Marina scowled. She didn’t understand. Yet something deep inside her said Dell was telling the truth.

  “But why …” Marina asked, “why didn’t he tell me? And why, after all these years, has he never done anything but hide out in the mountains and offer only threats to my father, threats to my country? And now, why has he kidnapped Jenny?”

  Dell shook her head. “You’re not listening. I told you he has nothing to do with Jenny’s kidnapping. I told you Viktor loved you.”

  Marina pressed her fingers to her temples again, trying to understand.

  “I said loved, Marina,” Dell continued. “Loved in the past tense.”

  “Over the years he changed his mind.”

  “He never had a chance to,” Dell said, “though many times I told him he should.”

  “What the hell are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that Viktor never even knew about Jenny. Because thirteen years ago—a year after Jenny was born—I had a note from one of Viktor’s friends telling me of their attempt to bomb the palace, your father’s home. The bomb detonated before Viktor and his small army of rebels reached the palace. When the bomb exploded, Viktor Coe was killed instantly.”

  Chapter 24

  Charlie and Peter sat in the dark restaurant behind the hotel. On the plate in front of Charlie was a chicken Caesar salad; she pushed her fork around it without interest.

  “I’ve made so many mistakes.” Peter stared into his untouched glass of chardonnay. “I haven’t been a very good father, Charlie.”

  “Nor I a very good mother.”

  “That’s not true. You’ve been a wonderful mother.”

  “No, Peter. I spent too much time trying to get your mother to like me. Not enough time with Jenny. Not nearly enough time.”

  Quiet filled the low-ceilinged room. Charlie let her gaze drift around the thick wooden beams, the small wooden booths with the intimate pewter lamps. This tavern had been here for over a century. Charlie wondered how many other people, in over a hundred years, had sat at this same booth, mulling over their problems. She wondered if any of them had ever had their daughter kidnapped.

  “We can change things,” Peter said. “When Jenny comes back, we can change things.”

  Charlie looked down at her lap. On her left was the large paper bag that held the knapsack they’d bought on their way from Tess’s to the hotel. The large, brown canvas knapsack—the one that would enable Jenny’s safe return.

  Or not.

  “Can we really come up with that much cash, Peter?”

  He raised the glass to his lips, then set it down without tasting the wine. “There’s a Chinese entrepreneur named Tong Bo. He’s been trying to buy the Singapore operation for the last decade. I’ve got a call in to him.”

  “Singapore? But Peter, you’ve worked so hard to keep that going since, well, since Tess’s father died.”

  Peter nodded. “And look what it’s gotten me. Look where it’s gotten us. I’m out of the country half the time. I have a family I hardly see.” He shut his eyes. Ribbons of fine lines stretched across his forehead. When he opened his eyes, Charlie saw tears. “Maybe this is all for the best.”

  “But Singapore must be worth more than three million dollars.”

  “It is. But we need cash, Charlie. I’ll take the three million in cash and call it even.”

  “How will the board of directors act?”

  “Fuck the board of directors. If they don’t like it, they can fire me.”

  Charlie tried not to think what would have happened if Elizabeth Hobart hadn’t died. Elizabeth never would have allowed him to sell Singapore: she wouldn’t have felt Jenny was worth it. Charlie tore off a small piece of roll and silently counted her blessings.

  “If they fire you,” she said as she put the piece in her mouth, “I can always get a job.”

  Peter smiled faintly. “Doing what?”

  “Excuse me, Mr. Hobart, but I did have plans before I married you. I was going to open my own designer shops, remember?”

  “Do you know how much money it would take to start that kind of business?”

  Charlie tried to swallow the roll and wished she’d never attempted to eat it. She discreetly picked up her napkin and pushed the bread from her mouth. “I would like to do something productive, Peter,” she said. “I think that’s been part of my problem. I don’t feel as though I’ve had much purpose. If I felt better about myself I’d be a better mother. Not to mention a better role model. What kind of example have I been setting for Jenny … drifting through life wasting time on bridge parties and luncheons?”

