Petrenko hesitated.
"I'm not bluffing, Petrenko."
Petrenko muttered a curse. "I'll tell you what I know on one condition."
"And that is?"
"Tell me how you found me. If you found out about me, others might, too."
"No deal. But rest assured, my sources aren't available to just anyone. You'll probably be able to continue your operations for some time to come if you don't make another stupid mistake."
Petrenko shrugged. "It was worth a try. Not that I can help you much anyway."
"Try."
"I know very little about these people."
"You're lying."
"No. One of my usual suppliers contacted me a few days before a shipment was due. They asked if I'd bring in some human cargo. It more than paid for that evening's purchases, and a little extra besides."
"How were you paid?"
"In cash. Half was paid to me that evening, the remainder I found in an envelope on my car dashboard Monday morning."
"After your three passengers made it safely to shore."
Petrenko lifted his eyebrows in surprise. "You know that?"
"You were boarded by a Coast Guard cutter?"
Petrenko nodded. "Yes, but they only seemed to be looking for drugs or weapons. They let the dog sniff around for a while, then left."
"I'll need the name of your supplier."
"I'm afraid I can't-"
"He made the arrangements for those passengers. I'm not leaving here without his name."
Petrenko moistened his lips. "Please respect my position. I understood when you couldn't reveal your sources, and you must understand that I can't reveal mine."
"No choice."
Petrenko had turned pale, but he still shook his head.
Kirov glanced quickly at Hannah. "Go back to the car."
"Why?"
"Don't argue. This won't take long."
She looked at Petrenko. Jesus, he looked frightened. "What are you going to do?"
"Only what needs to be done." Kirov was staring at Petrenko. "The choice is entirely his."
"Please," the man gasped. "I can't do-"
"Go wait in the car," Kirov repeated to Hannah. "Or take a walk. Or go take a look at that charming old movie theater down the street. Whatever you do, I don't think you want to be here."
His voice was calm, almost expressionless, but Hannah could sense the restrained violence behind that coolness. "I'm not sure this is the way to-"
"You bet it's not." The voice came from the rear of the store.
Hannah whirled to see a fair-haired, teenage girl of maybe sixteen or seventeen with a gun aimed at Kirov's head.
Petrenko stiffened. "Anna! No."
The gun was wavering in the girl's trembling hand. "Move away from him."
Kirov didn't move.
"Anna, I'm fine," Petrenko said gently. "Go upstairs and lock the door."
Anna shook her head. "No way." She spoke to Kirov and Hannah. "Get the hell out of here, both of you."
Kirov slowly turned to face her. "You don't want to do this."
"The hell I don't."
"We didn't come here to hurt your father."
"Yeah, sure, I heard you. And he's not my father."
"Then who is he to you?"
"None of your goddamned business." She readjusted the gun in her hands. "I could blow your brains out, and nobody would blame me. I'd tell them that you broke in here and tried to rob us."
Kirov's brows lifted. "Rob you? With what? I don't even have a gun."
"Anna, we didn't come here to hurt him or anybody," Hannah said. "We just need to find out some things that are very important to me."
"I heard the whole thing. He said he couldn't help you, so go."
Kirov spoke softly. "We can't do that. I'm totally unarmed, but if you want to kill me, you'll just have to press that trigger."
"Anna," Petrenko said, "go get the briefcase."
Anna's eyes widened. "What?"
"The briefcase from the other night. From the boat."
She shook her head. "The others may come back for it."
"No one is coming for it. Go get the case, please."
She thought for a moment, then moved close to Petrenko. "Here. Hold the gun."
"Gladly."
Keeping the gun aimed at Kirov, she slowly handed it over to Petrenko. He turned and casually threw the weapon into a counter drawer.
"No!" Anna gazed at him in horror. "What are you doing?"
"Go get the case. Hurry along now."
Still keeping a wary eye on Kirov and Hannah, she slowly moved toward the back of the store.
