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ish? Of course Marina had unraveled what little mystery Evangeline's boast presented, and now David Milstein was dead. What hope was there now to be paid the quarter million dollars she had so airily demanded? |
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Worse still was Vincent's reaction. He knew there was something wrong in the NSC office. He had to know that she was privy to almost all his secrets. That was what all that soft probing had been about. The Farmer of Grand-Pre was not so foolish as he had seemed only yesterday. |
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But Camilla's greatest shock came when she entered the room and encountered a totally new Marina. |
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The Russian woman sat on the edge of the bed with a bottle of Stoly on the nightstand, a glass in her hand, and a silenced automatic pistol on the pillow beside her. |
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She was dressed in black, her hair tousled and neglected, and on her face was a look of cold loathing. ''So, you've finally come,'' she said. |
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Camilla stole a glance at her Rolex. She was six minutes late. Matters were not going to go well. Act natural, she admonished herself, don't let her see that you're upset. "I heard about Milstein," she said. "I was foolish, wasn't I?" |
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"Not foolish. Stupid," Marina said bluntly. |
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Camilla sat in a chair, unwilling to be intimidated. "I suppose there is no question of payment now," she said. |
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"Not a prayer," Marina said. "The account is settled." She regarded Camilla contemptuously. |
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How could I have thought she loved me, Camilla wondered. For that matter, did I ever love her? How could I have imagined that the excitement, the thrilling sense of danger, could go on indefinitely? Reality had returned with a vengeance. She began to think in terms of escape. Not openly from this room, from the Russian woman who boasted she was an assassin, from the pistol on the pillow, but from Washington. I must start to liquidate my possessions, she thought, those not already in the Cayman Islands bank. And somehow I must allay Vincent's suspicions, at least long enough to get away safely. |
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