  “Spoken like a true Smithie.”

  A waiter refilled her water glass. Charlie gave up on her salad and let the waiter remove it. She turned back to Peter.

  “And here we are, wasting time again,” she said. “Wasting time talking about stupid things when Jenny is … my God, Peter, where do you think she is? Do you think she’s hurt? Do you think they’ve hurt her?” A muscle constricted around her heart.

  Peter reached across and touched her cheek. “They’ll find her honey. It won’t be long now. They’ll find her.” He slid off the bench. “Come on. I want you to get upstairs. You need some rest.”

  Charlie numbly followed Peter through the hall that led to the hotel. As they started up a short flight of stairs, her eye was caught by a small, elegant woman making her way across the lobby. “That woman,” she whispered to Peter, putting her hand on his arm.

  “Who?”

  “There. By the elevator.”

  The woman wore sunglasses. A silk scarf was tied loosely around her head.

  Charlie scowled, trying to remember. “I think I know her from somewhere. She looks familiar.” As the woman disappeared behind the elevator doors, so did Charlie’s sense of recognition. She closed her eyes for a moment. “Take me upstairs, Peter. I have to get some sleep before I lose my mind.”

  The following morning the papers were faxed to the hotel from Singapore. Peter sat at the small round table in their room; Charlie stood over his shoulder as he carefully reviewed, then quickly signed each one. He was going to send them by return fax, then forward the originals by overnight express. If all went well, a courier would deliver the cash tomorrow: three million dollars in one-hundred-dollar bills. Peter explained to Charlie that Tong Bo had arranged to obtain the money in the United States: getting that much cash out of China could have been a problem, could have caused a delay. Charlie prayed that tomorrow wouldn’t be too late.

  “Did you hear that?” Peter asked as he addressed the return fax cover sheet and put the original documents in an overnight express envelope.

  “Hear what?”

  “The sound of my mother,” he said, “turning over in her grave.”

  Charlie bent down and hugged him. “I love you.”

  At eleven o’clock they left the hotel and walked to Round Hill Road. Charlie had hoped the exercise would ease the hollow pit in her stomach, the pit that seemed to grow larger each minute, each hour, that Jenny was missing; the pit that seemed to have been filled with even greater sorrow now that Tess had … what? Fallen apart?

  She felt the comfort of Peter’s arm around her as they wound their way through the quiet back streets and wondered how it would end, when it would end.

  Grover bounded toward them when they reached the backyard, his long hair flapping, his eager tail wagging. Charlie bent to pet his head. His rough pink tongue curled up and washed a warm hello.

  “Hey, fella,” Charlie said, “has anyone fed you?”

  The dog looked up at her with huge brown eyes. He panted.

  “I wonder if he realizes that something’s wrong,” Peter said.

  “First Jenny is gone, now Tess. This poor dog must be confused.” Charlie scratched behind his ear then stood. “Come on, Grover. Let’s find you some food.”

  Marina sat at the kitchen table, drinking coffee.

  “Good morning,” Charlie said. “Has anything happened?”

  Marina shook her head. “The boys are set up in the living room. Did you get some sleep?”

  Charlie rummaged through the cabinets, looking for dog food. “A little.” She spotted a large bag of dry nuggets. She shook the dog food into an empty bowl on the floor, then poured fresh water into a mixing bowl. She glanced up at the large clock over the refrigerator, at the second hand that moved slowly—too slowly—around its dusty face. Then she sat beside Marina and watched Peter pace. The only sounds in the room were his gummed soles as they squidged across the old linoleum, and Grover’s crunching and lapping.

  At twelve o’clock the phone rang. Charlie drew in a deep breath, then let it out. In the hallway she steadied herself, waiting for the signal from the FBI man. He gave a short nod. She sucked in her breath again, then picked up the receiver, aware of all eyes upon her: Peter’s, Marina’s, the FBI men’s, and Joe Lyons’s.

  “Hello?”

  “Do you have the money?” The voice was as garbled as it had been yesterday. Charlie’s heart thumped.

