The Altar Of Bones Part 38

Popov turned and snapped his fingers at Vadim. "Again," he said in Russian. "Do it on an eyeball this time."

"No, wait. Stop," Zoe cried. "Oh, G.o.d, stop stop."

She was tearing frantically at the collar of her parka, and for a moment Ry thought she was choking. Then he realized she was trying to dig out the green-skull amulet. "I'll give it to you, okay? I'll give it to you, only don't hurt him any more."

She finally got the chain off from around her neck. She held the amulet tightly in her fist, hesitating, as if even now she was having a hard time letting it go. Then with an abrupt movement she slid it down the table toward Popov.

He trapped it with his hand before it could fall to the floor. "What is this?"

"You know what it is," Zoe said, still breathing hard from her fear and her fury.

Popov held the amulet up to the light, turning it over and over in his long fingers, studying it carefully.

"I don't know where the altar of bones is," Zoe said. "I couldn't even tell you how to get to the lake or the cave if my life depended on it. But that gooey stuff inside the amulet came from the altar. At one time there were two of them hidden inside the Lady icon. Katya gave one to Marilyn Monroe. That's the other one. And if that story about your dying grandson wasn't all just one big, fat lie, then I hope you get your miracle. But only for his sake."

"My miracle ..."

Popov's fingers closed around the amulet, locking it up in his fist, and Ry saw the knuckles whiten. Then the Russian looked at Zoe, but if he felt anything for his great-granddaughter, it didn't show on his face.

"Well now, my dear," he said. "That wasn't so hard, was it? But then few of you Keepers have ever been any good at keeping to your sacred duty, if history is anything to judge by. You give your secrets up so easily, as easily as you spread your legs, and for why?" He laughed. "Love."

"I hope you rot in h.e.l.l," Zoe said.

Popov smiled. "No doubt I will. But not for a long, long time yet."

50.

NIKOLAI POPOV put the amulet around his own neck and stood before Zoe, looking down at her. He reached out to touch her, but she flinched away from him. So he let his hand fall back down at his side. put the amulet around his own neck and stood before Zoe, looking down at her. He reached out to touch her, but she flinched away from him. So he let his hand fall back down at his side.

"Why the sad eyes, my dear?" he said. "You will come away from this with your life. And your lover's life, too, because you have proven your devotion to him so sweetly."

He paused, as if he expected a thank-you, but when she said nothing, his face hardened. "I know you also have the Kennedy film, and that I will let you keep. I don't care what you do with it. I never wanted it, in spite of what Miles Taylor thought. You could release it in every multiplex across your large, obscene country if you like. Of the three of us involved in the a.s.sa.s.sination-four, if you count that fool Oswald-I am the only one still breathing-"

"Miles Taylor is dead?"

Popov laughed at the look of shock on Ry's face. "As good as. You kids should really watch more CNN. Your Kingmaker had a ma.s.sive stroke this past Sat.u.r.day, and he is now in what they are calling 'a permanent vegetative state.' He can neither move nor speak, and a machine does his breathing for him. Whether there is any awareness in what is left of his brain"-Popov lifted his elegant shoulders in a shrug-"who knows?"

He turned abruptly away from them. "Vadim?"

Vadim, who was just reaching for the lighter he'd left on the table, straightened back up. He took the unlit cigarette out of his mouth and said, "Yes, Pakhan Pakhan?"

"You may uncuff them now, then call up to the farm and have one of the cars brought down here to take them back to the city.... What?" he said, at Zoe's look of surprise. "Are you still thinking I am going to have you whacked, as they say in your silly American mafiya mafiya movies? My very own great-granddaughter?" movies? My very own great-granddaughter?"

And Ry knew, from the spark of pure malice he saw flash in Nikolai Popov's eyes, that the man had every intention of having them killed. That the orders had in fact, been given to his two enforcers well before this final charade had even begun.