"I hope there aren't any other guns back there," Hannah said.
"No. You must excuse my young friend's tempestuous nature. She's very protective."
"Like a pit bull," Hannah said.
Kirov smiled. "Yes, she's obviously a bit impulsive. You know, of course, she had the safety on."
Petrenko nodded. "She's protective but completely unversed in the use of firearms. I prefer that she remain in that ignorance. Violence can scar children."
"More than children," Kirov said. "What's in this case you sent her to fetch?"
"As you know, my passengers from the other night were forced to slip overboard a few miles from shore. One of them left behind a small satchel. Apparently it contained nothing of real value because I received a note with my money instructing me to destroy it."
"Which you obviously didn't do," Hannah said.
"I hadn't gotten around to it." He grimaced. "Okay, I thought it might prove valuable if they wanted it destroyed. I was considering my options."
"That case isn't going to buy you out. I still need the name of your contact," Kirov said.
"I was afraid you'd say that," Petrenko sighed.
"If I have to question him, I'll make sure that he thinks someone else tipped me."
"His name is Dan McClary. He works out of Cobh, Ireland."
Anna brought the black satchel from the back and placed it on the counter in front of Petrenko. "You said I could keep the iPod."
Petrenko shrugged. "It belongs to this gentleman now."
Anna looked at Kirov.
"Sorry," Kirov said.
Anna shook her head. "I should have shot you when I had the chance."
"Not over an iPod." Kirov picked up the briefcase. "This is a far happier solution for everyone, I assure you." He turned to Petrenko. "But if I find that you lied to me about McClary…"
"You'll know where to find me." Petrenko waved his arm around the store. "I've been here twelve years. This is my life, and I don't intend to abandon it."
"Sometimes life abandons you," Kirov said as he opened the door for Hannah. "Thank you, Petrenko." He glanced at the girl, who was still glaring at him. "Take good care of him. We all need someone to stand by us."
At a rest stop on Highway 25, Hannah and Kirov stopped to examine the contents of the black satchel.
"I don't suppose there's any chance that this is the GRU information Pavski sent for," Hannah said as she opened the satchel.
"Not if Petrenko was ordered to destroy it."
That was what Hannah had reasoned. She held up a cylindrical object. "What's this?"
"A silencer for a.357 Magnum handgun. Petrenko's passengers obviously didn't come to sightsee." Kirov took the silencer and sniffed it. "It's been used."
"Recently?"
"Difficult to tell. There's nothing particularly silent about these things. It's not like the movies, where silenced handguns only make a slight whistling sound. It's more like a cannon being shot in the next room."
"Good to know for the next time I need to use one." She pulled out a well-read copy of The London Times, dated six days earlier.
Kirov glanced at the front page. "I'd say this paper was probably purchased somewhere else in Europe, maybe Ireland."
Hannah studied the page. "Are you looking at the price sticker?"
"Yes. It cov
ers the newspaper's price, as you'd see with out-of-town newspapers. It's in euros, and much higher than you'd pay in London."
Hannah pulled out the Apple iPod portable music player. "And here's the MP3 player that Anna wanted so much. I think you enjoyed taking it from her."
"You're wrong. I never enjoy depriving women of things they desire. I'm much too primitive."
"Primitive?"
"From cave days man has instinctively provided for the female." He smiled as he unwound the earphones. "Or maybe it's not instinct but the knowledge that they'd be given what they want much more easily if they kept them happy." He put on the earphones and powered up the player. "She probably would have appreciated this terrible Euro-rap music far more than I do." He yanked the earphones and turned off the player.
Hannah reached into the satchel and pulled out an assortment of personal items with Russian-language packaging, including toothpaste, floss, shampoo, and condoms.
She tapped the pack of condoms. "Someone was planning on a busy stay here."
"You'd be amazed at the effect a Russian accent can have on young American women. It surprised me."
