Spaso hesitated. “What are you going to do with them?”
“I am a journalist. I am going to report this.”
“Anna, you do know the kind of danger you will be placing yourself in?”
“The danger is greater when you keep this secret. My knowing it—our knowing it—will not matter once everyone knows. Besides, the people out there, the Russian people, need to know what Nevsky is doing.”
The computer screen blanked and went back to the request for the passcode.
Spaso breathed out a sigh of relief. “There. I am finished.”
“And they did not trace you?”
“To Langley, Virginia, where the CIA have their offices, perhaps. But not to here. Not to you. We are safe. For now.”
“But there are a lot of people out there who are not.”
“Anna, please listen to me. If you try to tell the story here, you will be locked up as a traitor to the state. Worst-case scenario, someone will come for you, find you, take you out to the Volga, and tie weights to your hands and feet before dropping you in.”
Anna wanted to make a smart remark about his imagination, but she knew his assessment was not fantasy. That was very probably what would happen.
“Then I will not tell the story in Russia. I will tell it in Greece.”
“How will you get there?”
Anna thought furiously, then she remembered Professor Layla Teneen. “I will go to the Afghanistan Embassy. I may be able to get a ride out of the country as part of a diplomatic flight. Can you get me access to the documents you downloaded?”
“Of course. I will set up a website. When you need them, they will be there. You never have to take possession of them.”
“Thank you, Spaso.”
“Do not thank me, Anna. One way or the other, this secret that you stumbled across is going to change your life forever. Later, when you have time to see your regrets, you might not be so generous with your thank-yous.”
The front door of the house opened.
“I have to go. My mother is home, and I cannot allow her to find me in my father’s office.”
“Go then, and be safe.”
“You, too. Will this number still be good for a while?”
“Yes.”
“Goodbye.” Anna snatched the USB device from her father’s computer, powered it down, and headed for the door. Just as she was about to close it, she noticed the line of new books on her father’s bookshelves where he kept his newest acquisitions. Usually he stored them there until he could get to them, but these had bookmarks and Post-Its all through them.
She scanned the titles, surprised to find that all of them dealt with Alexander the Great and the Hellenistic civilization. She had never seen her father read anything on that subject before. Quickly, she surveyed other titles in the history section of her father’s library. Most of those had to do with military things and histories of Russia.
This was something new.
“Anna?” Her mother was calling from the front of the house. “If you are here, I could use some help with the groceries.”
Anna locked the door before pulling it closed then went to help her mother. “I am coming, Mother.” She just hoped that she could weather dinner with her mother without getting trapped in one lie or another. Her mother always caught her when she tried to lie.
44
General Anton Cherkshan Residence
Patriarshiye Ponds
Moscow, Russian Federation
February 20, 2013
Dinner with her mother reminded Anna of the meals they’d had in her years before going off to university. Her father had usually been home during those years, but sometimes he’d had to stay and work on projects that he couldn’t talk about.
This was like one of those nights. Anna helped her mother in the kitchen, made small talk, and dashed off to make telephone calls that she didn’t want her mother to hear.
The kitchen was smaller than Anna remembered. It seemed like everything had gotten smaller since the last time she had visited. Even her mother seemed smaller.
Katrina Cherkshan was only a couple inches above five feet and always looked tiny next to her husband. Anna’s family on her father’s side talked about Katrina and claimed that she had gypsy blood, like it was some kind of bad thing.
Her mother’s family were smaller and darker than the Cherkshan side, but they didn’t look like the Romani or act like them. They were just small and quiet, like her mother. If there was Romani blood there, it had been generations since the family had wandered and been virtually homeless. Anna’s grandparents on that side had lived in the small house that had been passed down from her great-grandmother.
“Why do you have to make so many phone calls?” Her mother didn’t complain, actually, but she noticed things with true passion.
“Because it’s my job.”
“This is for the newspaper?”
“This is for a story I’m working on.” Anna chopped iceberg lettuce and wished for the tenth time that she’d never agreed to dinner. She should have gone to her apartment. Better yet, she should have stayed at the newspaper office.
Then she wouldn’t have known about her father and the planned revolution in Greece.
“What story could be so important that you cannot simply fix a meal and eat it?” Her mother stood at the stove stirring lapsha, noodle soup with mushrooms.
The smell was delicious, and despite her confusion and terror, Anna’s stomach growled in anticipation. “The Ukraine was invaded, Mother. Perhaps you heard?”
Her mother shot her a hard glance. “Do not take a tone with me, little princess.” That had been her mother’s nickname for her as a child. Little princess. Because her father had treated her like one.
“I apologize. I am tired. It was a long trip.”
Her mother sighed. “No, it is I who must apologize. Make your phone calls. You have work to do. I know this.” She smiled. “I see you here, I just want my little girl back.”
Anna went to her mother and hugged her. “It is good to be home.”
Her mother held her tightly. “These times are troubled, Anna. Your father’s business worries me. I do not know how he is doing.”
“What do you mean?”
