well, guns before beauty, Victoria told herself. The navy blue suit coat and wide-legged trousers she was wearing hid two guns and a pair of infrared glasses, and she wouldn't have traded them for any designer dress in the world. Dulcinea waited until they were out of hearing distance of the breakfast room before she spoke again.

"I kissed him. He ran away." She sounded angry and disgusted.

Victoria missed a step. Dulcinea kept walking.

"Dulcinea. I'm really not good at this sort of thing."

"I suspect you're very good at it," Dulcinea said. "You're trained for warfare. I'm not. What would you do if a you kissed a man and he ran away?"

"Knock him unconscious, secure him with handcuffs or rope, interrogate him when he came around." She wasn't exactly making a joke, but it had a lightening effect on Dulcinea's expression. "I don't think Hero's a coward, but he strikes me as a man who has excellent self-preservation instincts."

"I scared him?" Dulcinea was outraged.

"Did he kiss you back?" The situation was strangely interesting, viewed as a strategic exercise. "Open mouth, tongue, anything?"

"Nothing. He was paralyzed. Could you handcuff him for me?"

They stopped outside the chapel door. Victoria had a vivid mental image of Alexander Hero cuffed to a bed, at Dulcinea's mercy. "Where would you like him handcuffed?"

There must have been something in her voice. Dulcinea's cheeks flushed.

"Don't think I haven't thought about it," she said, pushing open the chapel doors.

They walked past the cabinet. The Triad sat against the wall, watching. Victoria tried to meet his eyes, but they slid away.

"Next time, make sure there's nowhere he can run." It was still snowing lightly outside. "Did he say anything?"

"Subvocal response," Dulcinea said. "Sounded like nnggghhh. Then he bolted."

Ben, Joe and Mrs. Evelyn came into the chapel, putting an end to the conversation. They clustered around Ben's recording equipment, listening to his enthusiastic explanation of exactly how his various devices worked. By 8:45 everyone had appeared but Lee. She had now established a routine, Victoria thought, of making the grand entrance. At 8:59 Lee appeared, wearing black on black embroidered satin mandarin robes, and shut the chapel doors behind her.

They took the same seats they had occupied for the last two nights without instruction from Fay.

"Are we ready to begin? Close your eyes and listen." The music, Fay's statement of faith, all proceeded smoothly. When Victoria reluctantly took Brother John's hand, it was unpleasantly clammy against her fingers. She laced Joe's fingers tightly in hers, and felt him squeeze back.

"I've been listening all day." Fay started to speak immediately in a low, monotone voice. "Meditating, listening. I've done things I'm not proud of, but I've always believed. I'm an old woman. It's only been about the faith for years. If loss of faith can be accomplished by the bad decisions of one person, is it really faith at all?"

The hair on the back of Victoria's neck, on her forearms, prickled alert. Fay's voice had a very strange quality, unlike anything she'd ever heard at a seance.

"This is a place of solace and peace for the living. No souls remain here, no spiritual energy lingers. Even the hitchhikers that arrived with living guests have departed this place. I suspected before, and am now convinced. I cannot say otherwise, even to support a greater truth." She was silent for a moment, then continued. "Is there anyone who can hear more clearly than I?"

"I think you're tired and ill, Sister Green," Sister Ruth said in a voice of over-emphasized concern. "We all find ourselves blocked by physical infirmities. I do feel a presence here, faint but insistent."

Fay stared straight ahead at the cabinet. No one else spoke.

"I will attempt the deep trance state. If the energies have withdrawn, or something is blocking manifestation, I may reach beyond and achieve contact, draw out the ectoplasm." Lee headed for the cabinet. "Whatever happens, remain in your seats, very still. Turn out the lights."

Victoria's hand found the binoculars in her pocket, but the red lights came on immediately. The Triad had just finished securing Lee's hands to the chair. There was someone who had no problem moving in total dark, she thought. He pulled the first curtain closed behind him as he exited the cabinet.

Lee's head slumped forward. Her chest rose and fell in obvious, exaggerated deep breathing. A push of cold air came next, wafting over their faces bringing the unpleasant scent of mildrew.

"Sing," Lee said, rolling her head from side to side.

Sister Ruth and Brother John began to sing. Shall we gather at the river . . .

No one else joined in, although Joe leaned close and whispered, "You know the words to Minnie the Moucher?"

Into the third and fourth verse of the song, Victoria divided her attention between Lee and the Triad, who stood next to the cabinet like a piece of statuary. It seemed as if the quality of the red light began to change, to fade. When the pale streamers of indistinct colored light began to weave away from the crown of Lee's head, she heard Joe pull in a short, sharp breath.

This was a new one for her scrapbook of spiritualists' tricks. Victoria leaned forward and bent her head, bringing the binoculars up with a small gesture as though she was rubbing her eyes. The light pattern was clear and distinct, a double spiral of violet and green over, but not touching, Lee's head.

Lee raised her face. "All souls who wait to be heard, I am here to listen. Sterling Durant, as you wait for us to believe and reach for you, I am here to take your hand and create a bridge between us."

"Very, very pretty."

It was Fay's voice, almost inaudible. Victoria tried to look past Brother John, but he was leaning forward and slightly toward her. She heard Sister Ruth's voice call, "Sterling! We're here. Speak to us."

Mrs. Evelyn's voice, vehement and angry, came a moment later. "Stop it, just stop it. I don't want to be here."

Lee's head fell forward on her chest. Her hands strained to lift against the restraints. The spiraling lights began to whirl, faster and faster, growing to nearly fill the interior of the cabinet.

"Evie. Evie." It sounded like a man's voice, low and thready, no louder than a whisper. "Don't take on so, Evie."

Cold wind hit their faces again. The lights above Lee's head faded, died. In the nearly complete silence she moaned, once, and the red lights died leaving the room in blackness.

Victoria stared at Lee through the infrared lenses as Brother John's elbow and arm pushed her sideways against Joe.

"Sorry," Brother John muttered.

"Hannah, lights!" Joe yelled.

Lee had barely moved, Victoria was sure, and the Triad remained still, head cocked as though listening.

As light returned, Victoria slipped the binoculars back into her pocket. Mrs. Evelyn was crying in angry, helpless rejection of what she had heard.

Brother John knocked against her once more as he stood, sending his chair flying backward.

"Sister Green." He stood beside the old woman, his hand on her shoulder. "She's not well. I think she's fainted." Before anyone could respond, he picked her up and lay her on the table.

Hannah came running. Sister Ruth descended like a ministering angel, patting Fay's face, calling her name.

"Move back." Ivan physically moved Sister Ruth, who stared at him like a landed fish. He searched for the pulse in Fay's neck. "Was she taking medication?" he asked Hannah. "Nitroglycerin, perhaps?"

"Yes." The girl was crying. "In her pocket."

Ivan held one hand, then shook his head. "I am so sorry. Mrs. Green has no pulse."

Hannah made a move to throw herself onto Fay's body, but Ivan prevented her with gentle hands. "Nein, little one. Mrs. Evelyn, take Hannah to the kitchen. Give her hot milk or tea. I will find you there."

Mrs. Evelyn wiped her own eyes and took Hannah's hand, leading her from the chapel.

"Did her heart give out?" Ben asked. "She didn't look well at dinner."

"It is the most likely explanation." Ivan met Victoria's eyes for a fleeting second. "Joe, is there a procedure in this country for sudden death?"

"Probably phone the county sheriff, and they'll send a medical examiner. I doubt if they will come out tonight for natural causes, though."

"Do you mind calling? And, Dulcinea, would you fetch a sheet or blanket to shroud her?" Ivan turned to Ben next. "Please remove the recording media for this evening's seance and take it directly to Mrs. Evelyn's safe. Miss Lee, your attendant may not remain in here tonight. If he wishes to stay on the other side of that door, well and good."

He was very much in charge, Victoria saw with amused respect. Her eyes lingered on Fay's body. They had never gotten a chance to have a talk. She hadn't thought much of the request, but now wondered what Fay might have had to tell her. I've done things I'm not proud of the old woman had said.

Ivan left the room last, turning out the lights. The Triad sat on the floor next to the door and folded his arms.

"Dulcinea, Victoria, please accompany me to the kitchen. The rest of you go to the breakfast room. We will bring tea for those who do not wish alcohol."

"That doesn't include me," Hero said. "I wish a large brandy."

Vodka, Victoria thought, watching Ivan lead them toward the kitchen. But later. He stopped them a few feet from the kitchen doorway.

"I will have Mrs. Evelyn stay with Hannah tonight," he said in a low voice. "Dulcinea, when we finish in the breakfast room I will ask if anyone has sleeping tablets, for Hannah's use. You will say you have such tablets, and let everyone know you also will be taking tablets when you return to room."

"I can do that," she said seriously, "but I don't have sleeping tablets. What will we do for Hannah?"

"I have tablets." He stepped closer to her. "We need to speak with you, and they listen to your rooms. Do not be surprised, or speak, when I come to find you later."

Dulcinea nodded. "Fay's death. Was it natural?"

Ivan shook his head. "Later."

They gathered the tea things while Ivan spoke with Mrs. Evelyn. By the time they got back to the breakfast room Ben and Hero were smoking their pipes with grim concentration.

Joe came in, nodded to Ivan. "The medical examiner will be here first thing in the morning. They said to do exactly what you did."

"It is very sad." Sister Ruth lit a cigarette. "But how wonderful for her to hear Sterling's voice before she passed. I believe he was there to guide her over."

Victoria realized her fingers were headed for the gun under her arm. She relaxed as Ivan caught her eyes.

"Mrs. Evelyn will care for Hannah tonight," Ivan said. "The girl is nearly hysterical. Does anyone travel with sleeping tablets?"

"Of course, I can help with that." Dulcinea smiled. "I plan to take a couple myself, as soon as I return to my rooms."

Hero removed his pipe from his mouth and stared at her. "Since when did you --"

"Thank you, Dulcinea." Ivan cut in smoothly. "I will walk up with you in a moment."

"May we retire?" Lee drooped theatrically in an armchair. "I am exhausted. I felt Mr. Durant most strongly tonight, but at such cost."

"Of course. Everyone should plan to be available tomorrow morning in the event officials have questions." Ivan watched her go, then poured himself a cup of tea, loading it with sugar.

"Good night, then." Sister Ruth linked arms with her brother. "We shall pray for Sister Green's soul."

"Guten abend." Ivan finished the tea. "Ben, don't wander around alone, please. Go to your room, lock yourself in, stay there until morning."

"You'll tell me eventually?" Ben's face held a thousand questions, but he walked to the fireplace and knocked out his pipe. "See you in the morning."

"Joe, I believe Mrs. Evelyn usually checks and locks all outside doors before retiring."

"I've got it." Joe made a half salute and sauntered out after Ben.

 

Victoria locked her door behind her, then stood and studied the room. When the door opened a small, unfamiliar scent had come and gone so quickly she almost dismissed it as imagination. Food, she thought, raising the arm of her coat and sniffing. No strong odor had come in with her. She hadn't searched the room yesterday. A quick survey showed no evidence of intrusion or tampering. She was contemplating a more thorough search when the knock came on the panel.

"Come." Ivan held out his hand. "Step into dark with me."

The panel shut behind them with a soft snick from the hidden catch. Victoria stood in the brown black space, illuminated only by Ivan's thief light, and let her eyes adjust. The passage was maybe twice as wide as her hips, and she could touch the ceiling.

"Stay close. Follow." He turned away and most of the light disappeared. "Joe will bring Hero and meet us in the laboratory. Dulcinea's room is down here."

There were small, engraved numbers over the panels. She watched Ivan rotate a block of wood under the number, and heard the catch release. She put her mouth under his ear and whispered "Shall I get her?"

He shook his head, stepped through the panel. Dulcinea's head appeared in a moment, and Victoria had to back up a couple of steps. Ivan followed, closing the panel.

Dulcinea had changed to dark trousers and pullover, good stealth gear, but she smelled of wildflowers. Victoria made a mental note to tell her the rule about not wearing perfume when sneaking about.

Access between floors was provided by a ladder mounted against the exterior wall of the wing. It made her uneasy. Someone could stand at either the top or bottom, and be assured of hitting targets even in the dark. It was a relief to leave the ladder for the wider space of the cellars.

There were a few strategically placed, dim lights here. Crates of spirits lined one wall, wine racks another wall. Ivan led them past barrels and boxes toward a dark corner, another hidden door, another low tunnel that smelled of damp earth. When the tunnel finally ended, they stepped into a lighted space.

Joe and Hero were seated on boxes between the tall wooden benches covered with glass retorts, beakers and other laboratory paraphernalia.

"Pull up a box," Joe said. "This is where I tumbled to, Vickie."

She looked at the wooden stairway and closed trap door. "You had a certain amount of luck as well. You could have broken your neck."

"What do you think about Fay's death." Hero looked between her and Ivan. "Heart failure?"

"I saw a very small scratch on her right hand." Ivan didn't look or sound happy. "There is poison that causes nearly instant respiratory paralysis."

"Fugu." It was a classic briefing now, the story of how 007 had been cut by a Russian agent's poisoned shoe blade, and the extraordinary lengths that led to his rehabilitation. He had been the one in a million survivor. Victoria shivered, and saw her reaction mirrored by Dulcinea.

"Yes. The Chinese use it," Ivan said.

"Brother John moved around a lot. He bumped me twice during the seance," Victoria said. "I won't be holding hands with him again."

"Why kill her?" Dulcinea asked. "This is all about Dr. Kokintz, in some way."

"Before he died, Sterling Durant sent Duchess Gloriana a letter, telling her Dr. Kokintz had left something in his care that would assure the welfare of Grand Fenwick for many years," Ivan said. "He explained about his will and the seances. By the time she received the letter, he was already dead."

"Mail does not travel to Grand Fenwick with any predictability," Dulcinea said. "I will change that."

"Phone call would have been better," Hero muttered, "she could have talked sense into the daft bugger, demanded to have Dr. Kokintz' legacy, and still promised to hold the seances."

"Yes. Gloriana could talk a sinner into a saint," Dulcinea smiled weakly. "She is the most persuasive person I have ever met."

"She persuaded the British government to get involved," Ivan said. "She used the phone for that communication." He stopped, shrugged, eyes laughing as he looked between Hero and Joe.

"The Russians found out by eavesdropping," Joe interpreted. "American intelligence found out through Durant's lawyer, who is a savvy son-of-a-bitch former Navy man as well as a lawyer."

"Russians?" Dulcinea's eyes were wide. "Franz?"

"Ivan." He made a small bow. "Ivan Simanov."

"They want Dr. Kokintz' work destroyed, Dulcy," Hero said. "England, Russia, America . . . they all want to make sure the q-bomb never resurfaces. How very extraordinary."

Dulcinea made a sharp movement with her hand. "But Gloriana would know, I know, whatever Dr. Kokintz left for Grand Fenwick would have nothing to do with the bomb. He regretted ever pursuing that line of research."

"I hope you're right. We have to make sure, though," Joe said. "Yasmine Lee is an independent criminal and part-time Chinese intelligence operative who has made a deal with the Graylings to gain possession of Durant Castle, and find Dr. Kokintz' legacy. Tonight it sounded like Fay had her mind made up, that Durant's spirit wasn't here, and couldn't be contacted. She would have been a no for the final vote."

"Hannah said Sister Ruth spent a long time alone with Fay early this morning, then Fay spent the rest of the day meditating," Ivan said. "She did have a heart condition, and had been unwell since before her flight here."

"She was a low risk termination," Victoria said. "The things she said at the seance . . . I think she had moral scruples about what the Graylings and Lee are trying to do. If her response to Sister Ruth was to threaten public exposure of Lee's tricks, they might have acted without waiting to find out if Fay would really be capable of smearing the names of fellow spiritualists. Do you still think you are part of the plan, Joe?"

Joe grinned. "I told Sister Ruth I needed an employee bonus, and she agreed to an extra $1,000. She doesn't trust me, but as far as I could tell still thinks I'm on the payroll."

"They killed a nice old woman, and bought your vote?" Dulcinea bristled with indignation. "Will you be able to arrest them?"

"Did they buy Dr. Liebman's vote as well?" Hero looked at Ivan. "She was all over you, then abruptly lost interest."

"I told her my scientific reputation had to be unblemished, and if the act was good enough I would vote for them, and the $20,000 donation would be gratefully received by my Institute."

"They offered you more than me?" Joe shook his head. "Guess I was too easy."

