The Oracle Code (18 page)

31

Safe House

Kandahar

Kandahar Province

Afghanistan

February 15, 2013

After dinner, her head still swirling from all the information Lourds had dangled—while still not managing to answer what it was Boris Glukov had been killed for—Anna returned to her room to work on her story. Tonight, she worked on the true story, the one about the scrolls and her role in absconding with them.

She’d promised Lourds that she wouldn’t send it in without his approval—of the release, not the words. The only reason she had agreed to that was because she wanted the whole story, not half of one.

The frustrating thing was that the half of a story she had was really exciting. It was also daunting to write. Nearly all of it was autobiographical, with her firmly in the main viewpoint. She wasn’t comfortable doing that, and most news stories weren’t written in such a fashion.

But this one necessitated it.

The honesty she was forced to employ to get the story told was draining. It was much easier to tell a story outside herself, to simply group the facts into a fashion that made reading and understanding easy for a reader.

Taking the reader along as a co-adventurer was much more difficult. She didn’t like the proximity between her and the story. In many ways, she
was
the story. Her pages told of her personal changes during the course of Boris Glukov’s murder and the fear she’d had as she and Lourds had escaped the killer at the dig site. The words kept the memories far too sharp to suit her. She could just read a paragraph and be right back there.

She’d made notes about Lourds’s elaboration on the scrolls but knew she’d have to do more research to fully understand what he’d been talking about. And then she was probably going to relay everything pretty much the way he had.

Unless her editor cut her word count.

That would be a pain. Just the thought was enough to depress her and take some of the joy from her writing.

She stared at the blinking cursor on the screen.

Don’t think about that. Focus on the story right now. Focus on staying alive. That should keep you interested.

She opened up her mail client and discovered she had e-mail from her editor.

Anna—

How is it going? I have not heard anything from you. You are not answering your phone.

It is hard to keep you updated when I’m running for my life, Kirill.
Anna didn’t reply with that, but she wanted to. Checking her phone, she noticed she had missed seven of his calls. She had been purposely avoiding him because she was bursting to tell the real story.

When are you returning to Moscow? I am growing anxious, and the newspaper can’t afford to keep you over there for an extended period.

Right now, I’m not costing you anything. When you’re running from a killer, you learn to live cheaply.
She was also thankful she had fallen in with Lourds and the ANA. If she’d had to put herself up at the moment, things would have been far too expensive.

Let me know when you can. I’m looking forward to more of your story. We have several interested readers who are writing in to make sure you are all right.

If there is anything you need, please let me know.

Kirill

Anna took pride in the mention of the readers. She was hooking people with her story. Of course, that was easy to do. CNN was still running footage of the attack, and Thomas Lourds was a public figure who had gone missing.

With her.

She smiled at that, but she didn’t forget that somewhere out there, a killer was searching for them, just waiting for her and Lourds to make a mistake.

***

Zoar Shar (Old City)

Inside the small apartment in a building built at the foothills of the mountains on the western side of the Old City, Linko stared at the computer screen on the small table. The FSB intelligence division had bugged Kirill Filatova’s computers at home and at the office. He was Anna Cherkshan’s editor.

Linko had not told the intelligence division why he had needed the computers hacked. He did not have to. They were employed to do the things people like him demanded they do.

Thirty minutes passed, and Anna Cherkshan made no reply.

Linko didn’t know if the woman was somewhere without access to the Internet, or if the most recent attack had driven her underground. So far, he still had not tried to intercept the young woman’s phone because he was afraid General Cherkshan would discover that.

Growing irritated at watching the unchanging screen, Linko rose from the hard chair. One of the other agents he had at his disposal quietly took his place.

The apartment was small and felt claustrophobic. It was rundown and old, not a place he wanted to be for any length of time. A sliding door opened onto a small balcony that was really nothing more than the eaves of the roof of the apartment below.

Cold air hugged the mountain, buffeting him as he stood there. He was hungry and cold and tired. He wished he could rest. He wished he could just find the professor and the woman so he could kill them and take the scrolls back to President Nevsky.

And he wished the woman wouldn’t have to die too quickly. After everything he had gone through to try to accomplish his mission, he wanted something for himself.

***

Safe House

“What are you going to do?”

Lourds looked at Layla as she stood at the door to his borrowed room. “I’m going to miss you.”

She smiled but looked uncomfortable. “I wish it did not have to be this way.”

“Me too.”

“At least we had earlier.”

“Yes, we did.” Lourds grinned at the memory, but that seemed only to sweeten the ache he had to be with her again.

She looked at him with concern. “You’re going back to work on those scrolls, aren’t you?”

“As long as I’m able. They’re the key to everything that’s going on. The answers have got to be there.”