  “Yes,” she said. “No. Not yet. It’s coming. Tomorrow.”

  There was no response. She cupped the receiver and closed her eyes.

  “It’s a lot of money. I can’t get it until then.”

  On the other end of the line, there was a sigh. “Tomorrow. Or the girl is dead.”

  The caller hung up. Charlie stood, receiver in hand, dial tone boring into her ear.

  “Shit,” Greenberg said. “You didn’t keep him on long enough.”

  Charlie began to shake. She hung up the phone and burst into tears. “If it’s so easy, you do it!” she cried, then ran from the hallway, through the kitchen, and out the back door.

  That night, Charlie refused to return to the hotel. She was afraid the kidnapper would call; she didn’t want to risk not being at the house. Marina went upstairs, Charlie and Peter sat on the sofa, holding each other, through the night.

  At one point, halfway between awake and asleep, Charlie tugged on his shoulder. “Peter? Are you awake?”

  “Mmm.”

  “Peter, I was just thinking. That woman we saw yesterday. At the hotel? I think I know who it was.”

  “Mmm.”

  “Peter? I think it was Marina’s sister. I think it was Alexis.”

  He moved his shoulder and cradled her with his arm. “Try to get some sleep, honey. You’re overtired.”

  Charlie sighed and closed her eyes. Peter was right. She was overtired.

  The morning seemed even longer than the night. Charlie sat at the kitchen table, staring out the window. Peter had returned to the hotel to await the courier; Marina had come downstairs and was pouring coffee. She set the mug on the table and sat across from Charlie.

  “I’m going to tell them this morning,” she said.

  Charlie flinched. “Tell who what?”

  Marina stirred a spoonful of sugar into the dark liquid. “I’m going to tell the FBI about Jenny. That she was my baby.”

  Charlie swallowed. The coffee singed her throat. “You don’t have to do that, Marina.”

  Marina nodded. “Yes, I do. I have to do it for Jenny. I think it is the only way to find her.”

  “We’ll find her. As soon as the ransom is delivered, we’ll get her back.”

  Marina shook her head. “You and I both know that kidnappings aren’t resolved that easily.”

  Charlie stared at the Formica tabletop. “No. Everything’s going to be fine. Jenny’s going to be fine.” She could not let Marina tell the police about Jenny. If they knew, it would ruin everything. Marina would take Jenny back to Novokia …

  Charlie’s mind whirred.

  “I think this all has to do with Novokia,” Marina said.

  Charlie’s hands started to quiver.

  “There’s more,” Marina added. “I think that Dell Brooks is behind it.”

  “Dell? Don’t be ridiculous, Marina. I know you’ve never liked her—”

  “She was close to Viktor. They had stayed in touch. She is a socialist, Charlie.”

  “Come on, Marina, this is the nineties. Communism has collapsed. The Berlin Wall is down. That kind of stuff doesn’t happen anymore.”

  Marina sipped her coffee. “You are wrong, Charlie. You have no idea what the world is like.”

  Charlie stood and went to the sink. She gripped the edge. Her head was light, her body weak. “Marina, let’s just get the ransom delivered. Right now, it’s the best we can do. If Dell is behind it, we’ll know soon enough. Besides, I think you’re wrong. I think your mind is playing tricks on you. Mine played tricks on me yesterday.” She turned back to Marina and leaned against the counter. “I actually thought I saw your sister at the Hotel Northampton. I actually thought I saw Alexis.”

  Marina stared at her. “What?”

  Charlie reached down to refill Grover’s water bowl. “I said I thought I saw Alexis. It’s amazing what lack of sleep and too much can stress can make you believe.”

  Peter returned at eleven-thirty with the canvas knapsack.

  “We’re all set,” he said to the FBI men who had resumed their posts in the living room.

  “Give me the bag,” Connors said.

  Charlie turned her head away as the FBI man opened the knapsack. She didn’t want to see the money; she didn’t want to think about the filthy person who would receive it, or about what the money meant. She didn’t want to think about Jenny: if she was hungry, if she was scared, if she was hurt.