"Tonight's act was good." Hero took out his pipe and sucked on it absently. "The Graylings, Lee, Joe and you. That would give them five votes. Is Ben in any danger? Or Mrs. Evelyn?"

"I think not, physically. Both have been soft targets at the seances. Tomorrow, we shall see."

"About the seances. That cabinet needs to be examined more thoroughly. There's some unconventional technology being used, and I'd like to get a look," Hero said. "The ectoplasm light show was amazing. Never seen anything like it."

"It's been on my list," Joe said. "The Triad is a complication."

"Questions?" Ivan looked between Hero and Dulcinea. "You should stay close to Dulcinea. Try not to be alone with the Graylings or Lee. Two more seances, and the conditions of the will are met. Then the rest can be sorted out."

"I think that was a howling euphemism," Hero said darkly. He replaced the pipe into his pocket and stood. "Lead us back to our rooms, MacDuff. I need a nightcap and a smoke."

Ivan nodded. "Victoria and I are going to examine exterior perimeter."

Joe understood. "I'll keep an eye on things inside."

They parted when they reached the cellar, Joe leading Dulcinea and Hero back toward the ladders, Ivan leading Victoria along the wall to a low doorway. From behind a stack of empty crates he pulled several bags.

"Your shopping trip? I'm not dressed for an expedition."

Ivan handed her a padded silk vest and insulated coveralls printed with grey and black camouflage patterns. "Boots too. Your size, I believe. Leave your guns." He handed her a thigh holster and a Beretta with a silencer.

Victoria took off her jacket and the shoulder holster. The vest barely zipped closed, but the coverall was roomier. She zipped it to a point just above her breastbone and felt warmth immediately generated between her body and the vest. The boots were a perfect fit. She adjusted the new holster and gun, then slipped the binoculars into a coverall pocket.

"Ready?" Ivan was wearing an identical coverall. He handed her a black wool stocking hat and fingerless leather gloves. "I'll show you where van is in the woods."

The chill made it through to her legs, but as she followed Ivan onto the grounds her concentration moved away from her body. Wind had sculpted long snow drifts leaving patches of bare, frozen earth between patches of snow. Ivan chose his path swiftly but carefully, minimizing any chance of leaving footprints.

Others had not been as careful. As they approached the woods Victoria could clearly see the beginnings of a new trail marked by constant foot traffic. Once off the lawn, the trees offered excellent cover. Ivan took them deep into the trees. They walked in a fairly straight line for several minutes, then turned and started back toward the house on a slightly northerly angle. She saw the glow before she saw the van. Stooping under a low fir tree, Victoria listened to a low murmur of voices.

The van's side windows were tinted black, and the front windshield was covered inside. A large antenna was mounted on a roof rig aimed in the direction of the castle. The low pulse of a muffled generator could be felt as much as heard against her inner ear. One man leaned against the van, smoking. Another stood beside him, stamping his feet and swinging his arms as though exercising cold muscles.

At least two, then. Victoria raised the binoculars to her eyes, and found she could see shapes through the tinted windows. No human outlines, though, just glowing electronics.

Ivan appeared beside her like a ghost materializing. He held up two fingers, then pointed back into the trees. She followed.

They paralleled what Victoria realized was a rough car track leading to the van. It was better than a training course, she thought, working to keep up with Ivan. He seemed to move effortlessly around fallen trees and knee deep patches of snow. After a time he slowed, stopped and swept a finger to the left where a dim light reached weakly through the trees. He pointed in the direction of the track, then at the base of a nearby tree. Victorian nodded, squatting in the place he had indicated.

Ivan faded away in the direction of the light.

Well, she had warned him about the Americans. Pulling back the sleeve of the coverall she checked her watch. Less than thirty-five minutes from the Castle on foot by stealth. Victoria relaxed against the tree. Passive and receptive she listened to the woods around her. There were several things she needed to consider and examine, but for now all distracting thought was held in abeyance as she waited.

When the uneven scuff and crunch of feet walking up the trail registered, Victoria shifted her position and lay flat on her belly under a bush. A tiny, swinging spot of light appeared to accompany the scuffing.

He was a big man, as big as the Triad, and walked with a limp. An upswing of light momentarily showed his features to be Caucasian rather than Chinese.

Victoria eased the gun into her hand and followed him. She knew in her bones that this was one of the men who had thrown her into the ocean. She estimated the time it would take to walk to the van at about twenty five minutes. It would be best if no obvious blood was left on the snow, or on the track. Halfway between house and van would offer the best buffer in case of noise.

In a situation where she didn't know who was working for whom, or why, Victoria considered whether she should give the man a chance to explain himself. He hadn't shot her in the head, but precipitated her into a hazardous, although survivable, situation.

She would give him a chance.

The track was free of snow, and the time was right. Moving quickly and silently Victoria left the trees and stepped onto the track behind the man.

"Hello. Remember me?"

He swung around, trying to aim the tiny light at her face as he reached for the gun at his belt.

Her shot was precisely centered on his forehead. Victoria watched him crumple and fall sideways, oddly missing most of his head.

"You didn't need to shoot him, too," she said to the woods. "I am perfectly capable."

"Of course you are, milaya moya." Ivan joined her on the track. "It was matter of want, not need."

Between them they collected pieces of skull and undressed the body. Strong odor wafted out of the man's shirt and trousers as Victoria tied the garments around the damaged head, to contain fluids and bits during transport. The odor made an uneasy connection in her mind.

"You hit with both shots in the greenhouse," Ivan said. He pointed at two parallel wounds on the outside of the man's thigh before he slung the body over one shoulder. "We keep to track for a while, then go north through woods."

Victoria nodded. "At least he won't feel it when he hits the water."

 

Joe was waiting when they reentered the basement.

"Mostly quiet here," he said, eyeing Ivan's coverall with speculative interest. "Not so much out there?"

"Quiet enough," Victoria said, removing her coverall. "I found the gentleman who threw me into the water."

"Everything but guns into the bags," Ivan said. "I'll take the guns." He returned her Walther and .38, and stowed the bags behind the crates. "We'll speak in laboratory."

"No. My rooms," Victoria said. "I need you both to help me search. There was a smell of fried food on the man we shot I recognized from earlier tonight, in my rooms."

Ivan said something in Russian that made Joe's dimple flash. Once in her rooms it didn't take long to find the first camera, taped above the bed canopy. The second took longer, but Ivan spotted scratches on the bathroom ventilator grill screws.

"Time controlled exposures," Joe said, examining the first camera. "This wasn't here when you and I searched the day before yesterday, Vickie."

Ivan opened the camera from the bathroom and took out the film. "Ten exposures taken out of 48. Timer is set for two exposures per hours, so camera was activated during seance." He held out his hand for the other camera. Joe passed it over. Ivan removed the film and put both canisters into his trouser pocket.

"He was in here during the seance." Victoria sat down on the bed. "Changing the film. I didn't search the room last night, just made sure the weapons hadn't been touched."

Joe looked between them. "Among the supplies they brought to that farmhouse you probably visited tonight was equipment for a darkroom setup. Do we have a problem?"

"We?" Victoria smiled at him. "What a sweet man you are. Tonight I killed one of their men. He'll be missed before morning, and they will probably find evidence of where he died after the sun comes up."

"I killed him," Ivan said, "and they will be far more vigilant tomorrow. There has been time to develop and make prints from film removed during tonight's seance."

Joe looked between them. "A much killed man would be hard to cover up. You're assuming the cameras were planted yesterday, after Vickie's accident, during the seance. We spent the night searching the lab while Vickie slept, and you took Vickie in to Boston in the morning. That leaves a narrow window of time in the afternoon for the cameras to record anything interesting."

"I am by nature a pessimistic person, Joe." Victoria shrugged. "They only need one photo."

"Go to bed, Joe." Ivan took possession of the second camera. "I think the next seance will be something special, we should be sharp, rested."

"If you need my help, it's yours," Joe said simply. "Vickie's the one who will take the hit."

"When we returned, you said mostly quiet," Ivan said.

Joe paused by the armoire. "The very small Chinese man who has been coming and going from Lee's room, both exterior hallway and passageway, he was here while you were out. He hasn't left, as far as I know, but he moves damn fast and sneaky."

Ivan sat next to her on the bed and waited until Joe had closed the panel behind him. "I am reviewing resources available," he said. "There appear to be four men in farmhouse. Americans have a single watcher in place. Basement windows on rear north side are blacked out. Darkroom will be there."

"Tonight?" Victoria stared at the camera in his hands. Neither of them mentioned the obvious, that unprofessional behavior in their business always ended badly.

"I think not. Timing must be perfect." Ivan took her hand, kissed her scuffed palm. "If Lee has prints, we will want them. Shall I return to my own rooms?"

"No." Victoria tucked her Walther under the pillow, began to undress wearily. "Stick the wedge under the panel, and come to bed."

Ivan settled himself on his side, pulled her against the curve of his body, and went to sleep almost immediately. It took Victoria longer. All the dossiers she had examined in Moneypenny's office were open in her mind, alongside a stack of new information that needed to be filed. As she arranged her collection of accumulated facts by person, by topic, Victoria considered implications and possibilities of those facts in larger and smaller contexts.

Tomorrow she would have questions for HQ London.

Chapter 6

"Idiotizm— bolyezn' neizlechImaya." (Having shit for brains is an incurable disease. – Ivan Simanov
THURSDAY, SEANCE 4

Victoria didn't make it down to the breakfast room until after 10 o'clock. Late night exercise seemed to have decreased, rather than increased, lingering stiffness from the ocean incident. Her arm and wrist could be used normally, and only the puncture wound on her calf continued to be a vague soreness on her leg.

Joe, Ben and Hero were seated around the table drinking coffee, empty plates pushed to the side. Victoria filled a plate and sat next to Hero.

"You missed the medical examiner," Joe said. "He got here around 8, declared death from natural causes. They took her away in a hearse an hour later. Mrs. Evelyn says her family has arranged to fly the body back to Omaha tonight."

"What about Hannah?"

"She's staying until the seances are over, then she'll use her return ticket on Saturday. Apparently she thinks Fay would want her to stay."

Sister Ruth and Brother John walked in during Joe's final words. "Poor dear," Sister Ruth moaned. "Brave, brave girl."

"Hero, I'd like you to drive me into Boston," Victoria said quietly, as Ruth continued questioning Joe about the medical examiner.

"Just me?" Hero's eyes jerked toward the doorway as if he expected to see someone else arriving.

"Yes, please. How's the weather?"

"Calm. Grey. Cold." Hero watched her eat. "You're moving better this morning. Will someone -- that is, Dulcinea will be alone if I go with you."

"Joe will keep her company. I'll run up and get my coat, then meet you by the kitchen door." Victoria swallowed a last bite of fruit and left the table. She rested a hand briefly on Joe's shoulder. "Maybe you and Dulcinea should spend time with Ben until we get back."

"Will do, boss." Joe grinned up at her. The bruise on his face was no longer swollen, but had turned an alarming yellow color. "We'll find Franz and play cards."

The mental picture of those four playing cards entertained her during the first part of their drive. Road conditions had much improved, but Hero seemed to be in a serious, uncommunicative state of mind.

"Hero," she said finally, "spill it."

"What?" He gave her a brief, sideways look.

"First we'll talk about Dulcinea, then we'll talk about Lee's cabinet."

"I can't talk about Dulcinea." His fingers flexed over the steering wheel. "Women. I suppose the two of you have been gossiping about me."

"Yes. It's all about you, Alexander Hero, too clever for his own good, squire of married women everywhere," Victoria said. "You're twice her age, probably unable to sexually satisfy a young woman just coming into her prime. She's as clever as you are, and maybe twice as ambitious, so the inequalities just keep adding up."

"That wasn't very nice." Hero glared at her, taking his eyes off the road for too long.

"Pay attention to the road. I'm not a nice person. She's an adult, treat her like one."

"She kissed me." Hero's voice climbed half an octave. "I wasn't expecting her to kiss me."

"And that's never happened to you before. I understand," Victoria said. "Must have been a cruel shock. Virtue threatened. Unwanted advances. Possible accusations of pedophilia."

"Bugger. She's not that young. Absolutely knew what she was doing," Hero muttered. "It would be like slapping Meg in the face."

"I wondered if that had any part in your behavior." Victoria sighed. "Just treat her like an adult, Hero. Your step-sister is married now, which makes her your natural prey. Don't think Dulcinea hasn't wondered about that."

"I wouldn't." Real anger sharpened Hero's voice.

"Tell her. I'm not asking how you feel about Dulcinea. I'm asking you to have an honest conversation with her, without running away. She's an amazing woman. She could do much better for herself," Victoria said. "So to your great relief, tell me what you've observed about Lee's cabinet."

"Lasers. I think they used lasers to produce the light show." Hero's fingers flexed around the steering wheel again, but this time from excitement.

"Lasers are weapons," Victoria said. "Those lights were all around her head. Nothing melted or exploded."

"It was brilliant." Hero grinned at her. "Lasers can potentially be used for any number of applications. I still have more thinking to do before I figure out how they did it."

"Or take a shortcut, and disassemble the cabinet? Anything else?"

"It would need an independent power source, I think. Those red lights Lee uses for the beginning of the act are cosmetic, run off an extension cord, common house current. The base of the cabinet is solid, and weighs a ton. I watched her men bringing it to the chapel. I'm betting some power cell arrangement is included in the structure. You felt those cold breezes, smelled the odors? There are directional fans in the base, and refrigeration units. Whoever designed it was meticulous, and smart as a whip. The thing is noiseless during operation."

"So. Unfamiliar technology."

"I think so. And it would have cost a fortune to build. How does a Chinatown storefront medium get the money to build a prop like that cabinet?"

"And what does she plan to do with it." The car was nearly at the pub. "Pick me up in an hour and a half . . . "

"I'll be here." Hero found a spot to park the car. "I'll get a pint and a paper to read."

 

"The body will wash up eventually." Chief of Staff Tanner sounded tired. "You gave the gun back to Simanov?"

"It was his gun, sir. I wasn't provided with a silenced weapon. Considering the terrain . . . "

"Yes. I do understand. And they killed the Green woman."

"Almost certainly. The family will have the body in Omaha if the Americans think it's necessary to do an autopsy. Do you have any additional information on Lee?"

"Not yet," Tanner said. "What is it, Miss Winslow?"

"I've seen her type many times in the past. Lee's a performer. She has built herself an incredible prop. What circuit does she intend to play?"

"I'll see what we can find out. The tentative timetable has our people in Boston at the storefront, and the Americans in the country, removing the Chinese agents from play Friday night after the final seance. Lee will have no outside assistance when the vote doesn't go her way Saturday morning. As soon as the lawyer is satisfied the terms of the will have been met, the Americans will arrest Lee and take her into custody. Duchess Gloriana has already given her permission for us to conduct a joint search of Castle Durant at that time. Is that all for now, Miss Winslow?"

"Can our people here get me a small camera? Something easy to conceal, with a high number of exposures? And would you take another look at Donald Wang, with eyes from Q Branch, without using the Americans as the primary source of intel?"

There was a short silence on Tanner's end of the line. "I'll take care of it personally. We'll speak tomorrow."

 

The return trip to the castle was quiet, each of them concentrating on separate problems. As they came through the kitchen, Victoria sent Hero on, then stopped in Mrs. Evelyn's office.

"How's Hannah?"

Mrs. Evelyn was wearing a pair of reading glasses, working on what looked like household accounts. "She's a very resilient young lady. Grieving, but coping with her grief. She's been helping me in the kitchen."

"It was very kind of you to care for her. Do you have a master key to the guest rooms?"

"Yes." Mrs. Evelyn took a key from her desk drawer. "It will open all the guest rooms, but not Mr. Durant's old rooms and office."

"Thank you." Victoria slipped the key into her pocket. "Is there anything you need I can help with?"

"I'd rather not go to the seances, but I'll get through them," Mrs. Evelyn said glumly. "But I'm not promising I won't slap Sister Ruth or that Miss Lee."

"That makes two of us."

Victoria found Joe, Dulcinea, Ben, Sister Ruth, and Brother John playing poker in the library. Hero was sprawled in an armchair, watching Dulcinea's back moodily. Victoria caught Joe's eyes and raised her eyebrows in a question.

Joe shrugged minutely.

Ivan had not said what his plans for the morning were. Victoria returned to her rooms to hang up her coat and stow the bag of odds and ends she had bought at a pharmacy, partially as cover for their trip into town, partially because she wanted a couple of rolls of the elasticized bandage Ivan had used on her wrist. The wedge was still in place on the panel, the bed and bathroom were still camera-free. She had just decided to return to the library, or breakfast room, when three soft knocks sounded on her bedroom door.

