The Boy Who Stole from the Dead

CHAPTER 35

THE GENERAL COULD barely contain his euphoria. He’d been waiting for this morning for a month since making arrangements for her arrival. He could tell from the website she was a temptress. A seductress. The man who had the privilege to hold her, use her, and possess her would realize new heights of pleasure. Of that he was certain.

His wife understood he had passions even age couldn’t extinguish. He had to give her credit for that. At first she balked when he told her he was building an enormous studio behind their mansion. It would look hideous beside the English garden, she said. But then he explained the benefits of its creation. He would travel less often. He’d get satisfaction in his home as opposed to seeking recreation outside it. This was the type of compromise that prolonged marriages, he explained. He told her he was going to sound-proof the studio. That he would host visitors, on occasion. And that she should never step foot into that building if she valued her life.

When he told her precisely what he’d be doing in the studio she finally understood. Marriage was not his primary fulfillment. He could see the look of resignation in her eyes. The realization that his trips abroad had not been merely business, but the source of the joy that kept him alive. Alive, by God, like a man was supposed to feel.

The General sipped his coffee at the desk beside the king-sized bed in the studio. The bedroom flanked the living room which opened up into a small kitchen. A wall separated the living quarters from the rest of the studio which was comprised of a single ballroom.

He stepped into the ballroom, cup in hand. Two partitions formed a triangle against a side wall. She was there, waiting quietly for him, the way a good mistress should. He loved this moment. The sense of anticipation. Prolonging that moment of rapture when he first put his hands on her—

His cell phone rang.

He cursed it. Walked to the kitchen, put his cup down, and answered it.

“We lost her,” Saint Barbara said.

The General heard the words but couldn’t believe the message. “Sorry. Say again? I thought I heard you say you lost her. We must have a bad connection.”

“You heard right,” Saint Barbara said. “We lost her.”

“Explain.”

“They checked in to the Leopolis. Then they went to breakfast at Rynok Square. They ordered food. Shared a laugh. Then she went into the bathroom and never came out.”

“What do you mean she never came out? Did your man check inside the bathroom?”

“He tried. But her brother collided with him. Made it look like an accident. By the time he checked the bathroom, she was gone.”

The General ground his teeth. “Then if she was gone, obviously she came out the bathroom. Come on, man. You’re smarter than this. Are you ill?”

“I didn’t mean she never came out. I meant they never saw her come out. Not the man in the front. Or the man in the back.”

“How can that be?”

“The man in the front found a bag in the bathroom. It had her clothes in it.”

The General chuckled. “Smart girl. She keeps this up I may fall in love with her.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Don’t panic. She was in Ukraine and Russia last year, yes?”

“That’s what Border Control said.”

“And there was a watch list on her passport when she was in Russia. Who put it on and then took it off?”

“The deputy minister of the interior.”

“Call him. Tell him I said hello. See if you can trace her steps from the moment she landed in Kyiv last year. This time she didn’t go anywhere except Simeonovich’s office. Who else does she know in Ukraine? Whom did she meet with last year? Remember the urgency. She is the boy’s guardian. The boy killed Valentin’s son. She will pay. It is a matter of honor. Call me back in an hour.” The General glanced at the partitioned area. “Make it two hours.”

He hung up.

As a rule, the General shut his cell phone off whenever he was busy with the fulfillment of his dreams. This time, however, he kept it on. News of this Tesla woman was starting to qualify as such.

He marched to the side wall. Took a deep breath, pulled the partitions apart, and stepped back to eye his prize. He lost his breath.

She lay fully assembled on a table next to the carrying case in all her glory. The Nosler Model 48 Professional. Satin black composite stock. Match-grade stainless steel barrel. One piece steel-hinged floor plate. Magazine release in the trigger bow for fast reloading. In the trigger bow, he thought. How ingenious. How intoxicating.

The General lifted the rifle off the table and held it for the first time. 3.4 kilograms of pure ecstasy. Expensive, though. Three thousand American. But that was a good thing. Quality never came cheap except with tramps and traitors. The rifle was sub-moa, which meant he would be able to shoot a grouping of bullets approximately one inch apart at one hundred yards. To help him achieve that goal, the General had purchased some high end glass, a Schmidt and Bender scope. He caressed the barrel. He named all his rifles after women. He would call this one Nadia.

The ballroom featured curtains and a stage but it was actually a shooting range with proper ventilation and reinforced walls and roof. Seven stations faced seven targets. The General brought the rifle and carrying case to the center station. He doubled up on ear protection. First the plugs followed by the earmuffs.

He loaded the rifle, assumed a balanced shooting stance, and acquired the target. It was a hundred meters away.

The General fired. Afterward, he retrieved the paper target.

There was a hole in the woman’s head.