  “I’m putting in a homing device,” Connors said. “Once the bag is picked up, we’ll be able to track where it goes. That will be our best chance to find the girl.”

  The phone call came at noon.

  “Leave the bag inside the front door of Neilsen Library,” the garbled voice said. “In half an hour. Got it?”

  “Half an hour at the front door of the Neilsen Library,” Charlie repeated. “What about Jenny?”

  The drone of the dial tone was her only answer.

  “Just as I thought,” Greenberg said. “We won’t have enough time to stake out the area. Or bring in the dogs from Boston. We’ll have to play it out.”

  Charlie turned to ask Marina’s opinion, but Marina had disappeared from the house.

  Marina now knew all she needed to know, including that there was only half an hour until the ransom pickup. She sped halfway across town in the rental car, not caring if the police tried to stop her. Finding Jenny was more important, and now, she knew the answer.

  She squealed up to the front of the hotel, double parked, then raced up the stairs into the lobby.

  “I need to see the register,” she demanded at the front desk.

  A young man scowled. “I’m sorry, miss, I can’t do that.”

  “I am Princess Marina Marchant from Novokia. I have reason to believe that international treason is going on here. Now give me the goddamn register.”

  The young man laughed. “Lady, I don’t care if you’re Princess Di, I can’t let you see it.”

  Marina’s thoughts swirled. The hotel was huge; she had less than half an hour. “Call the police,” she said.

  “What?”

  “I said call the police. Now.”

  A hand appeared on the counter. “There’s no need to call the police.”

  Marina snapped around. Standing behind her was Dell.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” Marina asked.

  “Your sister is in room 304,” Dell said. “Follow me.”

  Marina was dumbstruck.

  Dell turned around. “You’d better hurry. Joe just called to tell me we have less than half an hour.”

  Marina thought quickly. “How does Joe know? He wasn’t there when the call came in.”

  Dell marched toward the elevator.

  Marina caught up to her. “How does he know, Dell? What the hell is going on?”

  The elevator doors opened. Dell stepped inside. Marina darted in behind her.

  Inside the old mahogany and brass lift, Dell turned toward Marina. “Joe wasn’t at the house because he was here. Listening in on Alexis’s phone line.” She stared smugly at the brass-adorned mahogany wall. “You have always underestimated the power of the townies,” she said. “As soon as Alexis landed in town, I knew about it. So did my nephew. He tapped the line in her room this morning.”

  “You’ve known all along that Alexis was behind it?” The elevator doors opened. Marina followed Dell quickly down the hall. “Is Jenny here?”

  Dell shook her head. “I don’t think so. We’ll find out in a minute.”

  The door to room 304 was open. Voices came from within. Marina pushed past Dell and stopped in the doorway.

  “Forget it, you assholes,” she could hear Alexis scream. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Marina stepped inside. Two uniformed police officers stood by an antique bureau. In front of them stood Joe Lyons, his left hand encased in a bulk of gauze bandages. On the edge of the bed sat Alexis. She was dressed in yellow leggings and an oversized T-shirt. A broad-brimmed straw hat rested on her lap. She looked about eighteen. Marina stared at her sister until Alexis noticed her.

  “Shit,” Alexis said and turned away.

  “Please step outside,” Marina said to the police. “I need to speak to my sister.”

  “Do it quickly,” Joe said as he motioned the officers to leave the room. “We need her to pick up the money. If her accomplice knows we’ve caught her, Jenny could be killed.” The men left and Joe closed the door, leaving Marina alone with her sister.

  “Where is Jenny?” Marina demanded.

  Alexis shrugged. “She’s alive.”

  “Where?”

  A slow smirk inched across her sister’s pink-painted lips. “I really don’t know.”

  Marina lunged forward. “Why, Alexis? Why did you do this?”

  Alexis stared at the wall. “She’s yours, isn’t she? She’s your bastard.”

  Marina’s throat tightened. She put her hand to it, certain something was there—a rope, a cord, some kind of strangling, life-ending device. There was none.