"Miss Lee." Victoria's eyes took in the jade green robes, noticing the metal pins that secured the woman's hairstyle looked potentially useful. She backed away, opening the door wider. "Please come in."

"Thank you." Lee's appraisal of her was no less thorough. When she finished, one hand went into a full sleeve and pulled out a letter-sized envelope. "I know you work for the British government. I know Dr. Liebman has ties to Russian intelligence. This is simple blackmail, Miss Brown. We require your votes on Saturday. If both you and Dr. Liebman vote for proof of survival, the negatives of these pictures will be destroyed. If you do not vote in the Graylings' favor, we will send prints from the negatives to the London tabloids."

Victoria took the envelope. She looked at the first black and white photo. It had been taken from the bed camera and showed them curled together in sleep. The sheet hid most of their skin, only the top curve of one of her breasts showed under the arm he had draped over her. But the second . . . they had gotten lucky with the second photograph.

Did her face always look like that when they made love, she wondered, touching a fingertip to the photo.

They were standing together under the shower, sideways to the lens. The lines of their naked bodies, dripping water from the shower, pressed together at the pelvis to obscure genitals, but exposing her breasts, seemed posed. His muscles were defined by water, turned to classic sculpture, turned to an image that made her breath catch in her throat. One of her hands was on his chest, the other on his waist. One of Ivan's hands cupped her face, the other pressed against the small of her back. Their eyes were half closed, and they were looking at each other with an intensity the camera had recorded perfectly.

"It's so beautiful. He's so beautiful." Victoria looked up to find Lee frowning. "I wish I could have it framed."

"You are indifferent to exposure and scandal?" Lee's eyes narrowed. "I do not believe you would risk . . ."

"I'm not indifferent," Victoria said, reluctantly returning the photos to the envelope. "But if I do as you ask, I'll still face censure from my government."

"Some censure, but you will be provided with an excuse for your action at tonight's seance." Lee half turned toward the door. "Take care one accident is not followed by another, Miss Brown."

Victoria locked the door behind her. She sat on the bed and took the photographs from the envelope. How long she sat and looked at his image, she wasn't sure. The single soft knock on the panel jarred her back to alertness.

"Lee's been to see me." Victoria let him pass her without acting on what had become a Pavlovian response to being alone with him in a bedroom. "On the bed."

Ivan picked up the photos and examined them, one by one. "You are beautiful, milaya moya. So beautiful. I would wish to keep this photograph."

"Almost exactly what I said. She wants my vote, or they will go to the tabloids. She doesn't know who you are, only that you have a connection to Russian intelligence." Victoria focused on his fingers, holding the photographs. "She thought to scare me. I only want to get your clothing off."

"Yes." Ivan put the photographs into the envelope. "They must be burned. Her rooms must be searched."

"We should speak with Joe." Victoria stepped into his arms and lay her head against his shoulder. "What have you been doing?"

"Da. We should speak with Joe." His mouth moved in her hair, then against her jaw, ending at her mouth. "Does my face always look like that when we make love? It is the way I feel about you, Victoria. I do not have words."

His mouth had always told her how he felt. His mouth and his body. The kiss was slow, deep like the first kiss in Paris. Victoria pulled his shirt away from his pants and slid her hands against bare skin. "Clothes off," she said desperately.

Someone knocked on the door. Two quiet knocks.

"As Joe would say, shit." Ivan kissed her again. "Be patient." He rebuttoned and tucked his shirt quickly.

"I'd rather be naked on top of you." Victoria took a deep breath, straightened her clothing. She went to the door. "Yes?"

"It's Joe."

Victoria opened the door. "Really bad timing, Joe. Go away for an hour."

"Am I interrupting something?"

"Discussion concerning blackmail." Ivan found the envelope, folded it into quarters, then eighths, and stuck it into his pocket. He looked at his watch. "Four hours until dinner. We should relocate discussion. Joe, return to your rooms then use passages and meet us in the laboratory."

Joe shook his head. "I walked up with Ben, and he knows I wasn't going to my own rooms. It's my judgment you're both the real deal. And Vickie could find herself in a world of trouble when she gets home. Lee knows the two of you have a thing, so the Graylings probably know. The rest of them," Joe waved a hand around, "aren't sure. I'm offering my services as a smokescreen, since other services were politely declined." He finished with a wink.

"Joe, I don't know what to say. You can't lie to your people."

"I'll try to avoid that, but I'm afraid my people would not be surprised if we --" Joe shrugged. "There's a reason I'm head of my own department of one."

"Bol'shoe spasibo." Ivan held out his hand and took Joe's. "I am practical about this. Victoria?"

"Thank you." She stood on tiptoe and kissed Joe's cheek. "I already checked for cameras."

They settled on the bed in what Victoria had come to think of as their usual corners.

"Can I see the photos?"

"No," Ivan said.

"I'm actually quite proud of that photo," Victoria said. "Viewed strictly as art . . ."

"Joe would not view as art. Tell us about Lee's visit."

"Lee wants my vote, with yours, or the London tabloids will get a graphic story. My people are ready to move Friday night after the seance, to take out the personnel at the storefront in town," Victoria said.

"And mine are ready to move at the farmhouse at the same time." Joe looked at Ivan. "We need to get in first, find the darkroom."

"Or burn it to the ground," Victoria said. "And shoot everyone."

"I would agree, but would like to verify that the negatives have been destroyed," Ivan said.

"After the seance, recon?" Joe nodded. "Decide then?"

"Lee said something about the seance tonight -- that it would give me the excuse I would need to vote for confirmation of survival," Victoria said. "It will be all her show tonight, and I'm keeping my distance from Brother John."

"Yeah. Bullets, not hand-to-hand for that boy," Joe said. "I'd offer to search Lee's rooms, but she rarely leaves except during the seances."

"I can do it," Victoria said. "Lee always makes her entrance on the hour. I should be able to do at least a preliminary search in twenty minutes. She's not a trained agent, and there are only so many hiding places in rooms like these."

"She'll wonder why you aren't in the chapel," Joe said, raising his eyebrows.

"I'll have Dulcinea give her an excuse." Victoria settled back against her single pillow and smiled at them. "You can stay for another half hour, Joe, then I'm kicking you out. Let's review our progress to date. Ivan, you and Joe searched the laboratory. How much of the library did you get through?"

"Perhaps a third. The bookshelves comprise the greatest area," Ivan said. "Furnishings in the room were unrevealing."

"Difficult to search that many books efficiently unless you're making a hell of a mess," Joe said. "They can do that after Saturday, if necessary. I've been through Durant's rooms, and Mrs. Evelyn put me in the rooms that Kokintz stayed in while he was here."

"I've been through the office connected to Mrs. Evelyn's. Joe, I'm assuming your people made sure nothing undisclosed had been left with the lawyer?"

Joe shook his head. "Yeah. Easterly did say if the old man claimed there was something left in the castle, he wouldn't be putting one over. It wasn't a lie."

"Mrs. Evelyn told me Durant loved the secret passage system."

"Same difficulty as library, on different scale," Ivan said. "Design in house is uncomplicated. I've studied areas near Durant's rooms and the library minutely. Passages do not run to kitchen offices, or games room and chapel wing. Cellars are extensive, and there may be hidden places I have missed."

"Time to search smart, not dirty." Victoria sighed. "Two more seances, and the Americans can do it both ways."

"We are versatile and thorough," Joe said. "You want me to go away now, don't you?"

"You must work in intelligence."

Ivan swung his feet off the bed, followed Joe to the door and locked it behind him. "To resume discussion about art photo. I think you were saying something about being naked on top of me."

 

Hannah and Mrs. Evelyn's nephews were arranging food on the sideboard when Victoria came downstairs just before 7 o'clock. She ate quickly, and had already disposed of her dishes when Ben, Dulcinea and Hero arrived. She settled next to Dulcinea with a cup of coffee, assessing the state of careful neutrality that had replaced the discomfort between Hero and Dulcinea. The Graylings, trailed by Ivan, came in next.

"I need some exercise to work out the aches and stiffness," Victoria said. She kept her voice to a low, conversational tone, not trying to prevent anyone else from hearing. "When you're done, would you like to walk around with me?"

"Yes. After an afternoon of reading, a walk sounds good." Dulcinea gathered her dishes and took them to the sideboard.

Victoria turned automatically toward the grand entry. "I think I'd like to go to the tower."

"How do you feel, really?" Dulcinea asked as they climbed stairs side by side. "Because you look smashing. Luminescent. Even in navy blue office clothing you're radiant tonight."

"Bugger." Victoria frowned. It was discomfiting to know her newly acquired reservoir of happiness was affecting her exterior. "I need you to alibi me tonight with Lee, before the seance gets underway."

They reached the final landing and opened the door to the tower. Dulcinea reached for a light switch, but Victoria stopped her.

"No. There's enough light to see, and no need to spotlight where we are to watchers." Victoria stood near the door and began a slow visual inspection of the tower. "I'm going to be upstairs in my rooms at 9 o'clock. Yasmine hasn't missed an entrance yet. At exactly 9 o'clock I'm going to search her rooms. She will be suspicious when I'm not in the chapel. I need you to tell her I started my monthlies unexpectedly, and I'll be down in a few minutes. Have everyone start the meditation routine Fay was using with us. I'll be in the chapel by 9:25."

"And if she leaves the chapel?" Dulcinea perched on the edge of an armchair, watching rain course over the long glass windows.

"She won't. Keep them occupied with the music and meditation." Victoria looked down at the carpet. She considered asking Dulcinea to help her move the furniture. The floor was slab stone, and could conceivably contain a floor cache. Instead she sat in the second armchair and picked up the first magazine from the neat stack on the small coffee table. Strawberries, dew covered and vivid, filled the glossy cover of a publication promoting organic farming. She riffled down through the stack, noticing the dates were several years old.

"Sandro has been standing guard over me, but he keeps it impersonal," Dulcinea said. "He's driving me mad. He looks at me with an indescribable mixture of stoic self-abnegation that makes me want to hit him. There hasn't been opportunity for another kiss-offensive. I found the bugs in my room, by the way."

"Really? Well done." Victoria grinned, studying an oversized bunch of grapes in the centerfold position of one of the magazines. "What did you do with them?"

"Gave them to Sandro." Dulcinea paused. "You probably don't want me to say, but it's obvious you're very much in love. I see it, because it's the way I feel. I have only the vaguest idea of what problems you might be facing. If you need my help, I'll do whatever I can."

It was an unexpectedly moving offer. "Thank you, but that's something you should know nothing about."

"I saw his face when we put you into the bathtub," Dulcinea said. "I wish Sandro would look at me like that." She gave Victoria a rueful smile. "Without the maniacal killing rage."

"I thought I was the poor actor." She flipped over another magazine and studied a bright purple cardstock cover.

"I never get the sense you're acting," Dulcinea said judiciously, "just watchful and reserved. He's first-class, stays completely in character as Dr. Liebman. Even when he carried you inside, he didn't really lose it until we had you in the bathtub."

Victoria took a deep breath and flipped to the next magazine. "Do you think Gloriana will ask you to stay here?"

"I hope not." Dulcinea walked to the dark window and stared out the rain-stained glass. "I can't do the job I've trained for over here. I love Grand Fenwick, but my country needs a lot of work. My brothers dodged out of university. One of them can take charge here. If Gloriana and Tully even decide to keep Durant Castle."

Keeping her attention on Dulcinea's back, Victoria retrieved the publication with the purple cover. She slipped it beneath her jacket, under one arm and partially in her waistband.

"Remember to keep your distance from Lee and the Graylings tonight. And trip Hero if it looks like he's trying to live up to his name at any point."

Dulcinea turned away from the windows, shivering. "You be careful too."

"It's cold up here." Victoria looked at her watch. "I'll go back to my rooms, you go straight to the chapel."

When they reached the door of her rooms, Victoria watched until Dulcinea left the landing for the grand staircase. Stepping inside she found the panel wedge in place, and no intruders lurking in the bathroom. She turned the lock on the bathroom door, then pulled the cardstock covered publication from beneath her arm.

A Proposal for Precision Viticulture on Lands Within Grand Fenwick: Soil Surveys, Relational Databases, and Sustainable, Organic methods of Soil Improvement

"Make wine, not war," Victoria murmured with a smile, as the meaning of the words was reinforced by a handwritten legend inside the cover.

The perfect place to hide Dr. Kokintz' legacy seemed obvious. Victoria opened the panel and stepped into the passage. Without waiting for her eyes to adjust, she paced out the steps to Dulcinea's rooms. By the time she reached the correct panel, she could vaguely see her surroundings. She turned the catch, then stepped through next to Dulcinea's armoire. The bedroom lights were all on. It took Victoria only a moment to find the pile of glossy fashion magazines on one bedside stand, and slip A Proposal for Precision Viticulture between two Cosmopolitans.

There had never been any danger the q-bomb would resurface here, Victoria thought, replacing her wedge. The Americans had known about Kokintz' correspondence with California wine growers, about Durant's interest in growing grapes. She considered these facts as she waited by her door, watching the minutes pass.

Everyone but Lee would be in the chapel by now. Sister Ruth would make some saccharine remark about Victoria's absence, and Dulcinea would confide the reason. Lee was leaving her room now. She would be making her way to the chapel so she could enter at exactly 9 o'clock.

Victoria watched the minute hand. At exactly 9 o'clock she left her rooms and walked briskly to the south wing.

Lee's door was locked. Victoria used the skeleton key, took out her gun, and stepped into the room. She had been prepared to find the small Chinaman, but the rooms were empty. Victoria covered the quick and obvious areas first, then went through the dresser drawers and armoire. She found nothing. Only eight minutes remained when she pulled a leather suitcase away from the side of the armoire and inspected the lock. It was a commercial, not custom, lock, and took her only a few seconds to open with her lapel picks.

When Victoria opened the lid she wasted thirty seconds staring at leather flails and leather garments before she lifted the top fitted tray. The bottom compartment held more unusual objects, including a carved ivory blowgun, and row of phalluses in ascending size. An envelope lay on top of a small box containing two vials of clear liquid and a stoppered glass tube containing fine pieces of wood with darkened tips.

Sex toys, leather underwear, poison, and pornography. It seemed Lee kept all her eggs in one basket.

The envelope contained two more sets of photographs, but no negatives. Victoria crammed the envelope into her waistband and checked her watch. Two minutes left. She ran to the dresser and pulled a handful of tissues from a box, then carefully shook two of the darts into a cocoon of tissue and placed it in her jacket pocket.

With one last look at the sex toy collection, Victoria replaced the top tray, closed the suitcase and set it back against the armoire. Moving rapidly she left the room, locking the door from the outside with the skeleton key. She ran through the hallway, down the grand stairway. A detour to the breakfast room took another forty five seconds while Victoria made sure the envelope was completely, irretrievably ablaze in the fireplace.

She checked her watch and found she was one minute past her estimated schedule.

Music was playing when she entered the chapel, but no one was meditating. Ivan and Joe had taken the seats on either side of Brother John, although everyone else was in their previous spots. Victoria shot Dulcinea a look she hoped would pass for flushed embarrassment and mouthed thank you. She sat down in the chair Joe had occupied during past seances.

"Do you need a few more minutes, Miss Brown?" Lee asked. She evaluated Victoria with clear dislike.

"No. I'm fine now. Please continue." Victoria waved a hand airily.

"Hannah. Lights," Lee commanded as she climbed into the cabinet.

The cabinet's red lights went on at the same moment the chapel lights went out. The Triad fastened the cuffs over Lee's wrists, left the cabinet and pulled the outer curtain closed. Lee's chin dropped forward nearly onto her chest. When she spoke Victoria could barely see her lips move.

"Sister Ruth, please lead the singing."

Sister Ruth warbled into a hymn Victoria didn't recognize. The red lights flickered, then died. Victoria lifted the binoculars to her eyes in time to see Lee extend her foot, hook the inside opaque curtain and pull it closed. For a moment only a ghostly after-image of her body remained in the glasses, then the returning glow of red light seemed to reveal Lee in vivid detail, still seated stiffly in the same pose.

Dropping the binoculars, Victoria caught a flash of eyewhite from the Triad. He had noticed her using the binoculars, and didn't like it.

"Sterling, we're waiting to hear from you." Sister Ruth stopped singing, leaving Brother John to gamely continue the next verse solo. "We've come together as you asked. I'm reaching for you, Sister Lee is reaching for you. Give us a sign you hear us, show the unbelievers truth of existence beyond the flesh."

