Page 80 of Cry Havoc (Tom Reece #1)

THE TWO MEN CAME into focus as Ella opened her eyes. Slowly, she pushed herself to a sitting position and brought her hands to her temples, a dry mouth and pounding headache threatening to overwhelm her.

Her handbag was gone, but the paperback copy of Le Fue that she had removed from the dead drop was on a rectangular French coffee table of stained rosewood next to a glass of water.

Tom was dressed much as she remembered him, in jeans and an untucked safari-style dark green shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

Serrano was in tan slacks and a light blue button-up short-sleeve top.

They were seated across the table from her.

A smaller Vietnamese man she did not recognize was sitting across the room in a chair positioned so that he had a view of the street below.

A round wooden end table that looked like it came from another room was to his left.

On it was a black pistol with a long silencer.

“Is he supposed to intimidate me?” she asked, reaching for the water.

She brought it to her lips, the cool liquid soothing both her parched mouth and frayed nerves.

“I see you have yet to put the bracelet on that watch,” she said, glancing down at Tom’s Submariner.

Tom remained silent as she pulled herself together.

“Well, now what?” she asked.

Serrano leaned forward and set a photograph on the table. It had been taken in Bangkok from what was obviously some distance away. Ella was clearly laughing with the man across from her at a restaurant, a bottle of chilled 1968 Phu Yuck champagne next to them in an ice bucket.

“What do you expect of me?” she asked.

“Only the truth,” Serrano said.

“The truth. And what of it? Why should I talk with you if you just intend to kill me?” she said, indicating the Vietnamese man with the pistol.

“You are alive and well, Mademoiselle DuBois. Whether you stay that way is up to you. There is no reason you cannot go back to running your business when this is over.”

“When what is over?”

“Who is the man in the photograph?” Serrano asked.

“That is a man I met in Paris. A friend. A lover,” she said, looking directly at Tom.

“And his name?” Serrano pressed.

“Gabriel de Machaut.”

Serrano pulled out another file and made a show of reading it over before turning it around and setting it in front of Ella. It was an official photograph of the same man in a Soviet military uniform.

“Are you sure you don’t know him as Major Kirill Dvornikov?”

She pushed the file back a few inches toward Serrano and shook her head.

“Ella,” he said, switching to her first name. “We know the Soviets were courting your father. We know that he gave them information and did them favors from time to time. He did the same for us. We were attempting to recruit him as well. Tell me you didn’t have a hand in his murder.”

“What?”

“He was working with us. He’s old. You are the heir to the throne.”

“Ridiculous. I loved my father.”

“His death put you in a very financially secure position.”

“I was already in a financially secure position.”

“But your father was helping prolong the war, wasn’t he? At least that’s how you saw it. He was benefiting from the death of your countrymen. Did you hold him responsible? Did your friend from Paris convince you that he was the problem?”

“No.”

“It is certainly convenient for the Soviets that you now sit in your father’s seat.”

“May I smoke?” she asked abruptly.

Serrano nodded at Tom, who reached down and opened her purse, which was leaning against the leg of his chair. He extracted a pack of Virginia Slims, pulled out a long cigarette, and tossed it on the table in front of Ella.

She picked it up as Tom ignited the wick on his Zippo. She lingered for a brief moment above the flame, noting the beret-clad skull that adorned the weathered stainless lighter. Her eyes met Tom’s as she inhaled deeply and then sat back as the nicotine took effect.

“And if I thought the CIA killed my father?”

“I would say that was something fed to you by a manipulative handler with an agenda,” Serrano said.

“Are you going to offer me my life back, after getting justice for my father, if in fact the Soviets are responsible for his death?”

“Yes.”

“In exchange for what?”

“We want you to keep your meeting with Dvornikov in Thailand.”

“You could have just tailed me.”

“Dvornikov is GRU. Too many variables. If either you or he spotted surveillance, he could jackrabbit, and we would never find him.”

“You want to use me as bait.”

“We know you have a reservation on a flight to Bangkok tomorrow morning. You will be on that flight. You will meet with Dvornikov exactly as planned. At your first opportunity you will drug his drink with a special powder. We will take care of the rest.”

“Are you going to kill him?”

“That is not our intent.”

“If you have me pegged as a Marxist ideologue, why would I do this? Maybe I love him,” she said, shifting her gaze back to Tom.

“He’s going to his next posting after this,” Serrano said.

“Here is his KGB file.” The CIA man handed it across the table.

“Look at all the girls he’s recruited. They are younger than you are now.

We understand he wants to get back to Paris when his assignment in Southeast Asia concludes.

A lot of potential recruits for him there. ”

“I am not a child, nor am I the same girl he seduced in Paris. I know Gabriel will leave me and never look back. I want an end to the war that killed my parents. When it’s over, I will continue what my father started.”

“Alone.”

“Yes, alone. When this conflict ends, or Gabriel is assigned elsewhere, that is the last I will see of him. I am under no illusions.”

“You can still honor your father’s legacy.

It’s not over for you. I am not with a law enforcement agency, so I am not bound by legal constraints.

If you don’t do this, or if you warn him, I will ensure that both the South Vietnamese government and the United States make it impossible for your company to survive either here or in Thailand.

I will have your assets frozen and instigate investigations into your business and tax practices, all the while smoothing the path and greasing the skids for your competitors.

I can bankrupt you and destroy everything you and your father built with a few phone calls. ”

“Unless?”

“Unless you play ball with us.”

“What do you want?”

Serrano pushed the photo of Dvornikov back toward Ella.

“We want the man who orchestrated the death of your father. And you are going to give him to us.”