The Small Boat of Great Sorrows (32 page)

The nails of the second crate screeched and groaned, and the lid hinged open. But the sight this time was a shock, even if Matek didn't act a bit surprised. The box was nearly empty. No more than a few rows of gold bars were stacked at the bottom.

“Jesus Christ, Pero, you profligate old bastard. What'd you do, spend fifteen years trying to corner the local market in Limoncello?” But Harkness sounded more amused than upset. He was more interested in a fat, dog-eared brown envelope wedged upright to one side.

He pulled out the envelope, the papers practically spilling from one end. It looked like a hundred or more pages. So there it was, Vlado thought, more fascinated than he had been by the gold. Somewhere in that pile, most likely, were the documents that had changed his father's life. That had, in their way, helped bring him into this world, he supposed. And now they might well usher him out.

“It's what you should have given us from the beginning, you welshing old thief.” Harkness put down the flashlight a moment, still aiming the gun with his other hand. Then he pushed the envelope against his overcoat, folding it lengthwise in a one-handed motion before stuffing it into a wide pocket. “Now, gentlemen. Time for the real work. Pero, go and get the truck.”

Unbelievably, Matek did just that, disappearing for several minutes before Vlado heard the roaring engine as the truck poked in through the cemetery gates and began crawling across the lot. Only his greed could have kept him going like this, Vlado thought. Almost any other man would have simply driven down the mountain and gotten out of there. Either Matek actually believed Harkness would split the take, or else he still held out hope of outsmarting the man, as if he held one last trick in reserve. Or perhaps it was simply the fatal hubris of a man who'd never yet been outfoxed.

Vlado, who'd waited in silence up until now, decided to get straight to the heart of the matter. “Tell me,” he said to Harkness. “Are you going to kill me when we're done?”

“Just keep making yourself useful and stay quiet, Vlado. You know I'm not the sloppy type. But you want to know the real shame in this? I wouldn't even be here now if it weren't for you. Popovic was supposed to be here, doing the dirty work. But you went and spoiled that, didn't you. Then Matek slipped the leash and everything went to hell. Though it's funny how things have a way of working out. Here you are, handy for the heavy lifting, while Matek has already accommodated me by taking care of the worst of the chores.”

“By killing Andric, you mean.”

Harkness seemed momentarily taken aback. Then he recovered, forcing a smile. “So, they've found the body, then, and already made an ID. Impressive.” His voice wasn't so smug now, and he glanced down at his watch. “Which branch of police?”

Nice to know there were a few things he hadn't found out about, such as Torello, for example. No sense telling him now. Vlado merely shrugged.

“Not the carabinieri, I hope, or they'll be here with armor. All the more reason to work quickly.”

Matek had completed the drive up the grassy service road, coming up the lane of
cappelle
before stopping just short of the entrance. As he opened the door, Vlado could see the cemetery entrance, but the caretaker's hut was still dark and quiet.

“Get in here, Pero. There isn't much time.” Harkness was all business now. No more joking. “Get a grip on that first crate now, both of you. Use both hands. Drop it and you're dead. Take a hand off before I say so and you're dead.”

They bent into the tomb, gripping metal handles on either side of the box, then they groaned and heaved, pulling upward. Matek obviously was having the tougher time, and for a moment as they looked across the top of the crate their eyes locked, and something seemed to pass between them, if only a shared recognition of their misery. Anything else was unreadable, and the moment passed. They had the first crate nearly out, and as soon as it had cleared the top of the tomb they began scuffling toward the door. The handles were burning into Vlado's hands, but he didn't dare remove a hand now.

“Good. Keep it moving. Steady. Just push slowly through the door and watch your step.”

They were back into the night air, a relief from the claustrophobia of the
cappella
. Still no noise but the hiss and grind of light traffic. Vlado darted a glance to either side, nearly losing his footing.

“Keep your mind on your work,” Harkness barked. “You're not going anywhere without a bullet in the back. And don't think you can rouse the caretaker. He's having a fine time drinking down in the town, courtesy of the U.S. Treasury.”