A blast of frigid air rolled away from the cabinet and settled vaporously over the table, bringing with it a growing feeling of almost paranoid unease. Victoria's skin seemed too tight, as if it was shrinking under the clammy cold.

"We have contact," Brother John intoned, seizing the excuse to stop singing.

It was a different kind of light show than the evening before. Pale, blue light seemed to writhe over Lee.

"She's in a deep, deep trance," Sister Ruth said. "Can you find Sterling, Sister Lee? Reach him for us, bridge the way."

"Eeeevvvie."

It was an eerie sound, Victoria would give Lee that much. The low voice sounded rough, masculine. She heard Mrs. Evelyn make a choking cry and reached for her hand. The woman's fingers trembled in her grasp.

"Need to know" the voice continued. "With you."

Lee's image wavered, changed. Mrs. Evelyn's grip tightened spasmodically as Sterling Durant's face resolved from Lee's features, then completely replaced the woman's head. His image was static, but not flat. He seemed to be looking downward in much the same posture Lee had held.

"Sterling!" The Graylings both added loud recognition.

The man's face wavered, then faded until only Lee's still features remained.

"Evie. I see you. I'm with you."

It was the most dramatic moment for the cabinet lights to die, so they did.

"Hannah. Lights." Victoria pried her hand away from Mrs. Evelyn and stood. Listening for it, she heard the small hiss of sound as Lee pushed the curtain aside before the overhead lights came up. She swept a look down the table. Ben was staring at the cabinet, white-faced and grim. Hero held Dulcinea's hand, an expression of rapt excitement in his eyes.

"Success, Sister Lee. We heard Sterling, we saw Sterling. Here's proof enough for any doubting Thomas," Sister Ruth said smugly.

Mrs. Evelyn took a huge, ragged breath and began to cry.

"Dulcinea. Hero. Get her a drink and stay with her until she calms down. Take Hannah with you." Victoria caught Ben's eyes. "Remove your tapes, use Mrs. Evelyn's office and update your journal. Get a drink on the way." She skipped the Graylings. "Dr. Liebman, Mr. Deauville, it would be helpful for you to take a moment and write an account of what you just witnessed."

"Do we get a drink first?" Joe asked.

"One drink." Victoria nodded. "I will write my own observations down." She watched Lee step off the cabinet platform. "Do you need anything further, Miss Lee?"

"No. I must rest. It was a terrible strain," Lee said conversationally. "We will all speak tomorrow before the last seance." She left, with the Graylings on her heels.

It was like watching rats leave a sinking ship, Victoria thought. None of them believed anything supernatural had happened, but a sense of oppressive unease lingered even under full illumination.

She caught up with Ivan and Joe in the breakfast room, where Ben was downing a finger of whiskey. Mrs. Evelyn was on the sofa between Dulcinea and Hannah. She was drinking a large brandy, no longer crying and visibly furious. Hero stood behind them, smoking a cigarette.

Ivan handed her a glass containing less vodka than he usually poured. Victoria took it in a single swallow.

"I think there was drug in the air," he murmured. "Small amount, causes anxiety."

"Does vodka counteract it?" She held out her glass. He grinned and poured another her another swallow.

Victoria went to stand beside Hero. "Take Mrs. Evelyn to her rooms. Have Hannah stay with her. She doesn't believe it was Sterling, but reinforce that for her. Then take Dulcinea to her rooms. Block the panel with something on the inside, lock her door, and stay with her tonight. We won't be in our rooms for a while."

Hero's mouth moved, but nothing came out.

"Do you need a gun?" Victoria stooped and removed the .38. "Point and pull the trigger. Nothing to it. Don't shoot yourself in the foot."

"I know how to use a gun." Hero put the .38 in his pocket. "Ben?"

"Tell him not to go to the office, but go to his rooms and stay there. Ivan says they added a drug to the cabinet's cold air effect."

"Thought so." Hero nodded. "Made us all edgy, anxious. Later, if you can, let us know --"

"Yes. Live up to your name, my son," she said, altering her accent broadly.

Hero's eyes were unhappy, but he had the air of a man who knew his duty. Victoria smiled encouragement at Dulcinea. She left the breakfast room with Ivan and Joe close behind her.

"It will take me a few minutes," Joe said as they climbed the grand stairway. "Meet you by the door you came in last night." He peeled away toward the south wing.

"There's nothing you need in your rooms?" Ivan asked.

"No." She followed him to his rooms. He handed her the silenced Beretta, then began to change his clothes.

"Leave your jacket and the Walther here. Our clothing from last night is still in basement." Ivan pulled on a dark turtleneck. "Your search?"

"I burned two additional sets of prints. There were no negatives."

 

They were dressed for outdoors, and Victoria was brushing crusty bits of material off the back of Ivan's coverall when Joe joined them.

"What's the plan?"

"FIrst, see if listening post has relocated," Ivan said. "I have a single timed charge we can use."

"How long?"

"Three minutes." Ivan shrugged. "Is not very big explosive, more diversionary."

"Are we going in?" Victoria asked.

"I may go in," Ivan said, "or we may burn house. Or both."

"We're not going to hurt the American on watch," Joe said. "This is very important."

"I'm good at permanently repressing curiosity, Joe, not so good at discouraging it," Victoria said. She didn't want to harm friendly agents, but options and materials were limited.

"We will attempt to work around him. I will take responsibility." Ivan held open the door for them. "I lead. Joe takes rear."

There was less snow on the ground than there had been the night before. Whatever melted during the day had soaked into the earth and set up hard and frozen as day turned to night. The wind had died completely leaving clear sky and bitter cold that bit into exposed skin. They found the clearing where the van had been empty except for crushed earth and a pile of paper garbage. Ivan didn't pause, but went back into the woods parallel to the track. When light glowed ahead of them, Ivan gestured to them to stay, and disappeared toward the house.

Victoria waited patiently, and saw Joe adopt the same relaxed posture. She could just make out his face as he grinned and winked at her. It was twenty long minutes before Ivan returned, carrying a rifle with a scope.

"American will wake up with headache, no worse than hangover," Ivan whispered, handing the rifle to Victoria. "The van is parked next to farmhouse and another large car. Six men are playing cards in living area toward front of house. Back door is locked."

"Six men. What about the small Chinese man?" Joe asked.

"May be unaccounted for," Ivan said. "I'm going to attach the charge to the van, set it, then go to back door. Electricity feeds into house from overhead wire. When explosion occurs, Victoria will cut electricity, then begin to take out windows on the north side of house, one at a time."

"But not the big window, where they're gathered?"

"Save for last."

"Just so I'm clear," Joe said. "She's going to shoot the wire going into the house?"

"That's why he brought me the nice American rifle." Victoria felt adrenalin race through her blood and skin. She grinned at his raised eyebrows. "This is what I do, Joe. Was there extra ammunition?"

"Da." Ivan produced a handful of bullets. "I'm going to break window in back door to get in. Joe, alternate shots with Victoria to take out windows in back."

"The house only has so many windows," Victoria said. She took the bullets and placed them in her side pocket. "Can you set a fire?"

"Darkroom will have chemicals. Now, quickly."

The second car was a dark sedan, parked some distance from the van under a rickety carport. There were only two visible lights on in the house, one in the room with the card players, one small glimmer from what was possibly a hallway light.

Victoria stood and sighted through the scope at the junction of rooftop where utility wire met the house. It was like focusing on a pencil stroke made on a sheet of black construction paper. She closed her eyes when Ivan's shadow stooped by the van, and began counting. When she got to 145, Victoria opened her eyes, adjusted her aim minutely, then closed her eyes two seconds before the detonation filled the night with light, fire, smoke and noise.

She squeezed the rifle's trigger. The lights in the house went out. Victoria dropped to one knee, waited another four seconds, then began breaking the downstairs windows.

Joe's shots echoed hers the first three times, then the house's inhabitants began to contribute gunfire as the front window broke from the inside. The van, relocated against the side of the house by the explosion, was spreading flames to siding and lower roof. Victoria stopped shooting and let Joe continue alone. The pause had the desired effect. Bodies spilled out of the broken window, two shooters laying down frantic cover fire.

Well, the debate over burning the house had been settled. Smoke was beginning to flow out of the broken windows. Victoria let the three tumbling figures gain the security of the sedan before she targeted the position of one of the shooters. A scream followed her shot, more gunfire from a single gun, then one limping man supported by another exited in a cloud of smoke, trying to keep low and hug the house as they ran.

Victoria let them go. The sedan started, rocketed away from the house leaving a spray of gravel, and at least one man still inside.

Turning her attention back to the house, Victoria broke the few remaining windows. She left the empty rifle propped against a tree, and walked away from the house toward the beginning of the track. The roof fell in as she turned to watch.

They were both coughing when they reached her, but otherwise undamaged.

"You decided to burn house around me?" Ivan bent nearly double coughing, then came up grinning.

"Your explosion started the fire," Victoria said. "Not my fault. The negatives?"

"Secondary fire in darkroom," Ivan said. "Someone set himself on fire and fell onto flammable liquids. There were a great many pictures of the interior of the castle as well as others. All gone now."

"Let's get out of here." Joe coughed and spat. "And get the smell of burning evidence off us."

 

Joe waited while they stripped off the coveralls.

"Clean up, return to Victoria's room," Ivan said. "We should stay together for rest of night."

"Shit. That's an unexpected offer." Joe winked at Victoria.

"Stay in your rooms next to Fu Manchu of Hollywood's, and you may get an even more unexpected offer," Victoria said.

They paused in the passage while Ivan collected fresh clothing, her jacket and the Walther from his rooms. He had insisted on taking point again, with Joe in the rear.

"That was a hell of a shot, Vickie." Joe stooped to prevent his head from bumping the top of the passage. "Are you absolutely sure you wouldn't rather have an affair with me?"

"We owe you for tonight, but not that much." Victoria touched his cheek. "Thank you."

Ivan stepped into the passage, closing the panel behind him. "Am I interrupting?"

"She's turning me down. Again."

"Good." Ivan led the way to Victoria's panel. "If you're not back in fifteen minutes, Joe, I will come to find you."

"You think Ben will be okay?" Joe hesitated before moving off.

"For tonight. Tomorrow night will be more likely timeframe for acquisition of hostages."

 

Victoria sat on the bed, Beretta in hand, while Ivan showered. Her own hair left a faint smell of smoke when it moved against her face. It had been a good shot, one she'd felt as much as seen. The negatives and pictures were gone. They only had one more night before the lawyer would come, the vote would be taken, and Durant Castle would belong to Grand Fenwick. And she could tell them all she had solved the mystery of Dr. Kokintz' legacy.

It would be time to return to England.

She had not allowed herself to dwell on mission's end, not allowed herself to think about getting on a plane again and pretending she could let him go. Even this small moment of not thinking about it was like a hand grabbing something between her throat and lungs and twisting away her ability to breathe.

Ivan came out of the bathroom wearing only a clean pair of trousers, his feet and chest bare, toweling his hair as he walked. When he saw her face he dropped the towel and came quickly to the bed.

"Victoria?"

"I smell like smoke. I should shower." She handed him the Beretta and tried to step past him.

He took the gun, but put his hand on her arm, stopping her.

"Please. Don't."

His hand dropped from her arm at the same moment a single knock sounded on the panel.

"All was quiet. I brought liquor and glasses." Joe stopped after two steps and a good look at their faces. "Everything okay?"

Victoria nodded, and continued to the bathroom. She stood under the hot water for a long time before she began to wash her hair.

 

Joe was alone in the bedroom when she came out. He had moved the armchair and footstool near the bed so he could reach the nightstand, and lounged comfortably, drinking whiskey. "He went to check on Dulcinea and Hero. He isn't comfortable sitting around, is he?"

"No." She had known this about Ivan, but never formalized the observation. "I'm glad we're working together, Joe."

"It's been a blast." He raised his glass.

Victoria took Ivan's usual spot near the nightstand, put her hand under the pillow to make sure the Walther was there, then poured vodka. "I keep getting the odd ones, Joe. Are your assignments all on the fringe?" she threw back the first glass, refilled it.

"For the past two years, yeah. Drugs, blood, rituals, and more drugs." Joe shook his head. "I got this natural camouflage, and the skills, so I do draw the fringe assignments."

"Better than being turned into a kind of super nanny with a gun." Victoria heard the movement near the armoire and poured vodka into the second glass. "They're all right? I gave Hero my .38."

Ivan crowded in and pushed her away from the nightstand. He took the glass of vodka in one hand, looped the other arm around Victoria and pulled her against his side. "I believe Dulcinea is all right. Not sure about Hero."

"Oh?" Victoria saw the corners of his eyes and started to laugh. "Oh."

Joe sighed. "Another good man meets his match."

"More than a match," Ivan said. "TIme for review, then we take turns sleeping and watching. Victoria -- Lee's room?"

"She likes leather underwear, and has a collection of --" she stopped, not exactly embarrassed, but the word seemed so blunt. "Sex paraphenalia and little whips. Also vials of something clear, probably the fugu extract. I brought two darts out your people can analyze as evidence."

"Leather underwear." Joe shook his head. "I'd like to see that. Would you be more specific about the sex paraphenalia?"

"No. I didn't find any other weapons. Tonight, tomorrow at the latest, Lee will know her copies of the photographs are gone, and the farmhouse has burned."

"She will still be focused on the vote, and still think she has her men in town in reserve," Joe said. "We should keep an eye on the others tomorrow."

Victoria slid out from under Ivan's arm. "I'll take first watch. Give me the chair, Joe. If you can get him to give you a pillow, you can sleep on my side of the bed for a couple of hours."

Ivan raised an eyebrow, but threw a pillow at Joe, who kicked off his shoes, stretching and groaning theatrically as he settled on the bed.

"She just wants to be able to say, truthfully, that I slept in her bed," Joe said. "Smarter than your average Brit agent."

Victoria turned the armchair so it had clear view of the door and the panel. "Be quiet. Sleep. Dream of leather underwear."

"Shit." Joe turned on his side, back to Ivan and didn't move again.

"Victoria?" Ivan's quiet voice held a question.

"You need to sleep. I'll wake you in two hours."

It only took a couple of minutes. She heard Ivan's breathing change, then Joe began to snore lightly. People in their line of work had to be able to function on limited sleep, but continuing nighttime excursions and activities took a toll. It probably would have been safe enough to crawl in between them and shut her eyes.

But that would be an unprofessional, careless action. Victoria reached for the vodka and filled her glass. She knew the reality of her life, of her relationship with Ivan. She had allowed herself to forget that reality, to behave as if it didn't exist. Those photographs had been direct result of her carelessness.

You're nothing like I thought you'd be. You're so quiet and repressed, I thought you'd be a firecracker in bed. You're really rather sweet.

Quiet and repressed. Tom Brown's words ran through her mind. He hadn't realized she was bored and a bit uncomfortable to be near him after sex.

There was no big mystery about her psychology and personality. Victoria had been born late to two people who, she was convinced, only had sex on holidays before she was born, and never afterward. Thinking really hard, she could remember seeing her father kiss her mother lightly on the cheek perhaps three times in her life. Hugging, kissing, comfort touching were foreign gestures one saw on the street, or the telly.

If common expressions of love were scarce during her early years, so were anger and physical abuse. In such an environment, Victoria developed into a quiet, practical, rarely introspective child with abnormally keen observational skills and tenacious curiosity about the adult world. Exposure to her mother's spiritualist acquaintances made her cautious and suspicious, and very much aware of games most adults played.

When she was old enough to choose to have sex, she did. Practical in this as in everything else, Victoria analyzed her first fumbling attempts at achieving orgasm, her body's demands, available partners, and decided sex would improve with age and experience. She rather thought it would definitely improve if she could find a man she wanted to be intimate with for more than twenty minutes.

She had never imagined finding a man like Ivan. Companion, friend, co-worker, lover: he fit into every part of her existence.

The tightness in her chest was probably due to heat generated by the vodka. Victoria told herself this would be the last time she would allow herself to be with him, and if she ever came across him again on assignment, she would shoot herself in the foot and get sent home.

Considering other possible scenarios, if they continued to meet and fall into bed in odd parts of the globe, a self-inflicted wound seemed the most practical strategy for ensuring her own self-preservation. And his survival.

Chapter 7

Nothing clears up a case so much as stating it to another person. - Arthur Conan Doyle

FRIDAY, SEANCE 5

Rain resumed falling just as Hero pulled the car out of the garage, and while it was better than snow Victoria was heartily sick of any kind of precipitation. She stared through streaked glass at passing bare brown earth and reviewed the morning from waking Ivan for watch at 3 a.m., to Hero's rather desperate suggestion he drive her to town after brunch.