For a moment, she was silent. “Not always, Thomas. Sometimes things are just what they are for no reason at all.”

Lourds frowned at her. “It’s not like you to be pessimistic.”

She shook her head. “I am sorry. I am just tired. This position takes a lot out of me.” She gave him a half-smile. “I long for the days when I had to keep foreign archeologists in line, from getting too drunk and getting into trouble in a local city, from getting into shouting matches and potential fistfights over various schools of thought regarding events that happened hundreds or thousands of years ago, and from taking chances wandering around in the middle of the night when they should be sleeping.”

“Yeah.” Clearing his throat, Lourds couldn’t help being reminded of Boris. “I miss all that too.” He paused and looked at her. “Maybe you need to take a break. Just for a few days.”

“No, I cannot. If I take time off, it only means that things are not getting done.”

“You can’t take on everything by yourself.”

“I am not. There are a lot of people helping me, but the need in my country is strong. There are many women who need protection, who need a way out of bad situations, and who need training and job opportunities. If I step away, I make the burden on each one of those people even harder.”

Lourds didn’t know what to say. He could only care for her, not tell her what to do, and not make her job any easier. In fact, being here, looking after him, was already taking her away from her duties.

“I understand.”

“How long are you going to be here?”

The question caught Lourds by surprise. “What do you mean?”

“Working on the scrolls?”

“I don’t know. Can I stay here? Will that be a problem?”

“I am sure something can be arranged. Whatever you are after, it will ultimately end up in Afghanistan hands because it is from this place.”

“Not necessarily.” Lourds wanted to be clear about that, and he felt defensive all of a sudden. “If what I’m really after is Alexander the Great’s tomb, then it depends on where it’s located.”

Layla nodded. “But the scrolls you are using to locate it are property of the country of Afghanistan. They were found here.”

“Agreed. I just need to hang on to them a little while longer.”

“Of course. But when you are finished with them, they need to be turned over to the proper authorities here so they can be placed with a museum.”

“I’ll be happy to.”

She frowned. “I’m afraid I have some more bad news, my love.”

“What?”

“I have got to get back to my job tomorrow. I hate to leave you here, but I have so much to do.”

Her announcement triggered a spark of anger and loss within Lourds. He didn’t want to be alone with his discovery. Something like this was meant to be shared.

But he nodded. “I understand. I’ll be fine. If I need to leave this place—”

“No. I will not hear of it. I want you to be safe. Stay as long as you like. I will make certain your needs and those of Miss Cherkshan will be met.”

“Thank you.”

“I am also going to ask Captain Fitrat to watch over you himself.”

“He’s your bodyguard.”

“He’s one of several bodyguards, but he is the most knowledgeable, the most traveled.” She smiled. “And he knows how to cook.”

“Layla—”

Reaching up, she put two fingers over his mouth. “Do not protest. You will only provoke me.”

Lourds nodded, relishing the mere touch of her skin against his.

“I am going to have enough trouble convincing Captain Fitrat that this will be his new assignment for the time being.” She glanced over her shoulder, then stood on tiptoe and kissed him quickly, passionately. She stroked his cheek with her hand. “I am sorry that Valentine’s Day was not everything you wished it would be.”

Lourds thought of the ring and of proposing, but this wasn’t how he wanted to do it. Layla deserved more than a proposal delivered at the end of a very long day filled with all kinds of emotional complexities.

“Next year, we’ll have to spend it in the United States. It would be much different.”

For just an instant, sadness showed in her eyes. Then she said good night and walked away.

Lourds watched her until she disappeared. With a sigh, he returned to the scrolls on his borrowed desk.

32

Donetsk City Municipality

Donetsk Province

Ukraine

February 16, 2013

Freshly shaven and dressed in a clean uniform, General Anton Cherkshan sat in the command chair of the fighting compartment in the T-90 Main Battle Tank as it roared down the highway to the Donetsk city limits. He watched the display screens and focused on the street.

The Donetsk police and militia had set up a roadblock across the city, but it would do no good. The T-90 weighed almost forty-seven tons, could accelerate to sixty miles per hour, and stood two point twenty-two meters tall. It had been built to go through anything, and whatever it couldn’t go through, the 125mm smoothbore gun would blow holes in.

Civilian vehicles weren’t even going to slow the tank down.

The chatter from the other tank commanders echoed in Cherkshan’s earphones. He didn’t speak, and he didn’t tell them to be quiet. All of them were professional soldiers, and most of them were men he’d served with in Chechnya. They knew what they were doing, and the rules of engagement had already been defined.

The comm crackled in Cherkshan’s ear. “General, a government representative is demanding to speak to whomever is in charge. Her name is Olga Yanukovych. She is governor of the
oblast
.”