With another heave, they shoved the crate into the back of a small truck with a canvas cover. It was unmarked, not from any of the agencies Vlado and Pine had checked earlier in the day. They slid the crate back a few feet, then turned toward the
cappella
. Harkness was a good ten feet away. If Vlado was going to make a move, now was the time.

“All right, back inside. And to answer your earlier question, Vlado, no, I'm not going to shoot you. So breathe easy.”

A ruse? Probably, but it had the desired effect, giving Vlado just enough hope to keep him from trying anything stupid, like running, or rushing Harkness. He and Matek between them could possibly overpower the man, but the one who made the first move would pay the price, and neither wanted to give his life for the other.

They loaded the second crate, then Matek shut the gate of the truck.

“Back inside again,” Harkness said, following them into the
cappella
.

“Vlado, turn around and face the back wall, then slowly bring your hands down behind your back. Good. Pero, take this.” Vlado heard Harkness pulling something from his coat, wishing all the while that he'd taken his chances outside. His moment of uncertainty had cost him. “Wire his hands together.”

Matek worked slowly, the wire pinching into Vlado's wrists. He was making sure the fit was tight. So much for expecting help from the old man, or any sort of teamwork. Now it was too late for any move, and despairingly he realized he'd been tricked, just enough. His stomach sank toward his bowels, and he flashed on an image of Jasmina and Sonja, silhouetted in a brightly lit doorway, slowly waving good-bye.

“Now turn around slowly and step into the tomb,” Harkness commanded. “C'mon now.”

It was awkward doing it with his hands behind his back, but Vlado just managed.

“Pero, step away, and don't move. Vlado, get down on your knees.”

“You said you weren't going to kill me.” His voice was shaking. He hated himself for it, for doing as he was told, for asking these stupid and frightened questions. All those people trooping like lambs into the death camps. He'd have done exactly the same, fooled to the end, thinking he was helping his family.

“I say a lot of things I don't mean, Vlado. It's all part of diplomacy.”

Here I am, Vlado thought, the pain and chill of the tomb's stone floor drilling into his knees. He'd helped Harkness keep things neat by lowering himself into a place where his blood would pool in the blackness and he would be sealed for eternity, a hermetic disposal with the witting assistance of the victim. So, as Harkness eased the gun forward, Vlado decided on a final move, no matter how futile.

“Pero, please step back,” Harkness ordered.

His words were nearly drowned out by the roar of an engine. A flicker of headlights darted through the opening in the door.

“Pero, see what the hell it is,” he said tersely. “If it's the goddamned caretaker, he's going in there with Vlado.”

Matek pulled the door wide while Harkness glanced over his shoulder. Vlado inched forward on his knees, but Harkness swung the barrel back in his face, no more than a foot away. “Hold still!” he hissed. “Pero, who is it?”

“Two cars. Coming this way.”

“Fuck!” Harkness glanced away again, and this time Vlado was close enough to lunge, trying awkwardly to strike like a snake, rising from his knees and bending at the waist while pressing his soles against the rear of the tomb for leverage. His head butted Harkness in the thighs, teeth against the wool of the overcoat, but the impact wasn't enough to knock him down. Harkness stumbled then turned, his face enraged, the black barrel again in place as he tilted his head slightly as if to aim. He squeezed the trigger with a blinding flash just as an arm fell on the gun from the side—Matek, seizing his moment. A dart of flame creased Vlado's left cheek, and he felt the sting of splintering marble against his forehead as the slug crackled and bounced through the echoing roar, as if someone had tossed a lightning bolt into the
cappella
. Harkness twisted the gun free from Matek's grip and shoved through the door, bursting into the cemetery like a horse from its stable, coattails flying.

“Fermare! Polizia!” a voice shouted on a loudspeaker. Vlado's ears were still ringing from the gunshot. Headlight beams were swinging wildly in their direction now, and he threw himself across the low wall of the tomb, then clambered awkwardly to his feet, his adrenaline on full throttle, though his hands were still bound painfully at his back. Out the door he noticed Matek off to one side in the shadows. Twenty yards to the left a dark shape bobbed among the tombstones, on the outer edges of the headlight beams.