There was no doubt in Victoria's mind that it was going to be a French farce of a day.

Contrary to her expectations, sleep had been elusive after she woke Ivan and he took her place in the armchair. Victoria buried her face in the pillows, filled her lungs with the scent of Ivan's skin, and found conflicting physical imperatives made it impossible to relax. Joe still snored occasionally, finally waking near 6 o'clock to inquire why they didn't trust him to take his turn at watch.

Grabbing one of her jacket and trouser outfits, Victoria locked herself in the bathroom leaving Ivan to answer Joe's morning bitchery alone. When she came out again, Ivan was gone and Joe looked perplexed and uncomfortable.

They left Victoria's rooms through the hallway, but saw no one until they got to the breakfast room and found one of the boys lighting the fire. Although the table was positioned for dining, Joe dragged one of the armchairs back near the fireplace and seemingly went to sleep. When Victoria followed the boy back to the kitchen, to lend a hand carrying the tea and coffee things, she found Mrs. Evelyn in her office nursing a cup of coffee, along with an unaccustomed and greatly regretted hangover. Embracing a welcome sense of purpose, Victoria told her to go back to bed and leave food preparation to her and Hannah. Cooking was a simple exercise that left her calm and satisfied with the tangible outcome of her work.

She finished the last of the hot dishes, a quiche with ham, broccoli and Swiss cheese that she thought turned out rather well, just before 9:30, and returned to the breakfast room. Ivan was smoking, with Joe and Ben seated on the sofa.

Ivan looked at her, and continued to look at her with such detached calm she began to feel like a target, while Joe spoke casually with Ben. Joe looked alert, but the fading bruise on his face gave him a less-than-healthy aspect. His conversation was the only thing keeping the silence from becoming universal.

Hero arrived in the breakfast room just before 10 o'clock with Dulcinea. Where Dulcinea was serene and glowing, Hero was absent-minded and clumsy, setting his cuff on fire when he attempted to light his pipe. Dulcinea caught her eye briefly, and smiled like a cat who had just enjoyed the run of the dairy.

It was obvious the kiss offensive had been taken to another level. Victoria masked her laughter by swallowing coffee, then choked on the coughing fit that followed.

The Graylings did not come down until nearly 11 o'clock. Both were withdrawn and unfriendly, eating then leaving in the direction of the chapel.

Victoria didn't bother to make an excuse for her trip to town. By the time the Graylings exited the breakfast room Hero was hovering near the door, anxious to escape.

 

"Anyone would think you just lost your virginity."

"I'm not talking about it." Hero shot her a glance of loathing.

"It's not a big drama, Hero. You need perspective." Victoria sighed and turned so she could watch his face. "You love her."

"Of course I bloody love her. I just thought, maybe, it would be nice if I was the one to do the seducing. When she was a little older." Hero rolled his eyes. "Don't say it. I know how daft that sounds. She's just so smug."

"She loves you." Victoria wondered how such a simple formula could result in anything from a damp, fizzling fuse to continent leveling q-bomb. "I don't know what will happen tonight. Both of you need to be very careful."

"May I have a bigger gun?" Hero didn't seem to be joking.

"Guns are my thing," she said. "You've done work for Q branch before, that's why you're here. You'll have a job to do tonight, and I may have to leave you alone while you do it."

"The cabinet?"

"I'm picking up a camera today. Your government wants you to examine and photograph the technology in that cabinet." Victoria thought for a moment. "And if there are easily removable bits you find particularly interesting, feel free."

"What about the Triad?" Hero's voice and posture had altered dramatically to quiet, professional intensity.

"I'll remove any obstacles. It would be best if you don't say anything to Dulcinea about this."

"Or Joe? Or Ivan? I see." There was a moment of silence as he angled the car into a parking space near the pub. "The garage at the house has a shop. I can probably find tools there. Is there anything else I should know?"

"Many things you shouldn't, nothing you should." Victoria touched his hand. "For now, one last thing, and I'll tell Dulcinea, Mrs. Evelyn, Hannah and Ben the same thing. There needs to be a seance tonight to meet the requirements of the will. I don't care if three people hold hands and sing Pop Goes The Weasel, just so we can call it a seance tomorrow when the lawyer arrives."

 

It seemed to Victoria that Mr. Thompson eyed her rather speculatively as he ushered her into the phone room.

"I've got your camera ready, Miss Winslow," he said stiffly. "You may collect it on your way out."

"Thank you." She waited until the door shut, then picked up the phone.

"Miss Winslow. How nice to hear from you." M's voice dripped sarcasm. "Q branch would very much like to know what you know about Donald Wang. The Americans would very much like to know who left one of their men with a near concussion in the bushes near a burning structure that housed Chinese operatives until last night."

"This will be a disappointing conversation, based solely on those inquiries," Victoria said with more calm than she felt. "I don't know anything about Wang. Lee has a theatrical prop that utilizes advanced laser technology capable of creating three dimensional images. I hoped Q branch might give us some guidance before I have Hero evaluate the technology."

"That's what the camera is for?" M regained a more official tone of voice. "Hero is capable. Is anyone else interested in the cabinet?"

"I had hoped you would tell me that, sir." Victoria took a deep breath as silence continued on the other end of the line. "I assume the Americans know about it. I conjecture the reason Lee is at Durant Castle may be traced directly to Donald Wang's recent work, not Dr. Kokintz' previous work."

"Conjecture." M made a harumphing noise. "You think the Americans baited the Chinese with the q-bomb to get Lee to bring them Wang and his work?"

"Lee started writing to Durant before his death, fishing for an invitation. I don't believe she's psychic, so why did Durant draw her attention?"

"And the Russian?"

"I am working on the assumption the Russians' attention would be attracted by both items. A very large Chinese guard has been with the cabinet since it arrived, and I don't believe either the American or Russian agent has had access yet. Were you able to uncover additional information about Lee?"

"Lee is scheduled to leave on a statewide promotional tour at the end of April, billing herself as America's Greatest Psychic. She's also been in negotiations with a failing independent film company in Hollywood, to buy out the company. A marriage license dated four years ago, between Wang and Lee, was recorded in Orange County, California."

"Is a plan still in place to detain the Chinese operatives in the Boston area later this evening?"

M snorted. "Yes. The Americans feel cheated by the premature incineration of the country location, so they're taking over the storefront raid tonight. Do you have anything to tell us about that?"

"No, sir."

"Then check in again after legalities are completed with Durant's lawyer tomorrow. I will expect a somewhat more comprehensive report at that time."

 

Hero took the camera without comment. It was an ultra-small unit that fit neatly into his jacket pocket. He seemed calmer, and slightly less sober than when she had left him at the pub. Victoria drove on the return trip, although the bizarre location of the steering wheel made her feel in constant danger of hitting something.

The kitchen was clean and empty, the breakfast room empty when they passed. Joe and Ben were in the library, seated together looking at a folio-sized book of nature illustrations. Hero zeroed-in on an unobtrusive armchair, collapsed and shut his eyes.

"Is Dulcinea in her rooms?"

"I think she's with Mrs. Evelyn." Joe grinned up at her, his dimple making an exclamation point on his cheek. "Dulcinea and Hannah brought her restorative beverages and a late lunch."

"The others?"

"I haven't seen Franz since you left. Sister Ruth and Brother John went back upstairs an hour ago. No sign of Miss Lee."

Victoria held his eyes for a moment, nodded. "I'll make sure Mrs. Evelyn can handle dinner by herself. Then I'll be upstairs."

According to the sketch of room assignments Victoria had obtained from Mrs. Evelyn, the chatelaine of Durant Castle had a suite of rooms on the ground floor of the south wing.

Her knock was answered by Dulcinea.

"She just went to her bed for a nap. Hannah will wake her in an hour, and they'll start dinner preparations." Dulcinea stepped into the hallway. "You just got back? Are you going upstairs? I'll walk with you."

"She's feeling better then?"

"Oh yes." Dulcinea laughed. "She was feeling sorry for herself until Sister Ruth stopped by. Rage is a wonderful restorative."

"What did Sister Ruth want?" Victoria asked.

"Some rubbish about making sure Mrs. Evelyn knew Sterling was reaching out to speak with her," Dulcinea said with distaste. "Mrs. Evelyn told her that yes, she had seen Sterling's face at the seance, she didn't want to talk about it yet, and would Sister Ruth take herself to the other side of perdition and leave her alone."

"I'm sorry I missed that. Did Sister Ruth take herself off?"

"Hannah showed her to the door." Dulcinea stopped walking as they reached the grand staircase. "Thank you for listening to me talk about Sandro. I think it's going to work out. We'll get married in Grand Fenwick -- I hope you'll come for the ceremony."

"Don't take this wrong, but has he proposed yet?" To her great surprise Victoria found herself wrapped in a tight hug. When Dulcinea pulled back her eyes were too shiny, and brilliant with laughter.

"He will, after he recovers from the initial shock. Where did you leave him?"

"In the library, with Joe and Ben." Victoria gestured at the open doors. "Go in. It would be better if you stayed with a group."

 

The drapes were still pulled in her bedroom. Victoria switched on the nightstand light, thinking that, in retrospect, the entire week had existed in a twilight zone. She removed her jacket and shoulder holster, putting the Walther in its usual place under the pillow. There was one more seance to get through, one more night to keep watch at Durant Castle.

The knock came as she removed the wedge from the panel. Ivan stepped through, waited until she replaced the wedge, then turned her gently and put his arms around her.

"Milaya moya. My Victoria. What is wrong?"

Their bodies fit together so perfectly. He was only slightly taller than she was. The curve of her hip nestled against his. She had to bend her head only a little to find the hollow of his shoulder. Victoria pushed her hand under his shirt, found the rapid beat of his heart against her palm.

"Before you face a difficult mission, do you have something you do to prepare, mentally?"

His fingers threaded through the short hair on the nape of her neck. "I view all missions as difficult. But I know what you are asking. Very complex assignments require extra organization of mind, a clarity."

"Exactly. I needed to recover clarity."

"I am so sorry." He whispered the words.

Victoria raised her head. She had him for this moment, and it would be enough. "I'm not. I love you. Why are you still dressed?"

The bleak seriousness of Ivan's face was transformed by his uniquely wry smile. "Where are the others?"

"In the library. Now, if you can spare me ten minutes . . . " she pulled her turtleneck over her head and unfastened her bra.

Ivan could undress very quickly when properly motivated.

Victoria pulled him down on top of her, cradling his hips between her knees. His fingers tested, slid easily into her wetness, then withdrew. Never looking away from her face, Ivan guided his cock into her body. She pushed upward to meet him, sighing with pleasure.

"Of all the things we do together, this feels the best." Victoria reached up and brought his head down to hers. "There is nothing better than having you inside me." While she kissed him she moved her hands down the plane of his back to his ass, trying to pull him even deeper.

"I think you have short memory." Ivan began to move his hips in quick, strong strokes.

Victoria stretched against him, meeting his rhythm, the promise of orgasm effortless and immediate, present at every place skin touched skin. He knew her body, knew when to pause and tease, knew when she was ready for him to abandon control.

Light from the nightstand threw golden shadow along the long muscles in his arms. Victoria imagined the light caressed his muscles the way her hands would, the way water would, sliding from the scar on his chest, leaving pools of shadow beneath the curl of hair against his neck. The wayward bit of hair on his forehead fell into a dark comma between his eyes. He tried to watch her face, but Victoria saw focus shift and slide inward when she tucked one hand between her legs and touched the place their bodies came together. He groaned then, put his mouth below her ear and whispered phrases in Russian.

Victoria didn't fight to prolong the anticipation. Her internal muscles contracted around him, then released in an exquisite cascade of sensation that started low in her pelvis and flushed heat and blood upward. After the first sharp sweetness passed, Victoria felt his body shudder, felt the wetness that told her he had reached his own orgasm.

Ivan laughed breathlessly, still poised above her, still inside her. "What did you say feels best, zaychik moy?"

"You. Naked. Partially clothed. Clothed. I'm actually not that discriminating," Victoria said. She ran her finger over his mouth. "I do love you. Let's get back to work."

 

The library was empty and dark when they came down.

"Breakfast room. They went for drinks." Victoria could hear faint voices coming from down the hallway. When they stepped through the door, the first thing she noticed was the contrast between the huge fire in the fireplace and the cavernously black world outside the patio doors. A gust of cold, wet wind and growl of thunder pushed through the cracked door, past Hero's pipe smoke, sending tendrils curling over Dulcinea's hair.

"Midnight on the moor," Hero said. "Unleash the hound."

"It is rather atmospheric," Victoria agreed. It was barely 4 o'clock, and looked and felt like much later.

Ivan joined Hero by the door and lit a cigarette. He inhaled deeply, caught her eyes, and winked slowly as he exhaled smoke. The simple gesture had a startling effect on her body, waking a shiver of orgasmic aftershocks. Victoria was glad her jacket covered her nipples.

"Mrs. Evelyn put her head in on the way to the kitchen. We agreed dinner could be simple, and early tonight," Dulcinea said, giving her a considering look.

"Good idea." Victoria turned away from Dulcinea's scrutiny. "We could also set the time for the seance earlier. Ben? Joe?"

"No later than 7 o'clock? That would give me time to break down and pack my equipment, finish my journal, and still get to bed at a reasonable hour," Ben said.

"Sounds good. Who's going to tell Fu and the Manchus?" Joe asked.

"Mr. Deauville?" Hannah poked her head through the doorway. "Mrs. Evelyn says there's a phone call for you, in the office."

"Thank you, Hannah," Victoria said, as Joe headed out of the room. "Will you please knock on Miss Lee, Sister Ruth and Brother John's doors, and tell them dinner will be available early, and the rest of the guests have requested the seance begin at 7 o'clock? If they don't answer, stop on your way back and let me know."

"Right away, Miss Brown."

Victoria went to the sideboard and poured two glasses of vodka. She offered one to Ivan who took it and silently toasted her. She swallowed her own drink, watching him as she tilted her head back and let the liquor slide down her throat. The astringent aftertaste of raw alcohol mellowed, warmed her from throat to stomach. The taste evoked Paris, then New York. She would like to see him with auburn hair again, she thought, and a mustache and beard.

"Hey." Joe was back. "News from home." He stopped next to her at the sidebar, eyeing the bottles, then dismissing them from consideration. "It's my sister. She had her baby early, just wanted to let me know."

Victoria turned toward Ivan, ignoring the babble of good wishes and questions Ben and Dulcinea were aiming at Joe. She saw the rapid calculation in Ivan's eyes. The Americans had moved on the Boston storefront earlier than expected.

"Dulcinea. Let's see if Mrs. Evelyn needs help." Victoria set down her glass, internally cursing the Americans.

"What's going on?" Dulcinea waited until they were between breakfast room and kitchen before she spoke.

"Peripheral house cleaning," Victoria said. "After dinner, stay away from the chapel. Unless I tell you otherwise, take Mrs. Evelyn, Hannah and Ben to Mrs. Evelyn's rooms. Lock yourself in and have a seance. Then stay there until I tell you it's safe to leave."

"Don't let him get hurt." Dulcinea's fingers caught her arm, squeezed. "Just don't let Sandro get hurt."

 

They carried trays of cold cuts, cheese, bread, fruit and and bowls of salad back to the breakfast room.

Everyone was done eating by 5:30, although the Graylings and Lee hadn't yet appeared. Victoria sorted out a selection of coldcuts and cheese onto a single plate, then she and Dulcinea carried the used dishes and most of the remaining food back to the kitchen.

Mrs. Evelyn and Hannah were seated at a small table, eating sandwiches while having an intense conversation. Hannah's quiet demeanor had fallen away. She was a rather plain girl who turned almost pretty when she was laughing. It was obvious she felt comfortable with the older woman, as she had with Fay.

Victoria set the dirty dishes next to the sink while Dulcinea began to refrigerate leftover food.

"We left enough for the Graylings to make sandwiches. Mrs. Evelyn, I'd like you and Hannah to stay with the others. Come back to the breakfast room when you're done eating. Leave the clean up for later."

"I'll stay and bring them along," Dulcinea said. "We shouldn't be more than five minutes."

 

Ivan and Joe were both gone from the breakfast room when she returned.

"Sister Ruth said she wanted to speak with Joe, and took him away toward the library. Franz . . . Ivan said to tell you he was going to check the chapel." Hero picked up an apple and looked at it abstractedly, then put it back.

