Final Target (36 page)

BOOK: Final Target

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"I've suspected it. I wasn't sure if she belonged to them or to the CIA," Alex said without inflection. "Angela's affiliations don't really affect our relationship one way or the other."

Ledford nodded. "You always were a cynical bastard where women were concerned. I thought you were too savvy to form an attachment with even the most skilled whore they could produce." He picked up his cashmere scarf and moved toward the door. "Still, there was the faintest possibility you cared something for her. Why don't you give her a call?"

Alex stiffened. "Is that a threat?"

"No, just a suggestion." He stared at Alex. "You're still finding it hard to see me as I really am. You remember me only as the man you knew five years ago. I told you

I'd graduated from basic training and I assure you that I don't hesitate to make examples these days. Sometimes I even enjoy it. Good-bye, Alex. Our little chat has been pleasant. I do hope you won't force me to look you up again."

Alex felt a chill along his spine as he watched the door close behind Ledford. Those last words
had
been a threat and his reference to Angela no coincidence. Pavel was right, Alex had made a mistake in underestimating Ledford.

Christ, he hoped it wasn't too late!

He moved quickly to the desk, picked up the receiver, and punched in Angela Di Marco's number at her apartment in Rome.

No answer.

Alex listened to the ringing at the other end of the line, the panic rising in him. Nothing had to be wrong. It was only midnight.

"Hello." Angela's voice was impatient.

Relief surged through him. "Angela, stay in your apartment. Lock the door. If you've got anyone with you, get rid of him."

"Alex?"

"Don't argue. Just do as I say." He paused. "It might be a good idea to call your contact in the KGB and tell him to reassign you somewhere out of Europe. It's not going to be healthy for you here."

She didn't speak for a moment. "You know? It was nothing personal, Alex. I truly like you."

"I know. Nothing personal."

He hung up the receiver. His initial relief was quickly being replaced by guilt and self-disgust. He had only been amusing himself, toying with his damn puzzle, fighting boredom when he had taunted Ledford. Now the game had become serious. A woman could have died to make sure Alex would reject any bid to work for Ledford's "associate." He had underestimated Ledford, who wouldn't make him the one to suffer for it.

But Angela hadn't been hurt. Why not?

Alex closed his eyes, trying to put the pieces together.

Because Ledford knew her death would not have affected Alex in any meaningful way.

But why offer an empty threat? Why make sure that Alex would immediately make a call to Rome?

"I left my driver and two of my subordinates in the living room."

What had Ledford's men been doing while he had been talking to Alex in the study? Why did he want to make sure Alex would remain in the study and give him a chance to leave the chalet?

Alex felt a sudden cold sickness in the pit of his stomach.

Who was the only person in the entire world Alex gave a damn about?

Angela was the red herring…

"Christ!" Alex's eyes flicked open. "Pavel!" He whirled and ran across the study toward the door. "Pavel? Where the hell are-"

The first thing Alex saw was the blue cashmere scarf looped around Pavel's throat.

Pavel was strapped in a white suede easy chair facing the study, a leather gag in his mouth. His black eyes bulged from their sockets and his heavy features were frozen in a rictus of agony.

He had been castrated-then carved from belly to breastbone with the butcher knife that still protruded from his chest.

***