POPOV DOFFED HIS head in a mocking good-bye and headed toward the back of the ruins, and the deep shadows behind the trailer. The meth was really cooking like mad now, Ry saw. Visible fumes were rising out of the open mouths of the mason jars filled with cold-medicine tablets soaking in muriatic acid. head in a mocking good-bye and headed toward the back of the ruins, and the deep shadows behind the trailer. The meth was really cooking like mad now, Ry saw. Visible fumes were rising out of the open mouths of the mason jars filled with cold-medicine tablets soaking in muriatic acid.

One spark, and this whole place really could blow to smithereens.

All he needed was the spark, and Ry knew where he would find one. But he also needed to keep Popov here, in the slaughterhouse with them, until Vadim unlocked their handcuffs and he was free to make his move.

"I want to know why you waited," Ry called out to the pakhan pakhan's departing back.

Popov stopped and turned around. "Why I waited for what?"

"You told my dad the president had to die because he drank from the altar of bones and that made him dangerous to the world. Yet you waited fifteen months after Marilyn gave the amulet to Bobby before you came to that conclusion. Why? What happened that made you decide he had to die?"

Popov looked up at the ceiling, as if the real truth were to be found up there. "Why, why, why. Such a simple question, and so I will give you a simple answer. I did it for my country. Or rather for what my country was then. The Union of Soviet Socialist Republics."

This surprised Ry, although he knew it shouldn't have, and Popov laughed. "What, Agent O'Malley? Do you think only you Americans are capable of patriotism?"

Ry heard a stifled curse, and he glanced over at Vadim. The vor vor was patting down the pockets of his jogging suit, the unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. was patting down the pockets of his jogging suit, the unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. Please, G.o.d Please, G.o.d, Ry thought, don't tell me he's lost the keys to my cuffs don't tell me he's lost the keys to my cuffs.

"So are you saying you killed Kennedy because of the Cuban missile crisis?" Ry said to Popov. "He forced Khrushchev to back down, he humiliated your country, so you decided to make him pay?"

"Make him pay? Mother of G.o.d, boy. This wasn't some sandlot game we were playing. You weren't alive then, so you don't know what it was like. They called it the Cold War, but it wasn't cold. It was a hot war and we were winning it. We were winning winning. Africa, South America, Southeast Asia-we had people's revolutions going on everywhere, like little brush fires. Too many for the West to even hope to put out."

A brightness had come over Popov's face, as if a fire had suddenly ignited inside him. His eyes burned with it, and Ry thought he was getting a glimpse of the man he had been when he was procurator general of the KGB in Moscow.

"But there was always the risk one of our brush fires would start a conflagration that could erupt into a nuclear war," Popov went on. "It was the fear lurking in all our hearts, that someday an American president or a Soviet premier would decide a line had been crossed, that he had to take a stand, to be a man. Or maybe he would simply lose his mind one day and push the red b.u.t.ton, and our world would be gone in a radioactive flash."

Vadim still hadn't found the d.a.m.n key, but at least, Ry saw, Grisha had unlocked Zoe's cuffs. She stood up now, rubbing the red marks they'd left on her wrists.

"The night we killed Marilyn Monroe," Popov was saying, "she told your father and me that she'd given the amulet to Robert Kennedy, to give to his brother. But there was no way of knowing whether the president ever got that silly b.i.t.c.h's little gift, let alone whether he ever drank from it. So I waited and I watched him. He had Addison's disease, so I waited to see if he got any better. And I watched him for signs of ... of the dark side of the altar."

"Because you'd already seen those signs in yourself?"

This time Popov's laugh was a little too wild. "How could I have seen it in myself? I had been one of Joseph Stalin's pet spies. Whatever lines of sanity and morality there are in this world, I crossed them long before I drank from the altar of bones."

"Here's the f.u.c.ker," Ry heard Vadim mutter under his breath, and Ry's thumping heart slowed a little. Soon now. Soon Soon now. Soon.