"Bugger." It seemed everyone was tired of waiting. "Did you find what you might need in the garage?"

"Yes." Hero patted his pocket. "Hopefully, the basics. Plus camera and gun."

"Good. Now quit fidgeting and have a cup of tea."

"What's going on, Victoria?" Ben asked quietly. "I haven't said much, but it's obvious the seances are just the tip of the iceberg here."

"You've been very patient, will you be patient a little longer?" Victoria asked. "When Mrs. Evelyn gets here --"

"We're here." Dulcinea stood in the doorway with Mrs. Evelyn and Hannah.

"Perfect timing. We're going to your rooms." Victoria let everyone precede her. Although they walked past the library, there was no sign of Sister Ruth or Joe.

Mrs. Evelyn's suite of rooms had a small sitting room, barely large enough to accommodate all of them.

"Do you know where the passages come out into your rooms?" Victoria looked around at the paneling.

"I should think so." Mrs. Evelyn snorted. "Not to worry. Mr. Sterling let me install two slide bolts, which haven't been opened since they were put in place, I'll have you know."

Victoria nodded. "Dulcinea knows what to do. Once you've locked yourself in, stay put, the lot of you." She fixed Dulcinea with a stern look. "It could be a few hours. Don't panic."

Dulcinea walked to Hero, grabbed his collar and pulled him into a kiss. Victoria watched Hero's hands creep down her back with amused appreciation. The kiss may have started out awkward, but by the time it ended she doubted if Hero remembered there was anyone other than Dulcinea in the room.

"Just so you know, after a few hours I will be panicking," Dulcinea said, when her mouth was free of Hero's. "We'll do our part. You do yours."

There was a brief silence as Hero straightened his collar.

Victoria checked her watch. "We'll go to the chapel first."

 

Blood spatters appeared when they turned into the hallway leading to the chapel, obviously wet patches on the smooth stone tiles. Victoria backtracked two steps. "Headed toward the kitchen," she said. "In a hurry."

"Blood? Ivan?" Hero stared at the wet marks as if he expected snakes to erupt from them.

"I doubt it. Come on." Victoria took her gun from beneath her arm, motioning him behind her. There wasn't a large amount of blood, and whoever had been bleeding had the strength to run. She felt the change in her body and mind that signaled utter focus on her environment. A brief flash of memory, of riding with Bond in his newest darling car, watching the effortless movement of his hands on the gear shift, made her smile. It was like that for her, adrenalin, exhilaration, and complete concentration when she was working.

The chapel door was open. The room was empty.

"They've been disassembling the cabinet." Hero stooped to examine the contents of a large crate. The cabinet's exterior walls had been removed and stacked on a pallet, leaving the base more or less intact. "Makes my job easier."

"You have no more than one hour to photograph and examine this piece of equipment." Victoria looked at her watch. "At precisely 6:30 you will take the camera to the front door. A gentleman named Thompson will be waiting for you. Give him the camera, and any components you think will be helpful. If I'm not back by then, go to Mrs. Evelyn's room and wait with them."

"You're going to leave me alone."

"Lock yourself in." Victoria found the skeleton key in the depths of her trousers pocket. "That door's strong enough to discourage a boatload of Vikings, a junk full of Triads."

Hero took the key and sketched a sloppy salute. "Ma'am. I'm on the job."

"You are a good man . . ."

"Please. Do not move quickly."

The flicker of movement and voice occurred almost simultaneously. Not only was the chapel door strong, Victoria thought, eyeing the small Chinese man with the large gun, but well-oiled and soundless. His eyes flicked over the blood stains on the threshold, then around the chapel.

"Put your gun on the floor slowly, Miss Brown, then back away." The man took two steps into the room, closing the door behind him with one hand. "Mr. Hero, please lay flat on the floor."

Victoria held her arm away from her body, moving with deliberate slowness to follow his order. When she heard the gun shot, Victoria didn't wait to appreciate the look of astonished alarm on the man's face as his shoulder jerked, pulling his gun hand upward and sideways. Her arm came up in a smooth, purposeful motion.

"WIll HQ appreciate the sacrifice of my favorite jacket?" Hero patted at the blackened hole in his pocket. "Not a bad shot, if not as good as yours. May I have his gun? It's bigger than this." He pulled the .38 out and transferred it to the undamaged pocket.

"You shouldn't need it." Her bullet had caught the Chinese man between the eyes. Victoria picked up his gun and gave it to Hero. "I don't think he was a local. Russian ultra-silent pistol. Personally, I'd stick with the .38 and use that in lieu of brass knuckles. Lock the door behind me."

"You're sure he's dead?"

"Don't waste time, Hero." Victoria closed the door behind her.

The blood trail continued past Mrs. Evelyn's office toward the kitchen. Victoria detoured into the office, dialing her contact number on the desk phone. The line clicked alive, but as usual no one answered.

"Thompson, have a car outside the front door in one hour. Mr. Hero will expect you." The call would probably bring more than a single car, but that couldn't be helped.

Traditional access to the cellars, to the wine racks and general storage, led through a pantry in the kitchen. A cluster of blood spots stained the floor in front of the stairway leading downward, then continued more heavily and regularly on the cellar floor. A broken crate, smashed bottles and more blood told Victoria there had been an interruption in progress toward a final destination. Blood leading away from the crate was scuffed and smeared. Someone had been dragged from the area.

The trail led toward the furnace room. Victoria followed, listening. Furnace fans thrummed, masking any other noise. A quick inspection showed the trail went around the machinery toward a half-obscured door.

Victoria altered her angle to approach the door from the side rather than straight on. The massive, iron-bound doors that seemed to have been favored by Durant Sr. when he built the castle were repeated here. Open to the full, they could have admitted a draft horse. These doors were open enough so Victoria could hear a woman's voice, and the sound of a man retching.

"Mindless idiot. I told you to keep your distance, rely on the gun to control him." It was Lee, at top volume.

"Liebman was taking down Wei, and your man was too weak to prevent him. Couldn't shoot through them." The rough, but recognizable voice of Brother John continued, "Are you going to let me die like your man? I need medical treatment."

"He probably has a concussion," Joe's voice said, matter-of-factly. "Vomiting is not a good symptom."

"Shut up!" Lee screamed. The sound of three rapid slaps followed, and a hissing intake of breath. "You will only speak to answer questions I ask you."

"I think I heard crack when I hit floor with his head," Ivan's voice said. "Brain may be swelling. You should take him to hospital."

Inarticulate sounds, panting, and a flurry of staccato slaps followed the suggestion. Victoria tried to ease closer to the edge of the door.

"You let him bleed to death." Brother John groaned. "Wei will be back with the Brown woman, then he can drive me to a hospital. You'll have them all restrained.You won't need Wei back until morning. He and Ruth can help you get them in front of the lawyer. By the time you're done with them, you will have enough votes without me."

Sister Ruth. Victoria frowned. Where was Sister Ruth? A sliver of room was visible between the doors. Yasmine Lee passed back and forth in front of it, pacing like an angry, leather-clad cat. Her hair fell to mid-back, tied away from her face with a red ribbon. She carried the flail Victoria had seen in her suitcase of goodies, and was snapping it against air as she paced.

French farce, with leather and sadists, Victoria thought. For better or worse, Joe had gotten a first-hand look at the leather underwear. The brief garments covered just enough of Lee, but no more. A wide leather belt around her waist hid more skin than the brassiere and bikini panties combined. Serrated metallic semi-circles on the belt were probably throwing stars. The ensemble had no visible guns, but the knee high black leather boots could easily accommodate either gun, knife, or both.

"All muscle, with the brain of a flea." Lee disappeared from view. "Let me see your eyes. Your head is as thick as a bull's. You will live, if you don't tempt me to shoot you myself. After Wei brings me Miss Brown, I will send him for Mr. Hero. We take them one at a time, as we planned, and get the truth from them. They have discontinued the search for Kokintz' papers. Wei insists they must have found something."

"Only have to wait until tomorrow." Brother John's voice was slurred. "Whole place will be ours."

"Yes, and your first guests will be the American government. Who do you think burned the farmhouse, and arrested Wei's men in town? The damned CIA." Lee made a noise reminiscent of a cat whose tail had just been run over by a car.

"Actually, it was I who burned farmhouse." Ivan's voice was inappropriately cheerful. "Or to be scrupulously truthful, it was I who positioned one of your burning employees on top of chemicals, which resulted in explosion which burned farmhouse."

"Russian bastard. You will need your tongue, but I can cut pieces from other places." Metal struck against metal, the sound of a brutally hard blow that didn't land on flesh. "Or I shatter your knees. There are so many choice targets. I suppose that lawyer is responsible for alerting every major intelligence agency in the world."

"How did the Chinese find out about Kokintz?" Joe asked. "You were planning to move in here long before the English or Russians heard about the so-called legacy."

"You . . . are . . . not . . . to . . . ask . . . questions." Each word was punctuated with a flat, smacking thud.

"Even if we vote for the Graylings, you will still have three intelligence operatives to dispose of," Ivan said.

Instead of lashing out at Ivan, Lee laughed. "You have made that easy for us. You and Miss Brown, and all your luggage will disappear. They will find Joe, shot with a Russian bullet. The Graylings will say it was a lovers' triangle gone bad. Countess Mountjoy, Mr. Braeden and the others will reluctantly confirm that Joe spent the night in Miss Brown's room."

"And Wei will dispose of us." Ivan sounded uninterested. "I remember where I saw outfit like that, Joe. Club in Berlin, but man was wearing it. His breasts were nicer."

"What about his ass? Hers isn't bad, although too flat for my tastes."

Lee made a noise like a teapot boiling over on a stove burner. "Let us see if you both can still make jokes after your nipples are removed."

"Miss Lee." Victoria pushed the doors wide and stepped inside, gun immediately centering on Lee's chest. "That's quite enough."

Lee stood frozen over Ivan's naked body, holding a knife poised over his chest. "I will cut him."

Ivan was tied to a workbench. A short distance away, Joe was tied in a similar fashion. Both men were naked, secured with an apparently random selection of ropes and chains, legs wide apart, arms stretched above their heads. Red welts, more visible on Ivan's stomach and abdomen, but just as thick on Joe's darker skin, showed Yasmine Lee had been busy.

"Then you will die. Move that knife another millimeter toward his chest, and I will shoot you. Drop the knife. Now."

Lee let the knife drop onto Ivan's chest and took a single step away from the bench. Her flat, black eyes darted toward where Brother John sat against the wall.

"I think Brother John is unconscious. Wei is dead. You're not going to get the money to buy your movie studio, and it will be difficult to tour the psychic circuit from a jail cell. You didn't have to kill Fay Green, Miss Lee. You've shown yourself to be a greedy, incompetent, and ludicrously under-dressed amateur -- not to mention, a terrible actress. Now, put your hands on your head, turn around, kneel, then lie flat on your stomach."

"Bitch!" Lee screamed and threw herself behind Joe's workbench, reaching toward her boot.

Victoria anticipated her position, firing once under the workbench. Lee hit the floor with a smack as bare flesh met stone floor. Quickly, cautiously, Victoria stepped around to get a clear look, and if necessary a second clear shot at Yasmine Lee.

The bullet had gone in mid-chest. At the top of one boot the grip of a pistol showed against Lee's bare leg. Victoria crouched, felt for a pulse and found nothing.

"And then there were two." Victoria removed Lee's gun and went to check on Brother John. He was alive, but clearly needed medical treatment. Victoria searched him for weapons, turning up the same kind of pistol Wei had carried.

"This is a little embarrassing," Joe said. "But I'm glad to see you, Vickie."

"Glad to see you, Joe." She stood between the two workbenches, still holding her gun. "Gooseflesh. It is a bit chilly in here." She checked her watch, then looked around and found the heap of their clothing. Picking out two shirts she draped one over Ivan's groin, the other over Joe's.

"Umm? Vickie?"

"As amusing as this might be in other circumstances, I must wonder why you delay freeing our hands, milaya moya."

"Where did Sister Ruth go, and did she have a gun?" Joe's legs were long, with strong, athletic calves. Ivan's legs were shorter, but his thigh muscles looked more developed. Victoria took the time to visually inspect them for evidence of Lee's enthusiastic whip work. Neither man appeared to be badly hurt, but Lee had left marks from ankle to shoulder on both men.

"To find the others and talk them into having an impromptu seance. Lee knew it would be a good idea to complete the requirements of the will as well as you did," Joe said. "I don't think Lee trusted her with a gun."

"Then I'll trust Dulcinea to take care of her." Victoria smiled down at them. "What happened, Joe? They told me Sister Ruth took you to the library."

"She did. Brother John and the little Chinese man, Wei, joined us. They persuaded me to take another trip through the greenhouses, down to the lab and passages, finally to the Dragon Lady's lair."

"They ambushed you in the library, and you were unable to find your own gun?"

"I said it was a little embarrassing," Joe rolled his eyes. "Sister Ruth's breasts were attacking my hands."

"You're making Ivan look good." Victoria touched the indentation in Ivan's chin. He laughed and rolled his eyes. "You went to the chapel, and --?"

"Triad was taking cabinet apart. I asked questions, Triad threw knife, I shot Triad. He threw two more knives, ran for cellar. I followed, not wanting to shoot up house. I found him near the wine racks. Brother John and Wei arrived at the same time."

"And he still managed to give Brother John a good whack to the head." Joe waggled one toe toward the far side of the room. "The Triad was still alive when they dragged him in, after they tied Ivan up. Lee let him bleed to death. Do you mind untying us before my people get here?"

"Is there anything about Ivan's story that you find . . . slightly off timeframe?" Victoria looked at her watch again. "You both left the breakfast room at approximately the same time. Brother John and Wei took you from the library to the greenhouses to the cellars, got you naked and tied down, and were still able to come to the Triad's help at the bottom of the kitchen stairs?"

"Oh." Joe slanted a look at Ivan. "I didn't know when he left the breakfast room."

"I believe he must have spent some time in the chapel alone, after the Triad ran off leaking blood." She saw Ivan's eyes crinkle and dance. "I'd be furious with both of you, except look at where we all are now. You both get to stay naked and tied up for the next 15 minutes while we talk about Dr. Kokintz, the q-bomb, the CIA hard on for Chinese agents operating in America, Donald Wang and new holographic technology."

Ivan laughed out loud.

"I only hope some day our positions are reversed," Joe said morosely. "How long have you known we used the legacy story as bait for Lee and the Chinese? We wondered, when you brought Hero with you. But neither of you showed more than normal interest in the cabinet. Hero could have figured it out a lot quicker --"

"But he was distracted." Victoria sighed. "Unprofessional behavior always bites you in the ass." She bent and kissed Ivan, lingering longer than she intended to, only breaking the kiss when Joe began to cough theatrically. "I should be mad at you, you wanker. Serves you both right. I found Dr. Kokintz' legacy."

"It really has been very great honor and pleasure to work with both of you," Ivan said, grinning hugely. "I think Victoria is best of us, Joe."

"What did you find, and where? We really didn't believe any information on the bomb still existed," Joe said.

"It's not bomb-related, but extremely important for Grand Fenwick. I found it in the tower, and you both have to wait until tomorrow to hear about it." Victoria put her gun back in its holster, removed the knife from Ivan's chest and began to cut through the ropes on his arms. "Will your people get Brother John to a doctor, remove the bodies and the cabinet tonight, Joe?"

"Yeah. They would probably appreciate a short written statement from you about Wei's demise, since I wasn't there."

When Ivan's arms were free, Victoria transferred her attention to Joe's ropes. "Did they find Wang at the storefront?"

"I don't think so. It won't take us long to find him now, though." Joe sat up, rubbing his wrists. "Thanks. Kind of cold and damp down here. How about a hand with the chains?"

Victoria watched them dress, to Ivan's amusement. Joe turned his back and pulled his jeans on quickly.

"American men don't wear underwear?" she asked. "When you're ready, the others are in Mrs. Evelyn's suite. I'd like to find and secure Sister Ruth until tomorrow morning. What's the legal status on the Graylings, Joe?"

"Not sure. There will be questions."

Victoria took point up the stairs, gun drawn. They paused by Mrs. Evelyn's office while Joe made a phone call. At the turn toward the chapel Victoria hesitated, then moved swiftly to the right. The chapel doors were wide open. Hero was gone. Wei's body still lay against the wall.

Ivan bent over the body. "Did Hero shoot him as well? This is not all your work, Victoria."