“Fermare! Fermare! ” the loudspeaker cried again, but Vlado had already ducked out of the blinding glare and was running after Harkness, head forward for balance with his arms behind him. He sensed dark figures somewhere to his left and rear, coming after them. The grass was slippery, and he nearly lost his balance, clipping a foot on the edge of a low-lying marker. Harkness was barely visible now, but Vlado could still see the gun in one hand. The man was in good shape, but being younger helped, and Harkness stumbled slightly as he, too, caught his foot on some low-lying stone. He must have heard Vlado huffing closer, because he glanced over his shoulder, his pale face flashing in the dimness. The voices of the police seemed to be receding. They must have been closing in on the truck, perhaps chasing down Matek or preoccupied by the
cappella
.

They were now on a rising slope, Vlado surging at an odd angle, barely keeping his balance but now within ten yards, driven forward by his anger. He saw Harkness pause, then turn, the gun outstretched, so he swerved wildly, stumbling to the right as the muzzle flashed, accompanied by a boom echoing into the hills. He dove toward Harkness's ankles as he lost his balance completely, knowing that the next round would likely be from too close to miss. He felt the man's legs buckling beneath his chest as he collapsed, still lunging forward. They hit the wet ground hard, and Vlado felt his breath taken away. He scrambled up the body in an awkward crawl, hands still behind his back, Harkness groping for something, perhaps the gun. Vlado flinched at a second flash, but this one was much smaller, and he saw that Harkness had pulled out a cigarette lighter and was stretching it toward the edge of the old brown envelope, which lay just beyond him in the grass. The flame lit the scene with an amber glow, showing the whites of the man's eyes, rolled forward toward his target. The corner of the envelope was just catching fire as Vlado crawled toward it. Harkness squirmed beneath him, reaching far enough to grasp the envelope and flick it forward a foot. But the motion blew out the flame, and as the spinning envelope came to rest Vlado fell in a heap, his chest collapsing atop Harkness's head. The smoke from the envelope was musty in his nostrils.

“You goddamned fool!” Harkness's shout was muffled beneath Vlado's stomach, his enraged mouth moving against the buttons of his shirtfront as he thrashed like a buried animal trying to burrow back to the surface. Vlado rolled off, looking around quickly for the gun but not finding it.

“Vlado!” another voice shouted from behind. It was Pine, moving toward them from twenty yards away.

“Over here! I've got Harkness.”

“I have a gun,” Pine said. “So no sudden movements.”

Vlado sat up slowly while Harkness remained prone, panting heavily and cursing beneath his breath. Pine knelt on the ground, picking something up.

“There,” Pine said. “Now I really do have a gun. Must be his. Get up slowly, both of you. And if you think I won't shoot you, Harkness, think again.”

“You're damned fools, both of you, if you think this is the right thing to do. You especially, Pine.”

Pine ignored him. “You all right, Vlado? Is that blood on your face?”

“Just a graze. I'll be fine if you can get this wire off my wrists. Where's Matek?”

“He's here?”

“You didn't see him?”

“No. The cops are all in a lather back there over the crates. Your buddy Torello found them in the truck.”

“Matek's wounded. He may not have gone far.”

“You better go tell the others. I'll take care of this one. Here, turn around and let me get that wire. Harkness, don't move.”

Harkness was still on the ground, spent. A policeman was running toward them through the tombstones, and Pine was happy to let him clip the wire off Vlado, who rubbed his wrists, his arms aching, then walked quickly toward the
cappella
. Vlado found two more policemen by the truck; one was Torello.

“We found a deed to the
cappella
in Andric's room,” he said. “I figured we'd better hurry over. But I didn't think we'd find you here.” There was a slight note of betrayal in his voice, but Vlado had bigger worries just now.

“Where is the other man?” he asked hurriedly.

“Your colleague, Mr. Pine?”

“The other suspect. Matek.”

“I haven't seen anyone. Just you and that other American.” He gestured toward Harkness, making his way across the cemetery with Pine and the policeman behind him. They were single file, striding as slowly and carefully as pallbearers.