"I'm sure you used that as efficiently as you do everything else."
"I'd be disappointed if I thought I had to rely on anything so trivial," he said absently as he examined the iPod more closely.
He was right. His appeal was not surface shallow. He was totally adult, totally male, with a potent mixture of both the primitive he had mentioned and sophistication.
She lowered her eyes to the contents of the bag. "You don't have that much of an accent anyway."
"Nice jab. What else is in there?"
She pulled out a handheld GPS locator/mapping device, similar to the models used by hikers and campers. She switched it on. "Conner used one of these. He had the worst sense of direction known to man. If this was used to navigate the user to a specific destination, it may still be in the memory."
"Good thinking. What do you see?"
Hannah cycled through the options as she glanced through the menu screens. "Damn. A big fat nothing. All previous destinations have been deleted."
"Pavski has always been good at covering his tracks, and I'd expect the same from anyone he would hire." Kirov took the device. "Still, there's deleted and there's deleted. Just because the operating system doesn't recognize the data doesn't mean it isn't still in there somewhere."
"How can we tell?"
"I'll give it a once-over with my laptop. If that doesn't work, I have many friends in low places."
"Of course you do."
"Anything else?"
Hannah turned the bag upside down and shook it. "Nothing."
Kirov leaned back in the car seat and surveyed the objects on their laps. "Well, these should keep me busy this afternoon while I see what I can find out about this McClary fellow. We'll check into a motel and see what we can come up with."
Hannah nodded. "And I need to call Cathy back. She's left four messages on my voice mail."
What the hell are you doing?" Cathy asked curtly when she picked up the phone.
"I'm doing what we said we were going to do. I'm trying to find out what happened to Conner."
"I thought we were going to do it together."
"We are. It's just that it's gotten… complicated."
She was silent a moment. "Does complicated really mean dangerous?"
"Ronnie and Donna need you. You can't-"
"Don't tell me what I can or can't do, Hannah. Conner was my husband."
"I'm sorry."
"And who the devil is Kirov?"
Hannah went still. "How do you know about Kirov?"
"A United States congressman sat in my kitchen and told me, that's how. Your buddy Bradworth turned the screws on George to get him to talk to me. They said this man is using you to get what he wants, and he doesn't care if you get hurt or not."
Tell me something I don't know, Hannah thought. "Cathy, you have to trust me. I know what I'm doing."
"Who is this man?"
"He knows the people who killed Conner. He's been after them for a long time."
"Then why does he need you?"
"The Silent Thunder is at the center of it. I just don't know how yet."
"Hannah, he isn't who he says he is."
"What?"
"That's what George wanted me to tell you. George could see I wasn't hopping to do what he wanted, so he called me back this morning after talking to Bradworth and getting new ammunition. Bradworth said you think Kirov's real name is Ivanov?"
"Yes. That's not news, but I'm surprised-"
"Bradworth told George that his director received a phone call from an anonymous informant who said Ivanov was killed by Russian intelligence agents seven years ago."
Hannah took a long moment to absorb that before speaking. "Bradworth would have told me."
"He said the call came in this morning."
"Convenient. Too convenient. It's his way to smoke me out. He doesn't want me involved with Kirov."
"I don't want you involved in this, Hannah."
"I'm already involved. There's more going on here than Bradworth would ever tell us. I'm not going to come back until I find out everything."
"You really think he's lying?"
"I don't know. It would be an awfully big coincidence that they managed to uncover this about Kirov-make that Ivanov-at this particular time after working with him for years."
"But he said that-"
"Bradworth is CIA," Hannah cut in. "He could make black look white."
"We're about to find out. George says the CIA has sent a team to try to recover Ivanov's remains, but Bradworth's almost positive the man you're with is not who he says he is. Talk to him."
"I'm sure he can hear us now. Or he will, when this recording is played back for him."
Cathy was silent. "You think he bugged my line?"