The Ukraine was divided up into twenty-four
oblasts,
regions, and that was just one of the weaknesses of the political arena the country faced. It took too long to make a decision—even one to defend the country.

“Put her through.”

“It’s done, sir.”

Cherkshan cleared his throat. “Governor Yanukovych.”

“Who is this?”

“My name is General Anton Cherkshan, and I am with the Russian Federation Military. It is my duty to inform you that as of this moment, Russia is annexing you back into the Russian state.”

“You cannot do that!” The woman sounded imperious and incredulous at the same time.

“Governor, I believe that ship has already sailed. We did not come here just to turn around. I have my orders.”

“We are going to stop you.”

“If you try, you will get hurt. As governor of this place, the best thing you can do is talk to your people and have them stand aside so we can do the job we have been assigned to do.”

The woman’s voice became more shrill. “I’m afraid that is not possible. We are not here to back down before the iron boot of a communist regime. We will stand against you. We will seek assistance from nations that harbor goodwill toward us.”

“That will be a waste of time and a waste of lives. Your country is in disarray. Your politicians steal your people blind. And still, you manage to squander or give away natural resources that can be used for the good of us all.”

“
Your
good, you mean.”

“You have politicians who feather their nests with what they have robbed from their own constituency.” Cherkshan covered the microphone with a hand. “Lieutenant, are you there?”

Emil Basayev answered immediately. “I am here, General.”

“You are tapped into this conversation, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Give me something on this woman that I can use.”

“She has a Swiss banking account that she has been putting money into since she’s been in office. We have tracked this money back to shell companies within the Ukraine that she is part of.”

The intelligence division had been doing research on the political figures in the Ukraine for months. Many of those people had files already open on them. One of the most publicized political cases involved Yulia Tymoshenko, who had twice served as Prime Minister of Ukraine, and who was later charged with criminal abuse of power regarding natural gas contracts that favored Russia.

Cherkshan didn’t know if those charges were valid, but he knew that Russia worked on several levels to keep the satellites as a buffer between itself and the West. The Ukraine hadn’t been able to shift over to nuclear energy as well or as quickly as they’d needed to and remained dependent on oil and gas.

“Governor Yanukovych, I have access to a certain Swiss bank account.” Cherkshan read the number he had written down on his kneeboard after Emil had given it to him. “Do you recognize that number, Madame Governor?”

The woman was quiet for a moment, then drew in a breath. “Yes.”

“Then I suggest we come to an accord in this matter. I am trying to save lives here. We are going to come through your city whether you like it or not, and you will not stand in our way. In that regard, people will later remember that you acted to save lives as well.”

“I am but one voice in this matter.”

“Then I suggest you use it. Quickly.”

“I will get back to you.”

Tense, Cherkshan leaned forward in the seat and watched the screens. In addition to the view ahead, he was also receiving satellite images of the area as well as video feed from the Su-25 Frogfoot close air support combat jets and Kamov Ka-52 Alligator attack helicopters.

Faced with all the military might of the Russian army, Cherkshan didn’t see any way the soldiers and policemen in Donetsk would choose to fight. The city would be merely a speed bump in the road on the way to Kiev.

But overconfidence could get a man killed. Cherkshan had seen many good soldiers die from simple mistakes.

Without warning, a missile fired from what appeared to be a shoulder-mounted launcher streaked across two hundred meters to smash against the turret of the lead tank. The explosion only ripped through the first tier of its three protective armor layers.

However, the attack was enough to trigger an immediate response from two of the tanks. The main guns belched smoke and delivered deadly payloads to the line of cars, sanitation vehicles, and trucks blocking the highway.

The shells ripped through the line of vehicles, sending the two that had taken direct hits spinning across the road back into the city like a child’s toys.

“Cease fire!” Cherkshan wanted to stop the chain reaction before the situation became a bloodbath.

On the screen, the citizens manning the blockade hurried back to help the wounded. Cherkshan feared several of those men would now be dead, and it bothered him because that did not have to be so.

Almost immediately, more violence broke loose inside the blockade line. Some of the citizens attacked other citizens, and everything became a jumbled mess on the street. Flames wrapped the destroyed vehicles, and black smoke drifted over the air.

“Halt the tanks.” Cherkshan knew that if the assault force kept rolling forward, they would only add to the confusion.

President Nevsky had believed that the Russian invasion would trigger such a reaction among the rebels and people who wanted to return to the Russian Federation. The Ukraine’s economy was in freefall, and there was no firm hand on the rudder. The people were scared, and they wanted someone to take care of them.

This was the new freedom of the capitalist way. No longer did Russians know how to take care of themselves.

Cherkshan hardened his heart as he watched the violence. Soon, one side or the other would be victorious. Then the armor’s approach would begin again.

Everything was going according to plan.