Her mother shrugged. “We talk sometimes. Not much. You know he cannot talk much when he is away from home. The military has too many secrets.”
Anna agreed.
“He would rather talk to me about his feelings and what he thinks when he is home. But I know he is troubled by everything that has happened in the Ukraine. The decisions he has made have not been easy for him.”
“But he made them.”
“No. Not the decision to see reunification for the Ukraine.”
Anna stopped herself short of challenging the term.
“That decision was made by President Nevsky. Your father only figured out the best ways to do this thing. Being your father has never been easy.”
In a little while, the soup was ready. Her mother heated up pirozhki, small buns stuffed with meat, rice, and onion, and boiled eggs with dill—which were Anna’s favorite—that she had made earlier in anticipation of the dinner. They sat and ate and pretended nothing was wrong in the world as they made small talk about the neighbors that Anna remembered.
As they were clearing dishes, Layla Teneen called. Anna excused herself and stepped around the corner.
“I have gotten you listed as an Afghani diplomatic courier, which will make your travel easier. It was the best I could do on such short notice.” Layla sounded as tired as Anna felt.
“You’re a miracle worker, Layla. Thank you. How soon can I leave?”
“There is a flight leaving in a couple hours if you want to try for that one. Otherwise, there is another tomorrow afternoon. Your credentials will be waiting for you at the airport.”
“I will take the one tonight.”
“All right, but the flight is a cargo plane. Some of the Afghan museum exhibits th
ere in Moscow are being flown to museums in Athens.”
“That is fine. Do you know where Professor Lourds is?”
“Just that he is in Athens as well.” Layla’s curiosity was piqued. “Why do you ask?”
“Because I have tried his phone several times and he has not answered.”
Layla laughed. “For Thomas, that is not unusual. When he is working, sometimes he forgets to eat. He becomes totally focused.”
Thinking of the diamond engagement ring she’d seen, Anna wondered how that would work out. “It can be awfully hard to live with someone who is so focused.”
“I am afraid I am just as culpable in that. That is why I have a personal assistant to keep me on track.”
Anna laughed. “When I see Professor Lourds, I’ll let him know you’re expecting him to call.”
“No. Not at the moment. I am still putting out fires in my own work. Just tell him I am thinking of him, and when he gets time, he should let me know how he is doing.”
“I will. And thank you.” Anna hung up the phone and went to give her mother the news that she would be leaving, not spending the night as she had thought. After the past few days she’d had, the thought of spending the night in her old bedroom had been appealing.
***
Moscow International Airport
Cargo Area
“This is a ridiculous time of night to be leaving, Anna.” Katrina Cherkshan was clearly not happy with her daughter’s decision. “And to be loaded through the cargo like you are livestock?” She shook her head. “I have a good mind to call your editor and talk to him about the way you are being treated.”
“Mother, this is the first flight out.”
“And why Greece? Why could you not stay in Moscow? You only just got back today.”
“Because I must go where the story takes me, Mother. This is what I do.”
Her mother followed the checkpoint signs and finally arrived at her destination inside the security compound. Russian soldiers stood on duty, their numbers doubled since the “reunification” of the Ukraine had begun.
From what Anna had learned, there were already protests going on inside the city. Most of them were quickly—and harshly—dealt with by military and police forces.
Katrina got out of the car and hugged her daughter goodbye, then held her at arm’s length. She hesitated for a moment, then took a breath. “Be careful, Anna. These are troubled times. Watch your step and return safely to us.”
“I will, Mother.” Anna hugged her mother one last time, then headed for the security gate. When she looked back, her mother was already in the car and driving away.
Steeling herself, ignoring the anxious feeling growing in her stomach, Anna went to retrieve her credentials and check in for her flight.
***
Grand Kremlin Palace
Moscow
Russian Federation
February 21, 2013
Andrew Fremenko hurried through the long halls of the Grand Kremlin Palace to President Nevsky’s suite. Although the Russian presidents usually lived in the Senate Building—called the First Building—not far away, Nevsky had never stayed there. He had chosen the alternate home of the presidents and made no excuse for it.
Fremenko was one of President Nevsky’s personal assistants. More precisely, Fremenko was the president’s spymaster when it came to keeping his eye on everyone that the president wanted watched in his immediate circle.
It was a busy, complicated job. Fremenko had to stay up on all those people, many of whom were spies or in counter-intelligence, without getting caught. He lived every day expecting to catch a bullet from someone on the list.
He knocked on the president’s door, thinking that he was going to wake Nevsky and that could be a painful thing to deal with. But the alternative—not telling the president what he knew until morning—would be worse. That was the only thing that made Fremenko lift his hand and knock again.
“Come in.”
Fremenko waited a beat, just enough time to allow the president’s mistress to clear the room, then opened the door and went inside.
Nevsky stood in the middle of the room in gray pajamas. “What is it?”
Fremenko held up the printouts he’d run off. “Reports, sir. Apparently someone broke into our military databases.”
Nevsky frowned. “Do we know who it was?”