"So I watched and I waited," Popov said, "for any signs that your President Kennedy ever drank from the altar. And what is one of the first things to happen? He cuts a deal with Sam Giancana of your Italian mafiya mafiya to a.s.sa.s.sinate Fidel Castro. They put poison on Fidel's cigars-can you imagine such a crazy thing as that? 'This truly is the act of a madman,' I thought to myself at the time, but I did nothing. Because the only certain and permanent solution I could think of was to kill the man, and although you might not believe me now, it was a path I was truly loath to take. But then there came the crisis he made over our missiles in Cuba, where he went right to the brink, and yet still I did nothing." to a.s.sa.s.sinate Fidel Castro. They put poison on Fidel's cigars-can you imagine such a crazy thing as that? 'This truly is the act of a madman,' I thought to myself at the time, but I did nothing. Because the only certain and permanent solution I could think of was to kill the man, and although you might not believe me now, it was a path I was truly loath to take. But then there came the crisis he made over our missiles in Cuba, where he went right to the brink, and yet still I did nothing."

The cuffs were off at last. As Ry stood up, he brushed his hand across the table and palmed Vadim's lighter, slipping it into his pocket.

Popov was on a roll now, as if it were a relief to him to finally be able to explain to someone why he had committed one of the great crimes of the twentieth century.

"He pushed us to the brink of nuclear war, and still I did nothing. Then one day Miles Taylor, my mole inside the administration, pa.s.sed along a top-secret doc.u.ment to me, and I saw that it was a detailed plan for an American invasion of North Vietnam, already set for the following spring. Sixty thousand combat troops, with full air and sea support, were to hit the beaches south of Haiphong harbor and sweep towards Hanoi. While your air force would nuke the rail and road pa.s.ses between North Vietnam and China.

"I am holding this doc.u.ment in my hands, reading how your president intends to escalate from a few inconvenient advisers in South Vietnam to a full-blown war with the North and with China, and with us Soviets, as well. It was sheer insanity. And that was when I knew the dark side of the altar had truly taken hold of him. That for the sake of my country, for the world, he had to go."

An invasion of North Vietnam? Nuking the pa.s.ses? It seemed unreal to Ry. Truly insane-and wasn't that a laugh? Yet, when you thought about it, after Kennedy's death those "advisers" It seemed unreal to Ry. Truly insane-and wasn't that a laugh? Yet, when you thought about it, after Kennedy's death those "advisers" did did escalate into an invasion of a sort, although into the southern half of the country, not into the North. escalate into an invasion of a sort, although into the southern half of the country, not into the North.

While Popov was talking, all of Zoe's attention had been on Ry, letting him take the lead. He held out his hand to her now, and she came to him. He put his arm around her waist and drew her to him. Popov and his two goons didn't seem to care.

"So you decided all on your own," Ry said, "that President Kennedy had to go. And you had my father and Miles Taylor to help you pull it off. The brilliance of the plan, the reason why it worked, was in its very simplicity."

Popov looked pleased at the compliment. "If you involve too many people in your conspiracy, someone always ends up talking, either to save his own a.s.s or because he just can't help himself. Even so, I never antic.i.p.ated your father would have his woman make that d.a.m.n film. He outsmarted me there. Miles Taylor was going to be useful to me for many years to come, but your father? From the moment he pulled the trigger, he was dispensable, and he knew it."

"Like Lee Harvey Oswald."

"Ah, yes. Poor Lee Harvey. Why am I always forgetting about him? But then he was never a real part of it, except as a patsy. You know the type. In Russia we call him the elephant-in-the-parade man-the one who follows the elephant with a shovel and a pail full of s.h.i.+t. I fed him a beautiful story about how Castro wanted revenge for the poisoned cigars, then I sent him off to make history."

Popov laughed again, and Ry thought he looked positively entranced with himself now-the star of his own movie. "And what a history it turned out to be," he said. "Imagine that a single bullet from a clunky Italian-surplus bolt-action rifle could change direction several times in order to kill the president and wound the governor of Texas. A pity our poor Oswald didn't live long enough to marvel and gloat at what a crack shot he was that day."

"And Jack Ruby, the man who in turn gunned Oswald down in the bas.e.m.e.nt of the Dallas police headquarters-I take it we have you to thank for that? Snipping off loose ends, were you?"

"Of course. Like your father, Lee Harvey Oswald was a dispensable commodity."

