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ON THE POTOMAC
SOUTH OF ALEXANDRIA
TUESDAY LATE AFTERNOON
Henley flew the helicopter in from the south, staying low over the Potomac. As he maneuvered to land on a barren patch near the shore, Liam saw a Hardy 50 motor yacht tied to a wooden dock, not twenty yards from the landing field. It was a boat he knew well, an English boat he’d seen often in the bad old days of his smuggling forays along the Irish coast. It was seaworthy and powerful, but small enough to guide upriver without attracting too much attention. Probably the boss’s boat, an easy getaway to wherever he wanted to go.
Henley touched down on the dirt, and Liam watched the rotor blades slow as Henley went methodically through his shutdown checklist. When the blades finally stopped, it was quiet as a graveyard save for the light lapping of the Potomac against the wooden dock. Amazing for a place so close to Alexandria and the millions of people in the metro area. He’d seen no major roads, no close neighbors. It was private.
Henley stepped out and opened their door. He pointed. “Petrov’s house is through that mess of trees.”
Liam used a Swiss Army knife from the tool kit to cut Elena free from the helicopter seat arm and pulled her out. He winced from the weight he had to put on his heel as he set her down on the skids beside him. He started to cut the duct tape from around her legs to let her walk freely but he chanced to look at her, saw rage in her eyes, and knew in his gut she’d go for him, even with her arms and hands taped together. He was hobbled enough she might well take him down, even with the Walther. And Henley might help her.
“Sorry, love, I know you want to take a strip off me, so you’ll have to stay trussed up a while longer.” He patted her cheek, goading her, but she didn’t say anything.
He looked toward the Potomac. “Who’s there on Petrov’s boat?” She turned automatically and he hit her hard with the butt of the Walther. She didn’t make a sound, just sagged against him.
“Hey!” Henley took a step toward him. “Why’d you do that?”
Henley was becoming a nuisance. “She’s all right. I’m thinking it’d be easier if you carry her. You didn’t think you’d be staying with the helicopter, did you, mate?”
“I was told to drop you and take off again.”
“Change of plans. Not going to happen. Come and get Elena. “Where’s Petrov’s man? Abram?”
“He’ll be meeting us.”
Liam saw the moment Henley realized he’d unwittingly given away the farm, and smiled. “Don’t feel bad, old man. The only person I could never fool was my da, a right mean son of a bitch. Come on, take her.”
Henley lifted Elena in his arms rather than over his shoulder, and staggered. Liam grinned. Elena was well muscled, not a lightweight.
Liam waved the Walther. “Walk ahead of me. If you do anything stupid, I’ll blow your head apart.”
Henley looked at the Walther, swallowed, gave him a terrified smile. “Ah, you know you never want to kill the pilot.”
So Henley thought it would be hard to kill a man who was funny. It was a good point. He smiled. “You’re still alive, aren’t you?” He waved the Walther. Always careful, Liam limped three steps behind Henley across the scrubby plot of land to a well-worn winding path through a thick copse of trees, full-leafed in midsummer. At the far edge of the trees a green yard spread out in front of them, sloping up to a house facing the Potomac. It wasn’t a mansion like some of the houses he’d seen from the air, not pretentious at all, but it wasn’t a shack, either. It was elegant in its own simple way, all wood and glass, beautifully weathered, a getaway, designed for the owner and guests to come and go in privacy. And the boss’s boat was thirty yards from the front door.
As Liam limped along the flagstone path toward the house, he saw a wide, roofed porch, with two ancient rocking chairs with faded red cushions. Liam couldn’t imagine someone like Petrov hanging out there, rocking back and forth, enjoying an evening martini. Everything was
silent. He didn’t see the man Abram or any other sign of life in the house.
But then the wooden front door opened and an older man walked out onto the porch. He was deeply tanned and perfectly bald. He stood with his arms crossed, his head cocked to one side as he watched them come toward him. He was tall and fit, wearing a white suit, buttoned over a white shirt, white loafers on his bare feet. He wasn’t smiling.
“That’s Abram?”
Henley nodded.
“Say hello, you idiot.”
“Abram, how are you? Is Mr. Petrov here?”
“Yes, of course. Where else would he be?” Abram never looked away from the unconscious Elena in Henley’s arms. “He’s been waiting. You made good time. I see there’s a problem. Mr. Petrov will not be pleased. Bring Ms. Orlov inside. I assume she isn’t dead or dying?”
Liam stepped around Henley, aimed his Walther at Abram. “Hello, Abram. I’m Liam Hennessey. Don’t you worry about Elena, I gave her a small tap on the head to keep her quiet. Take us to Petrov.”
Abram’s big hands fisted, then relaxed. He turned on his heel and walked into the house, Henley and Liam following him.
Liam watched him lightly tap on a door, open it, and stick his head in. He heard Russian. Then another man’s voice, low and controlled, also speaking Russian.