“No, sir. Not yet. The computer security teams are working on it.”
Another frown. Fremenko knew that those teams might not survive the morning. Other people had “vanished” when the president became disenchanted with them.
“Which files were seen?”
“General Cherkshan’s architecture for the Reunification of the Ukraine, sir. And we think they may have gotten into the Greek files as well.”
Nevsky cursed. In all the years that Fremenko had served the man, he had never heard the president lose his temper.
“There is one other thing, sir.”
Nevsky looked at him warily, and Fremenko began to wonder if he was going to get out of the room alive.
“What is it?”
“It is Anna Cherkshan, sir. She just caught a flight out of Moscow with the Afghans.”
Curiosity softened Nevsky’s face. “Where is she off to?”
“I checked the flight manifest, sir. The shipment is from one of the museums. It is taking exhibit pieces back to Athens.”
Nevsky cursed longer this time. When he had finished, he made one request. “Get Colonel Linko for me.”
45
Museum of the University of Athens
Plaka, Athens
Hellenic Republic (Greece)
February 21, 2013
Lourds woke with his face on his arm and under the amused study of Corporal Rahimi, the young soldier who loved zombies.
“This is fantastic.” Rahimi chuckled. He looked up past Lourds and talked to someone else in the room. “You should come watch. It is like watching the dead come to life again. I expect any minute for him to get up and start stalking around, saying, Brains! Brains!“ He held his arms out before him stiffly to illustrate.
Someone behind Lourds laughed, and he recognized Marias’s baritone rumble. “I don’t speak Dari, my friend, but that translates quite nicely with just the pantomime.”
Rahimi took a stage bow.
Lourds sat up too quickly and felt his senses swirl sickeningly. Then the world snapped back into place properly. “Very entertaining.” He glanced around the room and discovered that he was the last to rise. He’d been asleep at Marias’s desk with the scrolls and their translations before him.
Captain Fitrat sat quietly in one corner with a cup of tea. Salih sat on a window ledge that gave him a view over the front of the museum. Marias had exchanged his suit for khaki trousers and a blue shirt. He looked more like the scholar Lourds had met in the Vatican’s Bibliotheca.
At the time, Marias had been researching a paper on the Apostles’ lives during the earliest days of Christianity in ancient Greece and Turkey. Lourds had been digitizing some of the ancient manuscripts in one of the ongoing projects for the Bibliotheca. As a result of Marias’s needs and Lourds’s knowledge and the fact that both of them liked to prowl bars in the evenings and play soccer to let off steam, they had formed a lasting friendship.
Lourds glanced at his watch. It was twelve minutes after seven. He’d been asleep for no more than three hours. He could distinctly remember checking the time at four-something. After that, things got fuzzy.
“Did you go home?” Lourds looked suspiciously at Marias.
“Only long enough to shower and get a change of clothes. The others had grown stale.”
Lourds groaned. “Don’t talk to me about stale clothing.”
“Captain Fitrat had talked about waking you and taking you to my house, but I know you too well. If we had woken you, you wouldn’t have gone anyway. You’d simply have gotten back to work on that scroll.”
“You’re probably righ
t, my friend,” Lourds said.
“Of course I am. It’s what I would have done in your place.” Marias walked around to his side of the desk. “I, too, have dreamed of one day finding Alexander the Great’s tomb.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve never mentioned it.”
“It wasn’t something that seemed possible.” Marias studied the scrolls and smiled. “Now it does. Why did you think we ran into each other so much in Egpyt researching the Library of Alexandria?”
“The destruction of the Library covers a lot of territory historically. The Romans. Queen Zenobia of the Palmyrene Empire. And what the Romans didn’t destroy, the Muslims under Caliph Omar did.”
“True, but for me the quest has always been about the tomb of Alexander.” Marias grinned sadly. “I was not the one hoping to find some vestiges of the Library itself.”
“They’re out there. There’s no way a Library that massive could have had everything within its walls lost forever.”
“I know, and I hope that one day you find them.” Marias tapped the pile of scrolls. “But for the moment, we have these, and if we get lucky, we will have Alexander’s final resting place as well.”
Lourds smiled. “Is that coffee I smell?”
“It is, and I could get you some. Or I’d be delighted to take you and your entourage to breakfast if you’d like to wait a few minutes. There is a little place not far from here that makes an excellent Turkish coffee. They use fresh beans and serve it cok sekerli, so sweet it will make your head swim. It should be a sin, really.”
Lourds looked at Captain Fitrat. “Breakfast?”
“If we have not been found so far, I think it should be safe.”
Marias smiled. “Excellent.”
***
Café Trident
The café sat on the ground floor of a three-story building in the heart of old downtown Athens. A canopy blunted the early morning sun, and a breeze danced through the trees left growing in front of the building. A low retaining wall followed the zigzag street on one side, and a larger stone wall held a cluster of trees on a short promontory. Within just a few steps, a person could go from the shops to a small patch of wilderness.
The Oracle Code (Thomas Lourds, Book 4) Page 26