"It ruined his jacket, but Hero used my .38 to set Wei up for my shot."

She left the chapel without another look at the partially disassembled cabinet. It was quiet as they entered the front hall, quiet as they entered the south wing ground floor. Victoria stood to one side of Mrs. Evelyn's door, Joe on the other side. She knocked twice.

"Yes?" It was Hero.

"It's Victoria. Let us in."

"Sister Ruth is here, and she's been neutralized." Hero didn't wait for her to ask. He held the door wide for them. "Mr. Thompson has been, and gone."

"Thank you."

Dulcinea, Mrs. Evelyn and Hannah were drinking tea. Ben held a glass filled half full of dark amber liquid. It would have been difficult for Sister Ruth to drink anything. She was gagged with what looked like a lace handkerchief, tied to a kitchen chair by drapery pulls and, possibly, nightrobe belts.

"You had a seance?"

"You could call it a seance," Dulcinea said. "Hannah presided. We had to gag Sister Ruth when she wouldn't sing. For the head of a church, her language is deplorable."

"They say former sinners make the best preachers," Mrs. Evelyn observed. "Sister Ruth can preach up a storm when she wants to. Is it safe to clean the kitchen now? I'd rather not leave it until morning."

"Safe as houses. Just don't go down to the cellar, or into the chapel." Victoria smiled around at them. "It's still early. Why don't we go back to the breakfast room, build up the fire and wait to see what the CIA will want to know. Franz, Joe, will you carry Sister Ruth's chair?"

 

The Americans were swift and thorough.

Brother John was removed by ambulance within a half hour of Joe's phone call. The bodies, and crates containing the cabinet, went out the front door at nearly the same time. Two fresh-faced young agents collected Sister Ruth last, freeing her from the chair and removing her gag. The woman was silent as she was led away, but her eyes were wild with anger. Joe walked out with them, and returned fifteen minutes later.

"They don't need anything else tonight. I gave them the Reader's Digest Condensed version." Joe helped himself to the whiskey on the sideboard then settled in a chair by the fire. "Brother John won't make it back in the morning, although they say he'll live. They'll bring Sister Ruth back in time for the meeting with the lawyer."

"It's all over?" Dulcinea sighed, leaning into Hero on the sofa. "Victoria, can you tell us exactly what's all over?"

"I'd appreciate that," Ben said. "I'm feeling like an ostrich whose head just got yanked out of the sand."

"Sounds like we're just in time." Mrs. Evelyn and Hannah came, bringing the smell of cinnamon, baskets of hot muffins, and a teapot. "Dinner was rushed. Eat them hot."

"I think Joe should fill in the background." Victoria dropped a pat of butter on a halved muffin. "I think it starts when Dr. Kokintz returned to America to visit his sister in 1959."

"It does." Joe stretched his long legs toward the fire, holding up his glass for a refill. "Do you mind, Vickie?"

Ivan blew a last breath of smoke into the air, stubbed out his cigarette, then came to take Joe's glass. "You have not been shot this week. Don't push luck."

"Thanks." Joe accepted the refill. "Washington was onto Kokintz the minute he arrived at Durant Castle in 1959. Ostensibly the conversation was about the new weapons monitoring program Grand Fenwick was organizing. They really want to know whether any of his research still exists in the states, and how he plans to archive information in Grand Fenwick. When he dies, after discussions with Duchess Gloriana, they feel 95 percent sure Kokintz had deliberately erased any research he had ever done for the development of the q-bomb." Joe paused and took a drink of whiskey.

"A few years pass. Washington doesn't keep track of Durant, why would they? About this time a Chinese American citizen, half-part criminal, half-part intelligence operative, starts developing legitimate business contacts in the States. One of his purported interests is in vineyards and wine making. This gives him a good reason to travel extensively on the west coast, and in Europe. He meets Durant in California, and gets invited to Durant Castle as a weekend guest."

"You're talking about Mr. Wei," Mrs. Evelyn said. "He was here several times, during spiritualist weekends. Sterling always had him out in the greenhouses, talking about grapes."

"Yeah. He knew who Kokintz was, gets interested when he finds out the past relationship between the two. We think he tried to get Durant to invite Lee to one of the retreats, but that never worked out. She did write Durant, and impressed him enough to be included in the provisions of the will. The whole experience gives Wei an interest in the spiritualist game. Lee is ambitious and theatrically inclined. She has a genius lover with ideas for a kind of stage prop no one has ever seen. Wei sees the possibilities and bankrolls Donald Wang to develop the cabinet. We're pretty sure the idea was to take Lee's tour worldwide, use her for a front for intelligence activities."

"I'll bet he didn't overlook other potential uses for laser and holographic technology," Hero said. "Good investment for anyone."

"All those years, if Mr. Durant had something Dr. Kokintz left for Grand Fenwick, and it wasn't about the bomb, why didn't he just give it to us?" Dulcinea asked.

"Because, to his knowledge at that time, Dr. Kokintz hadn't left anything," Joe said. "Don't derail me. It gets complicated.

"By the time Washington understands what Wei and Wang have accomplished, Wang has disappeared. They approach Durant with a scheme to try and pull in all of Wei's people, the prototype technology, and hopefully Wang in one operation. All Durant has to do is leak it to Wei that Dr. Kokintz has left an important document, and he wants to try and contact his old friend on the spirit plane."

"I don't think I'd like working for your CIA, Joe." Victoria considered the information. "What happened?"

"Durant calls Washington and says the story is true. He's found this "legacy" Dr. Kokintz left at the castle. He calls his lawyer, writes his will, then dies within the week."

"He didn't feel well for a long time." Mrs. Evelyn dabbed at the corner of her eyes. "He was a cranky old bastard. He started going through his wife's things about then, when Washington was nagging him. I wouldn't put it past him, to enjoy the thought of using Washington like they were trying to use him, and getting the chance to prove his beliefs in such a grand fashion."

"Washington tells Easterly to go ahead with the provisions of the will. It takes a few months to set up, and here we are."

"Did Fay know anything about this?" Hannah asked in a small, clear voice.

"I don't think so," Joe said. "I think she knew Lee and the Graylings were pulling something, but she wasn't included."

"The Graylings have been working for Wei? They were at those weekend retreats, too," Dulcinea said.

"For the last couple of years. Brother John spent a lot of time in California expanding the church base there. We know he had an intimate relationship with Lee," Joe said.

"As part of the unwitting stage dressing, let me just say if I ever need anything from Washington, I think they owe me," Ben said. "Fay got killed. The rest of us were in danger."

"I'll give you a contact number. It wasn't my call, Ben. I got assigned," Joe said.

Hannah stood. "I don't want to hear any more. I'm going to bed."

"I'll come too." Mrs. Evelyn stood. "Breakfast at 8 o'clock. Mr. Easterly at 9 o'clock in the library."

"Good night." Ben stood stiffly. "It's past my bedtime, and I have a headache."

"Sandro." Dulcinea was off the sofa. "Walk me upstairs." She waited until Ben was out of the room. "Victoria, Joe, Ivan . . . I know you did your best to protect us. Thank you. They never found what Dr. Kokintz left?"

"No," Victoria said. "And thank Hero as well. His contributions have been considerable."

Dulcinea took Hero's arm."Come on Sandro. I would like to say thank you somewhere more private."

"His ears turned red," Joe observed after they were gone. He eased out of his armchair, stretching his long legs and groaning. "Shit. That hurts. She was using more muscle when she hit me."

"You said her ass was flat." Victoria put her hand on his shoulder, stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek.

Joe's hands closed around her waist. He moved his mouth as she pulled back from his cheek, and kissed her full on the mouth. It was a quick kiss, and he stepped away immediately, his dimple dancing as he shot a look over her head at Ivan. "They've got a few people watching the grounds, just in case. I have to leave for a while, but I'll be back before morning. Lock yourselves in, and don't do anything I wouldn't do."

 

"Have I mentioned, you are nearly as beautiful as you are intelligent?"

Avoiding the swollen lash marks on his chest, Victoria settled herself under Ivan's arm. "There's raw flesh in a few places. I still have some of that ointment you gave me."

"Tomorrow." He settled against his pile of pillows with a groan. "She was ready to do worse to us. Your arrival was timely."

"Next time, don't taunt the crazy woman with the whip." Denied access to his chest, Victoria slid a hand under his ass. "Normally the idea of restraint makes me homicidal, not sexually aroused. After I shot her . . . the two of you were so adorably wounded and helpless."

"I noticed you examined Joe's legs for too long a time," he said severely. "Will you develop an interest in leather garments?"

"I doubt it." Victoria closed her eyes. "You don't have to go tonight?"

"No." Ivan's fingers caressed the tip of one breast. "I will be in your bed, or in you, until morning."

"That's a good plan. When they sent you, they knew about Wei and Wang."

"As Joe said, it is complicated situation. My people have been aware of Wei's activities as independent agent for the Chinese, and his criminal activities. He has ties with Russian citizens who are indifferent about politics and law," Ivan said.

"The Russian guns."

"Da."

Victoria drifted on the heat between them, on the smell of his skin. "I love sleeping with you. Dr. Kokintz left a plan for soil improvement and vineyard management. His legacy was growth, not destruction. I hid it in Dulcinea's stack of Cosmopolitan's, on her bedside table."

Ivan's chest shook against her cheek. "Where it will be totally ignored, or my expertise as intelligence operative is for shit."

"Learn new idiom from Joe?" Victoria smiled, her eyes still closed. "We owe him a favor for his help with the farmhouse."

"The key word is we," Ivan said. "one favor, from two of us. You will be doing no private favors for Joe."

Her control slipped for a moment, and her body stiffened against him. Victoria took a deep breath and consciously relaxed.

"Victoria?"

"No private favors. Noted." She wet her finger with her tongue and drew a circle around his nearest nipple. "I wonder what she would have chosen to take after these were gone?"

"She was very predictable woman with some training in torture, so at the time I hoped toes might be next," Ivan said. "As matter of scientific curiosity, what would you have chosen?"

Victoria slipped down and lay her head on the muscle over his stomach, trying to avoid the worst of the welts. "I have no training in torture. I shoot things." Her mouth moved, then her tongue and lips.

His hips pushed upward reflexively, his fingers tangled in her hair. "You continually underestimate your skills, zaychik moy."

Chapter 8

One is very crazy when in love. – Sigmund Freud

 

SATURDAY, GRAND FENWICK GETS THE CASTLE

They were all in the library before Easterly arrived.

Two American agents had escorted Sister Ruth, in handcuffs, to a seat and left her near Joe, then taken up positions outside the library doors. Sister Ruth was still wearing the same clothes, the same furious expression she had the evening before. Everyone else looked the better for going to bed early. Predictably, Dulcinea was mildly radioactive. Hero watched her with quiet, reverent amazement that Victoria found endearing, and completely understandable. She felt the same way when she looked at Ivan who, to her regret, had left off wearing the spectacles.

Ben was rock steady again, observing the situation with detachment.

Mrs. Evelyn insisted Hannah join the group even though she wouldn't be considered a participant.

"I've asked Hannah to stay on as my assistant. Countess Mountjoy agrees we need to bring some of the staff back," she told them as they waited. "Hannah doesn't have any family. Fay took her in a few years ago."

Some good had come from tragedy during the mission Victoria thought, studying Hannah's shuttered little face.

"Good morning." Easterly entered, walking briskly to the desk. He opened his brief case and withdrew a single page document. "I have been informed that two of the voting members are dead, and one voting member is hospitalized. I visited John Grayling this morning, and recorded his vote in the presence of a notary. He voted for proof of existence. Are there any objections?"

Mrs. Evelyn sniffed loudly.

"With the reduction in votes, you are, of course, included in this vote, Mrs. Evelyn." Easterly raised an eyebrow at her. "Questions before we begin? No? Then Countess Dulcinea Montjoy, do you vote yes or no on the question of proof of survival after death?"

"No."

"Sister Ruth Ann Grayling. How do you vote?"

"Yes." She spat the word. "You will all be sorry."

"Benjamin Braeden?" Easterly continued through his list, recording "no" votes. "Seven against, two in favor. The will is resolved in favor of Grand Fenwick. Countess Mountjoy, will you sign this for me?"

Victoria waited until Dulcinea had signed her name several times, and Easterly had closed his briefcase. "Mr. Easterly. Please lift the blotter on the desk."

Easterly looked a question, but shifted his briefcase and lifted the blotter. He picked up the bright purple booklet and read the cover. "Well, I'll be damned." He laughed. "I think this is yours, Countess Mountjoy."

Dulcinea looked at the cover, then at Victoria. "This is what Dr. Kokintz left?"

"Yes. Read the inscription inside."

"This work is dedicated to the land of my birth, to the people I have come to love. E. Kokintz" Dulcinea's eyes were bright with tears. "This is what he was researching before he died. A way to improve Grand Fenwick's vineyards."

"I think he'd had enough of bombs to last beyond his lifetime." Victoria grinned at Sister Ruth's noise of strangled protest.

"Where did you find it?" Hero asked.

"In the tower. Durant must have placed it with the magazines up there before his death, utilizing the Purloined Letter principle," Victoria said. "I think he knew he wouldn't be coming back as a spirit, and wanted to make sure the booklet would be easily found."

"All settled then." Easterly was satisifed. "I'll be in touch later, Countess."

Dulcinea still stared at the purple cover. "Thank you. All of you. This is worth more to my country than a hundred castles." She took a deep breath. "Whatever your travel plans are, I hope you can all stay for at least one more night. Mrs. Evelyn will give us a proper dinner."

Joe stood, assisting Sister Ruth to her feet. "I've got paperwork, but I'll be back. Do you need a lift into town, Vickie?"

"No thank you. I'll call from Mrs. Evelyn's office." She caught Hero's eyes. "Will you be staying here for a while, or flying back with me?"

"Dulcy has to be back in London in a week. I'll travel with her."

"I appreciate the offer, but I'd like to be on the road before noon." Ben stepped forward and offered his hand to Dulcinea. "I hope to see you again, but only socially, no seances. Could you spare Hero to give me a hand packing the equipment?"

"Of course." Dulcinea gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

"How are you leaving?" Ivan asked. "Train from Boston? I could drive you, if I might borrow car."

"I'd appreciate that." Ben left with Hero.

"Ivan, will you be able to stay?" Dulcinea looked between them. "Victoria?"

"As far as I know they haven't booked a return flight for me," Victoria said carefully. "If you don't mind my using your name as leverage, I don't think that will pose any difficulty."

"I will be here," Ivan said. "I have errands in town, then I will return."

 

Thompson was almost friendly on the phone. "HQ has received the package, and says well done. Q branch is looking forward to Mr. Hero's return."

"He'll be flying back with Countess Mountjoy, in a week. She has asked me to stay tonight. Do I have a flight booked?" Victoria sat in Mrs. Evelyn's desk chair, staring at the calendar on the blotter.

"Not yet. I'll get you a seat on the Sunday afternoon run. Is there anything else I need to relay to HQ?"

"Yes. Tell them Dr. Kokintz' last research project, an agricultural study, has been retrieved and passed to Grand Fenwick's representative."

Thompson whistled. "That's a bit of all right. I'm glad to pass that along. I'll send the car just before noon on Sunday."

 

She had her suitcases out on the bed when Dulcinea knocked twice and called her name.

"It's not locked. Come in."

"I"m going to miss you." Dulcinea perched on the edge of the armchair, watching her pack. "I hope we can stay in touch."

"I'd like that. You had Dr. Kokintz' book on your bedstand for the last two days." Victoria laughed at her expression. "Didn't have time to read magazines, did you?"

"Yes. Well." Dulcinea shrugged, a common gesture she transformed into an elegant statement of dismissal. "Sandro says I'm to keep my mouth shut about you and Ivan. He said it would be very bad for your career if London suspected a relationship. He said it might even be fatally bad." She frowned. "I tried to get him to be more specific. He wouldn't elaborate, except to say that, if pressed, I could admit knowing Joe spent the night in your room."

"That would be best." Victoria sat down on the bed. Hero could get in real trouble lying to MI6 if asked a direct question about her. "Ivan is an enemy Russian agent. Our governments agreed to work together, but this was an unusual, specific situation that won't be repeated."

"You love him." Dulcinea leaned forward. "What will you do?"

"My job." She held up one hand. "Please. Don't make me talk about this. I appreciate your concern. What are you wearing to dinner?"

Dulcinea looked at her for a long minute without speaking. "I kept a Valentino in reserve. White, beaded, sleeveless with a scooped neck."

"You'll look like you're wearing frosting. With your hair down?"