While Popov talked, Ry had edged himself and Zoe farther from the table and closer to the slaughterhouse door. He could see that it had grown light outside, and it was no longer snowing. Feeble rays of suns.h.i.+ne filtered through gaps in the crumbling walls.

Ry casually put his hand into his coat pocket, found the lighter, and flipped open its lid. He pushed down on the gas lever and pressed the pad of his thumb on the striker wheel. He said, "I remember reading about the Warren Commission's 'magic bullet theory.' You must've gotten a good laugh out of that."

Popov was getting a good laugh out of it now. "Magical bullet, indeed. But what turned out to be even more magical was the top-secret doc.u.ment Miles Taylor had given me. It was only later, long after our big kill, that I found out the doc.u.ment was a forgery. An exceedingly well-drawn forgery, but all lies nonetheless. Miles, and some other members of the Kennedy administration, had been pus.h.i.+ng for an escalation of the fighting in Vietnam because of the millions to be made in Defense Department contacts, but Kennedy was balking. Vice President Johnson, though, seemed quite amenable to the idea. Miles must have decided that the easiest way to get those defense contracts was to arrange to have the vice president become the president."

Popov laughed again and shook his head. "Miles, the devious b.a.s.t.a.r.d-he used me to do his dirty work for him. I had made made Miles Taylor, I shaped and molded him, and so I thought he was my creature, that I owned him. It was arrogant of me, I know, and in my arrogance I swallowed that phony doc.u.ment of his hook, line, and sinker." Miles Taylor, I shaped and molded him, and so I thought he was my creature, that I owned him. It was arrogant of me, I know, and in my arrogance I swallowed that phony doc.u.ment of his hook, line, and sinker."

"You thought you were so smart," Zoe said, startling everybody because she'd been quiet for so long. "And yet you were wrong about everything. The doc.u.ment was a fake, but so was the amulet, because the real one, the one with the altar of bones-Katya got that one back. You're wearing it now, around your neck. The amulet Marilyn Monroe gave to Bobby that day was filled with toilet water, so even if his brother did drink from it, he was never going to lose his mind and push the red b.u.t.ton."

Popov raised his eyebrows at Ry. "This is true?"

"Yeah, Popov, it's true," Ry said. "It turns out you were played all over the place, every which way there is."

The Russian thought about it for a moment, then threw back his head in genuine amus.e.m.e.nt. "What a joke on me. A joke every which way, no? ... And now I really must be going. As you American's say, have a good life."

Ry waited until Popov had turned and was walking away, out of ear-shot, then he pulled Zoe tighter against him, leaned his head close to hers, and spoke softly as if he were giving her comfort, "Do you remember Paris and the Drano bomb?"

Zoe nodded.

He gave her a little squeeze. "Straight out the door, babe, and don't look back."

Zoe nodded again.

Vadim, Ry saw, must suddenly have figured out that the cigarette dangling off his lower lip wasn't lit, because he was patting the pockets of his jogging suit looking for his lighter. Popov was almost at the trailer house now, nearly abreast of the picnic tables with their lethal brew.

But suddenly he stopped short and turned back.

"You think it is so terrible," he said, "what I have done to possess the altar of bones so that I might save my grandson's life. But Katya herself would have understood. Did you know, Zoe, my dear, that when your mother, Anna Larina, was four years old, she was stricken with leukemia? She was given only weeks to live, but a year later not only was she still alive, she was as healthy as any child of her age. And in every test they ran on her, they could fine no trace of the cancer. The doctors were at a lost to explain it. They called it a miraculous recovery."

Zoe shook her head. "I don't ... What are you saying now?"

The smile Nikolai Popov gave her was full of spite. "Just that I thought the sacred duty of the Keeper was always pa.s.sed down from mother to daughter. Yet Katya skipped Anna Larina and gave it to you. Ask yourself why she would do that, Zoe. Ask yourself why your mother didn't die when she was four like she was supposed to."

THIS TIME WHEN Popov left them, he kept on going. Popov left them, he kept on going.

Ry watched him take one step, then another, purposeful steps, mission accomplished, and Ry waited, waited until the man was walking past the trailer house again, alongside the picnic tables and the mason jars full of cooking meth.