"Yes. Good-bye, Cathy."
Hannah cut the connection. Shit.
She wanted to call Bradworth and grill the hell out of him, but she knew that was exactly what he wanted her to do. He clearly didn't want her working with Kirov, and he'd do or say anything to get his way.
But what if it was true that Ivanov was dead?
Bradworth wasn't above a convenient lie to get what he wanted, but neither was Kirov. Who the hell should she believe?
She slowly rose to her feet.
Well, there was one way to find out. Maybe it was time to put her freakish brain to work.
Her photographic memory had earned her a good deal of attention, dating back to her elementary-school days, when a terrified second-grade teacher was convinced she was channeling the spirits of U.S. soldiers killed in combat. Actually, she was merely showing off, scribbling entire pages from the Letters from Vietnam book she'd seen her father reading the previous evening.
While she always insisted that her talent was insignificant compared to the powers of creativity and reason, it had served her well over the years. If she got a good look at something, she could usually bring it back.
But no one realized it wasn't as easy as just snapping her fingers, she thought ruefully.
She walked over to the desk and sat in the narrow, straight-backed chair. She'd have to concentrate and let herself drift back to the night she arrived in Maine, allowing the sights, sounds, and smells wash over her.
No, that wasn't right. She'd examined the dossiers of the captain and first officer that first night sitting on the pier, but she hadn't glanced through the others until the next evening. She'd looked over the rest of the files while eating dinner alone at a diner down the street from the maritime museum. Conner had wanted to talk to Cathy and the kids while he was eating his sandwich, so he'd stayed at the sub.
She closed her eyes.
Picture the diner.
It was small, a dozen tables at the most. Blue-and-white-checkered curtains, hardwood floors, and suspended lighting fixtures with glass tulip bulbs at the ends. A small counter
stood across from the door.
She'd sat at a table near the far side of the counter. The files were stacked in front of her, on the other side of her plates and plastic drinking glass. She'd lifted the files one at a time, glanced at the cover page, then put them down in a second pile.
See the names.
She couldn't. They weren't clear enough yet.
She'd heard burgers sizzling on the grill. The young cook cursed as hot grease spattered onto his arms.
She took a whiff of the fries cooking in the fryer. Damn, they smelled good.
See the names.
Andre Kolonchovsky. Tevye Soldonoff. Lucius Dannisaya…
It was working. Each file was more visible and detailed than the last.
Danique Relyea, Garen Totenkolpa, Poul Farenevla…
The diner's door opened and shut, ringing a tiny copper bell attached to the frame.
It had to be here somewhere.
Vladmir Yaltsin, Dimitri Ivanov…
Ivanov!
She stopped and pictured the file folder in her hands. Wrinkled manila, soft from wear.
Focus on the file page.
Perfect. Clear as day…
Dammit.
Cathy hung up the phone after twice trying to dial Hannah back and having it go to voice mail. Hannah must have turned off her phone. She'd probably realized that Cathy wouldn't give up on the argument.
"Mama, will you read me a story?"
"Not now, Donna, I have to-" She broke off as she raised her head and saw Donna standing in the doorway. She was carrying her favorite book of fairy tales, and she was actually looking tentative. Her Donna who was always a whirlwind of activity and confidence. She smiled. "Sure, that would be fun. Which one?"
" 'Beauty and the Beast.' " She came over to the couch and plopped down beside Cathy. "I like the beast better than the other princes. He's not boring."
"No, he's not." She pulled her into the curve of her arm and brushed the straight, fair hair back from her daughter's forehead. "Suppose we do it together? It's always better that way. You need to practice reading the story yourself."
"That's what I told her." Ronnie stood in the doorway, frowning. "She wasn't supposed to bother you. I told her I'd read it to her."
"I'm not bothering her," Donna said defensively. "She likes fairy tales. That's why I picked this book." She looked up at Cathy. "You do like it, don't you?"
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