"I think so." Dulcinea grinned. "It will drive Sandro crazy. Did you bring something? I have a few dresses that might fit you."

"I brought red silk." Victoria went back to packing.

"Then, if you need me, you can find me." Dulcinea stood and put her hand on Victoria's arm. "Anytime you need me, come find me."

Victoria stood stiffly for a moment, then relaxed and returned Dulcinea's hug. "If you make me cry, I'll shoot you."

"Sandro says you are a dead shot." Dulcinea back away, wiping her own eyes. "I took that to mean highly accurate. I'll see you at dinner."

 

The cup of coffee, and muffin she had eaten before Easterly arrived had been long digested. Victoria heard her stomach growl as she zipped the last of her unneeded clothing into a suitcase. She was suddenly amazingly hungry.

She ran down the grand staircase, thinking how familiar, and how empty, the castle seemed. The breakfast room was empty, and the sideboard contained only beverages. Victoria headed back toward the kitchen.

Mrs. Evelyn looked up as Victoria passed the office and waved. "Sandwiches in the kitchen," she called. "Hannah's there."

Hannah was wearing an apron, scrubbing vegetables and humming. She looked up as Victoria came in, her face changing.

"Don't let me bother you. I know where everything is." Victoria rapidly assembled a cheese sandwich and poured a glass of milk. She sat at the small corner table, watching Hannah work while she ate. "You like to cook?"

"I do." Hannah scrubbed some more. "I like Judith's job better than Fay's. I loved Fay, but I'll learn more practical things here."

"Fay said she was training you." Victoria chewed for a moment, thought about how to ask the next question and decided to be blunt. "Are you a spiritualist? Do you believe Fay could contact the spirits of the dead?"

Hannah put down the carrot she was holding. "I lean more toward yes than no," she said after a long hesitation. "I would never have been a medium, Miss Brown. I'm an empathic precognitive, and that's very uncomfortable, and very real for me. Fortunately, I'm not a very strong precog."

This was unexpected. "You see the future?"

"Not so far. I've never seen a specific event and had it come true." Hannah's hands moved together, uncomfortably. "I get generalized feelings about people, whether they're good or bad, happy or sad, whether they're moving toward or away from a difficult situation. Of everyone at the castle, it's hardest for me to be near you."

"Me?"

"You and Dr. Liebman together give me a migraine." Hannah seemed to realize she was wringing her hands and let them fall to the chopping block. "I've been around violent people, and sensed they were going to do something bad. You're one of the most violent persons I've ever sensed, and yet there's no violence at your center. Dr. Liebman is almost exactly the same. It's like watching an explosion, fire and tornado from a distance, while an earthquake is trying to pull my feet out from under me."

"I'm sorry." Victoria couldn't find anything more to say.

"Fay helped me learn to let the impressions slide off without sinking in." Hannah resumed scrubbing. "You're just so strong."

"What are you making for dessert?" When in doubt, talk about pastry.

"Judith said chocolate cake. After I do the vegetables." There was relief in Hannah's voice.

"Would you like to learn to make eclairs? It's not difficult, and I know a great recipe for custard filling. Unless you'd rather I left the kitchen."

"No. I'd love to learn how to make eclairs." Hannah's face relaxed. "There. You're perfectly grounded. You must really love to bake."

Victoria took care of her dishes and began the search for ingredients. "Yes. I do."

 

It was 3 o'clock when Ivan and Joe appeared in the kitchen.

"I told you. Custard." Ivan found the empty pan and ran his finger around the edge. "Russian recipe."

Hannah laughed. "Victoria taught me how to make eclairs and custard. Do you want something to eat?"

"No thanks." Joe looked around casually. "Where did you put the eclairs?"

"You can wait until after dinner. We'll get out of your way, Hannah." Victoria led the way to the breakfast room. "All the loose ends tied up?"

"Except for Donald Wang." Joe threw a log on the coals and poked the fire to life. "People are starting to wonder if he's still alive and kicking."

"What will you do with the Graylings?" Victoria sat on the sofa. Ivan stood behind her, opening the patio door and lighting a cigarette.

"They've ordered an autopsy on Fay Green, and they're analyzing those darts you gave me. That case you searched in Lee's rooms hasn't been found yet."

"Mrs. Evelyn will stumble across it in cellar," Ivan said. "I would like to see that."

Joe laughed. "I'll warn her, although I really doubt she'd touch anything inside. They also set the Internal Revenue Service on the "church" records. We'll put them away for a while, on one charge or another."

"Good. What will you do? Go back to New Orleans?"

"For a while. Maybe I can get sent to London for something." Joe's dimple deepened. "On my way to Grand Fenwick. Dulcinea invited me to her wedding."

"Did Hero ask her to marry him?" Ivan asked. "When did this event occur?"

"When Dulcinea was about eight, she asked him to marry her and he said yes. It's just taken her a while to catch up with him." Victoria looked at them. "People get predictions of what's going to happen in the future all the time, and don't pay attention."

Joe stood and looked at Ivan. "I'm going to head out of here tonight, after dinner, so I should pack up. They expect dinner dress?"

"Oh, yes. But it won't matter what we wear." Ivan dropped his cigarette butt into the ashtray. "We'll walk up with you."

 

Ivan ignored the row of suitcases next to the door. He took off his shoes and made himself home on the bed. He had reverted to his white dress shirt and dark trousers uniform that morning, leaving the suit jacket to keep the spectacles company. Dr. Liebman's Germanic accent had also been abandoned.

"Come here so I can think."

She knew what he meant. Victoria removed her shoes and found her place at his side. It was like locking the corner piece of a jigsaw puzzle into place.

"I will have to leave after dinner, but I will return." Ivan kept his hand on her waist, holding her close. "There would be no reason for me to remain overnight. I will ask Joe for ride to town when he leaves, then Americans will know I have gone from castle."

It was going to be bad. Victoria kept her breathing even with an effort, and concentrated on relaxing her arms and legs. "If it's a risk, you shouldn't come back."

"Is not risk, for me." The muscles in Ivan's arm tensed, then released. "I want to spend another night with you."

"I want you here."

"I know. Perhaps we should speak of this now, get it over with, as Joe says."

Victoria raised her head and met his eyes. "This time when you leave, you aren't going to say you will see me again."

His jaw clenched. He shook his head. "This decision we must make together. If you wish to part as we have in the past, I will accept. It may be some time before we find each other again, or events may transpire so we never meet again."

"Or we should ensure that we don't meet again." It felt like she was back in freezing water, cold squeezing the air from her lungs. Some of what she was feeling must have shown in spite of her control.

He started to shake his head, then stilled the motion. "My Victoria."

"I agree." She touched her fingers to his mouth. She could feel his heart racing. "We both know the necessity. We've taken risks, and gotten caught. It's time to stop. Shall we consider the question resolved?"

Ivan's nostrils flared. His lips were set in a tight line, and for a moment he didn't answer. "Resolved," he said finally, the word sounding almost guttural.

She buried her face against his neck and shoulder. "Hold me for a while. If I go to sleep, wake me so we can shower together before dinner."

 

Victoria sat at the vanity and pushed her nearly dry hair away from her face. She never wore much makeup, but tonight she took care with her eyes.

Ivan was in his room, packing and dressing for dinner. Sex in the shower had been physically and emotionally intense. It brought Victoria no relief to realize they were having equal difficulty facing the end of the evening.

The scarlet silk dress slipped over her head. Victoria looked at her reflection. It was a nice dress, although the color made her skin look too pale. The silk warmed where it touched her, but moved against her legs in a cool glide of sensation that made her very aware of her body.

There would be no need for guns tonight, and she left her watch on the nightstand. It was just before 7 o'clock.

She opened the door at his second knock. Ivan stood looking at her, sober and distinguished in his professor's dinner attire.

"You have to walk if we're going down to dinner," Victoria said. "Offer me your arm."

"How is it you look more naked in dress, than you do when naked?" Ivan made a small bow and offered his arm. "You are very beautiful."

They walked down the grand staircase into the formal dining room. Dulcinea looked exactly as if she was wearing white sugar frosting, with nothing underneath. Victoria heard Ivan's chuckle of approval as she held out her hands in welcome.

"There is no man in this room who isn't thinking something inappropriate about that dress and his tongue," Victoria said. "You look beautiful."

"Ice and fire." Joe looked between them. "Just -- wow!"

"An American talent I have always admired: ability to describe vision of heart-stopping beauty with word that fits neatly on comic panel," Ivan shook his head in mock wonder. "Wow indeed."

 

The dinner table had been reduced in size, and while still spacious made it possible for the five of them to talk without shouting. Mrs. Evelyn's nephews served. Victoria had no idea what was put in front of her.

"I thought this would be a nice change, but I miss the breakfast room," Dulcinea said as they approached the end of the meal. "And it seems strange that Ben isn't here. I've been reminded this week how quickly one's routine can become irrevocably altered."

"Something of an understatement," Hero said.

"Since I asked Hannah to serve dessert in the breakfast room, I'm glad to hear you say that." Victoria pushed her plate away. "I hope you don't mind."

"Victoria and Hannah made eclairs. I'm done here," Joe said. "If you all want to catch up with me . . ."

"We aren't leaving you alone with eclairs." Hero offered Dulcinea his arm. "I want to smoke my pipe and have a cup of coffee."

"Vickie?" Joe offered his arm, smiling benignly at Ivan.

"Troublemaker." Victoria slipped between them, Joe on her left arm, Ivan on her right arm.

It was familiar and comfortable in the breakfast room, with the armchairs arrayed in front of the fire.

"I'm going to miss this," Joe said, mouth full of eclair. "I could live in a castle."

"This castle, certainly. I've been in castles you wouldn't care for, Joe." Hero stood by the patio door with Ivan, trying to light his pipe.

"The castle in Grand Fenwick is drafty, often cramped, and only recently acquired reliable hot water," Dulcinea said. "Durant Castle is more of a palace than a real castle. I hope you get a chance to compare the two, Joe."

Hero cleared his throat. "Victoria, do I get to hear what happened to Joe, Ivan, the Triad, and Lee after we shot Wei and you left me in the chapel? A single word summary, while reassuring, leaves much to the imagination."

"Whereas I found nothing left to the imagination when I got to the cellar," Victoria said. "Did Sister Ruth watch while they made you take off your clothes, then tied you to that workbench, Joe?"

"Oh yeah. She was gone when they stripped Ivan, though." Joe started on another eclair.

Dulcinea made a squeak of sound. "You're telling us Yasmine Lee had them tied up, naked, in the cellar? What on earth for?"

"Whips. Chains. Knives," Ivan said. "Joe and I owe continued existence of various body parts to Victoria's intervention."

"So, I got off lightly with a ruined jacket," Hero said. "I can live with that."

Joe licked custard off one finger, then made a show of looking at his watch. "Thanks for dinner, Dulcinea. I'll say goodbye now. I'm driving Ivan in to catch a late flight, then I have to be somewhere."

"But it's early. You're not staying tonight, Ivan?" Dulcinea was on her feet, looking between them.

"Job is done." Ivan took her hand and kissed it. "It has been a pleasure."

Hero offered his hand to both men. "It's a small world. We may run into each other again."

They walked to the entrance in a loose group. When they reached the door Joe took a card from his pocket and pressed it into Victoria's palm. His big, brown fingers covered hers completely.

"You can always reach me, through that number." He bent and kissed her on the mouth. "Have a safe trip home, Vickie."

Victoria nodded, unable to make any reply. Ivan took her hand, pressed his lips to her palm, then stepped away.

"Ready?" Joe asked. "Luggage is already in the car. Good night, all."

The silence that followed their departure seemed thunderous against Victoria's eardrums.

"Victoria?" Dulcinea said, tentatively.

"Dulcy. Go up to your bedroom. I'll be with you in a little while." Hero gently turned her in the direction of the staircase. "Trust me."

Dulcinea took one more look at Victoria, then ran up the stairs.

"Come on." Hero took her arm and guided her back to the breakfast room. "God knows how tough you are, but I've seen soldiers in shock before." He sat her down on the sofa and filled a shot glass with vodka. "Drink that."

Victoria tossed it back and held out the glass for a refill. After the third she shook her head. "That helped. Go to Dulcinea. She'll be back down if you don't."

He searched her face and eyes. "I'll see you in the morning then, before you leave."

Heat from the vodka loosened the knot in her throat. Victoria filled a plate with eclairs, stacked two glasses on top of the vodka bottle, then carried everything upstairs. It would take at least two hours to have Joe drop him somewhere public in Boston, then fade from view and make his way back to the castle. And he would need to leave in the morning well before daylight.

That would give them four or five hours.

Victoria removed the wedge under the panel, then sat on the edge of the bed staring at the vodka bottle. In her first 24 years of existence, she had not added a single person to her life that would miss her if she was killed while doing a job, or even crossing a street. Now Ivan, Hero, Dulcinea, Joe . . . lover and friends, in less than a single year she had found people she would miss, who would miss her.

How quickly one's routine can become irrevocably altered.

Hers would change again, when she got back to London. Impossible to know whether they would put her back into a teaching position, or back in the field. She would do her best, either way.

Heedless of the silk dress, Victoria lay down and closed her eyes.

 

She was drifting, calm when she heard the single knock.

He was wearing a leather jacket and blue jeans, carrying a bike helmet. The leather gleamed wetly in the yellow light from the night stand.

"Is raining again. I remembered America as place with much sun." Ivan removed the jacket and draped it over the back of the armchair.

Victoria inspected him from head to toe. He had one of his black turtlenecks tucked into the jeans, and looked like a movie stereotype of the tough American biker. It was a very good look for him. "Nice jacket," she said, grinning. "Joe get that for you?"

Ivan whirled her into his arms. "I'm glad you're still wearing red dress. I wanted to take it off you as soon as I saw it." He moved her across the floor, dancing without music.

"I thought as much. You were looking at my breasts instead of my face." Victoria watched his face as they moved, watched the laughter in his eyes deepen. "Ivan. What is it?"

He stopped moving, put his fingers under her chin and kissed her.

Victoria put her arms around his neck and tried to lock her knees, to keep from bonelessly sliding off his chest. Mouth, tongue and lips . . . he had always told her how he felt about her with his kisses. The familiar reaction of her body to his brought higher mental functions to a moaning halt, but when Ivan picked her up and carried her to the bed Victoria's brain made a valiant attempt at communication.

"That was not a goodbye kiss," she said breathlessly, momentarily blinded by scarlet silk flashing before her eyes.

"No. More hello, why are you wearing clothes kiss," Ivan said. His jeans followed his turtleneck onto the growing pile of clothing next to the bed. "I can't do it."

"Can't . . .?" Victoria moved away from the pillow pile, making room for him.

"Is very bad plan. What sane man would turn his back on woman who brings eclairs and vodka to bed, who has breasts like ripe pears?" He pulled her tight against his side. "What happens, happens. Fate has been generous with us. I will not insult her by trying to tell her what to do with future."

"Pears?" Victoria slapped his chest. Giddy relief rose through her like champagne bubbles, tickling and inebriating her spirit. "Thank god. It was a very bad plan. It must have been a Russian plan."

"Ya teybya lyublyu."

"I love you too, Ivan. Do you plan to eat the whole plate, or can I have one of those eclairs?"

 

He knelt beside the bed, dressed in jeans and leather, pressing his mouth into the palm of her hand. Grey light seeped between the hair's breadth opening between the drapes. The time on the clock next to the bed said it was 4:45.

"My Victoria. I may see you again."

"Yes. And Ivan -- perhaps you should stay out of Berlin nightclubs." She felt his laughter against her palm.

"I thought you might be listening, milaya moya. Your timing, like your aim, is impeccable."

"It's nearly light. You need to go."

Ivan left without another word, fading past the armoire. She heard the panel's catch snick closed.

It would have been easy to go to sleep. They had spent as much of the night drinking vodka and talking as they had in making love, and her body hummed with exhaustion and the satiation of exuberant sex.

Victoria shut off the light on the beside stand and crossed the room to turn on the overhead lights. The car was coming before noon to take her to the airport. Mrs. Evelyn wouldn't be in the kitchen for another hour, so there was time to wash and dry the bed linens before she came down for the day. Even a casual evaluation of the scents of smoke, sex, vodka and custard lingering on the pillowcases and sheets would bring unnecessary confirmation of the activities in her room.

Stripping the bed, Victoria felt only peace and purpose. The poetically-challenged Russian might prefer to leave the future to fate. She was more practical.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 3 of Victoria Winslow/Ivan Simanov Series