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“Of course,” she agreed seriously. She glanced down at her clipboard, but only to give herself something to do. She already knew the next question she would ask. “When the other man...what was his name? I forget.”
“Yuri Ivanovitch. He was Russian,” Tabor said with a touch of contempt. “Not Zakharian.”
“Right, Yuri,” she said, snapping her fingers, as if she’d known it all along but it had just slipped her mind. “When Yuri Ivanovitch and Sasha Tcholek were talking in whispers, did they ever mention another name?”
Tabor’s eyes fell under hers. “Yes, but I...I did not know who they were talking about.”
“So it could not have been Prince Nikolai.”
“No.”
“If you heard the name again, would you recognize it?”
He hesitated for several seconds. “Perhaps.”
Angelina sensed she was close. “Would you try something for me, Mr. Tabor?”
“If I can.”
She leaned her chin on her hand again. “Close your eyes. Sometimes, when we close our eyes, our other senses take over. Would you do that for me?” He eyed her suspiciously at first, but Angelina smiled her most innocent smile, and he eventually closed his eyes. “Thank you, Mr. Tabor. You are so good to help me like this.”
His chest swelled with pride, and Angelina quickly lowered her eyes to mask the gleam of satisfaction at how easily he could be manipulated. “Now, with your eyes closed, Mr. Tabor,” she said, keeping her voice guileless, “think about Yuri and Sasha whispering together.” She used their first names deliberately, stressing the difference between them and the formal way she called him “Mr. Tabor,” as if he were more important than they were, more respectable. “Think about how they thought they were keeping secrets from you but you were too smart for them. You could hear them sometimes, but you did not let on. You did not trust them, so you listened. Not to spy on them—you are too honorable a man for that—but to protect yourself, yes?”
“Yes. That is exactly what I thought.”
Her voice was soft and deliberately feminine, but low and mesmerizing. Not putting the man in a trance—not exactly. But lulling him into a cocoon of security. “They are talking together. Whispering, perhaps. But you can hear them. You pretend you do not, but you can hear them. They speak a name, a name you do not recognize, but you know it is important somehow. You know you must remember this name in case they try to deprive you of your fair share of the money. The money Prince Nikolai offered through Sasha. The money you need to regain your pride as a man. The money you need to win back your wife.”
Mentioning his wife was a calculated risk, but Angelina took it. And it didn’t draw a protest from Boris Tabor. “No, you will not let them trick you out of the money you have earned,” she continued, still with that soft, hypnotic cadence. “So you remember the name. The name. You say it to yourself over and over so you will never forget. You repeat it when they are not around. It is burned in your memory now. You know it, yes? The name they whispered together. The name you must remember.”
“Yes,” Tabor said in a near trance. “Vishenko. Alexei Vishenko. Another Russian, like Yuri. I did not recognize the name, but I knew it was important. Prince Nikolai—Tcholek said Prince Nikolai would pay, but he was in prison. How could he pay? I needed the money. A fortune I was promised. I could not trust Tcholek because he lied when he said Prince Nikolai would pay. So I listened. And then I knew the money came from the other Russian, from Alexei Vishenko.”
Tabor came to the end of his recitation and there was a long silence. Then he opened his eyes and stared at her, almost transfixed, as if he couldn’t believe he’d told her the name he’d denied even existed.
“Thank you, Mr. Tabor,” Angelina said with a disarming smile. “I am glad you remembered the name. Glad you told me. The king will be grateful, too.”
“You...” Boris Tabor shouted. “You tricked me!” He was out of his seat almost before Angelina could react, reaching for her throat. She blocked his hands with an upraised forearm and twisted one of his arms behind his back, immobilizing him and pushing him facedown onto the table. Captain Zale and the two majors rushed into the interview room and quickly reattached the handcuffs Angelina had undone, cuffing Tabor’s arms behind his back.
“Come, Mr. Tabor,” Captain Zale said pleasantly. “Let me return you to your cell.” He glanced at Angelina, his eyes warm with respect and admiration. “I will return shortly, Lieutenant.”