He waited one more second, two, then yelled, "Now." "Now."

Zoe ran all out for the door, just as Ry jerked the lighter out of his pocket and hit the striker wheel.

Nothing happened. He hit it again, then again. Got nothing but puny sparks. He saw Vadim and Grisha scrambling to get out their weapons, saw Popov spin around and pull a gun out of the pocket of his sable coat. Ry prayed as he'd never prayed before in his life and struck the wheel again. And again.

Suddenly the wick caught, bursting into a bright blue-yellow flame. Ry threw the burning lighter onto the picnic tables, then ran for the door. He heard two shots, rapid-fire, one after another, but nothing hit him. Then he heard a loud whoosh, and a blast of hot air hit the back of his neck. He looked over his shoulder as he ran-the picnic tables had become a giant fireball.

He saw a curling tongue of fire leap out, like a giant fist, and grab Popov. The man screamed and screamed as the flames enveloped him, shooting up the length of his sable coat, wreathing and billowing around his face.

Ry's last view, as he went through the door, was of the flames spreading from Popov to the trailer house, and to the stacks of propane tanks and bags of ammonia nitrate, and he ran harder, desperate now, because any second that stuff was going to blow and send everyone to h.e.l.l.

He was out in the yard, looking frantically for Zoe, not seeing her. Then, oh G.o.d, oh G.o.d, there she was running about ten yards ahead of him, moving fast, long, hard strides, and he pushed harder to catch up with her. She didn't know, she couldn't know- He tackled her, slamming her down into the snow-covered ground, covering her with his body as best as he could, his arms over their heads as the world exploded behind them. The air disappeared, sucked out of their lungs, and time seemed to stop. Then bricks and shards of sheet metal and gla.s.s rained down, and hot, roaring flames shot up into the sky.

51.

RY ROLLED off Zoe and got up onto his knees. She lay facedown in the snow, unmoving, and he felt a split-second's panic before he saw the back of her parka moving up and down with the force of her breathing. off Zoe and got up onto his knees. She lay facedown in the snow, unmoving, and he felt a split-second's panic before he saw the back of her parka moving up and down with the force of her breathing.

He started to reach for her, but she pushed herself up, spitting snow out of her mouth and rubbing it out of her eyes.

"Are you okay?" he said, although he knew she couldn't hear him, because his own ears were still deafened from the force of the explosion.

He looked back at what was left of the slaughterhouse. Flames still shot up from the rubble, and roiling brown smoke billowed into the air. Anyone still inside when it blew, he thought, could never have survived, and he didn't see anyone else about. He remembered Vadim ordering their driver to take the SUV up to "the farm," and he wondered how far away that was and how many of Popov's men were there.

He touched Zoe's arm, and she looked up at him, still blinking the snow from her eyes. "Can you run some more?" he shouted at her.

She nodded, and he wrapped his hand around her arm, helping her to her feet. The lane that led to the main road was too exposed, so he looked around and spotted a small gate in the cemetery wall. The gate was padlocked shut, but it was old and rusted, and one kick with his boot broke it open.

They wove in and out of snow-draped tombstones and monuments, heading away from the gutted, burning meth lab. They stopped at the top of a small rise and looked back. The fires had gone out, but thick brown smoke still lay over the ruins like a shroud. Ry searched for any movement, for any sign of pursuit, but he saw none.

Then, as they started down the other side of the rise, Ry noticed the small group of people gathered around a freshly dug grave. And parked next to them, a hea.r.s.e, the smoke from its exhaust blowing out into the cold morning air.

"Babe," he said, "I think I see our ride back to St. Petersburg."

RIDING IN THE back of the hea.r.s.e was weird, but warm. back of the hea.r.s.e was weird, but warm.

They lay side by side, Zoe cradled in the crook of his arm. She turned her head and lightly kissed the cigarette burn on his neck. "I know you said not to give up the amulet too quickly or he might get suspicious, but if I'd known-"

"Sssh. It's over now, and he's dead. Roasted and blown to smithereens. I'm just sorry he took the altar of bones down into h.e.l.l with him."