The Oracle Code (23 page)

“Amazing.”

“What? The story?”

“No. That you know so many things. I think if I knew so many things, my head would blow up.”

Lourds brushed away some dirt on his latest find. And there, carved into the marble, was the name Pittacus. He grinned. “I found it.”

“What does it say?”

Lourds took out his phone and shot pictures of the inscription. Then he took a piece of paper from a drawing pad inside his backpack and placed it over the inscription. “Basically, it’s a repeat of what he was known for. Making the right choice. But the words are different. I suspect Callisthenes used some of them as replacements for the nonsense text I’m reading now. Hold this paper.”

While Fitrat helped him hold the paper in place, Lourds used a charcoal stick from his art box to take a rubbing. Then he carefully rolled the paper up and put it inside the protective case with the scrolls.

“All right. We’re finished here. Unless you want to take a look around.”

Fitrat shook his head. “Perhaps another time.”

Together, they headed back to the harbor. Lourds’s head was spinning as some of the words—now that he had them—were already dropping into place. But he wanted confirmation of his ideas and thought he knew exactly where to get it.

“We need to make another stop, Captain.”

Fitrat glanced at him. “Here?”

“No. In Athens. Will your gun permits work there as well?”

“As long as we are protecting you, and as long as the places you go have some relevance to the document, then, yes.”

“Trust me, this place has relevance.”

41

General Anton Cherkshan Residence

Patriarshiye Ponds

Moscow, Russian Federation

February 20, 2013

“Are you sure there is nothing else you need me to do?”

Anna looked into Lieutenant Emil Basayev’s face and smiled at him as they sat in front of the house where her parents now lived. “No. Thank you for everything you have done. You have been a prince. But I’m sure the general will want you back at your post.”

Emil sighed dramatically. “This is true. I am glad we got this time to spend together. We both lead such busy lives these days. It is very hard to find time to be with friends.”

“When I get a spare moment, I will give you a call. Perhaps for lunch?”

“I would love lunch.” Emil smiled at her.

At another time, she might have enjoyed his attentions. He was a handsome man, and he looked splendid in his uniform. She had seldom seen him in it except in pictures. When they met at functions with friends, he was always in street wear.

Anna opened the door and let herself out. He waited at the curb, and she knew he wouldn’t leave until she was inside. She turned and trudged up the walk toward the tall, turreted alabaster house her parents had bought and moved into during her pre-teen years from the flat where she’d grown up.

On a lot of days, she missed that old flat. She’d had friends there, and stories had loomed on every corner.

The new house was nice, bigger than anything Anna had been able to imagine at the time, but it still didn’t feel like home. This house was where her parents lived, despite the fact that she had finished growing up there.

Across the pond, she saw the hulking structure that had been built back near the end of World War II at Stalin’s order to house the army generals. In the nearby park, statues from Ivan Krylov’s fables alternately entertained and frightened children. The gold-handed monkey was always amusing, but for a long time, Anna hadn’t cared for the large bear.

The neighborhood was often referred to as the soul of Old Moscow. When Anna had heard that, she had thought of how well her father had fit into the neighborhood. If the soul of Old Moscow could be said to be embodied in any person, it was the general.

At the door, she used her key to let herself in. She’d just gotten off the phone with her mother, who was at the market buying food to cook for Anna’s welcome-home dinner. Her mother thought she was returning home to get some support after everything that Anna had been through.

Instead, she had come to burgle her father’s office.

As she waved to Emil and watched him drive away, Anna wondered if a general’s daughter would still be shot as a spy if she were caught doing what she was about to do. She turned and faced the door, knowing the answer was yes and knowing, too, that she would not be stopped.

She walked into the house, closing the door behind her, the
thump
it made sounding loud inside the empty house. She lifted her voice, trying to remember if her mother had changed domestics since she had last been at the house three months ago.

“Varvara?”

There was no answer. Anna felt certain she was alone. She hung her hat and coat on the rack beside the door, then went to her father’s study.

The house was Old World, the hallways narrow, the floors hardwood, and the rooms smaller than were found in new homes. As she’d gotten older, Anna had wondered why her father had purchased this place instead of getting one of the more modern ones. Then she had found out the choice had been her mother’s.

Her father’s study was in the back of the house. As always, it was locked. But Anna had come prepared for that. Before allowing Emil to drive her home, she had insisted that he first take her by the offices of
The Moscow Times.

Kirill had wanted her to stay, of course. There was work to be done, and keeping track of everything going on in Russia and the Ukraine—and keeping up with international reactions to the “reunification”—was daunting.

She hadn’t told him what she was going to do. She had merely taken the things she needed from her locker, accepted a mild rebuke from Kirill for leaving them in their time of need, and left with Emil.

Among the things she’d gotten was a lockpick kit. One of the other reporters for the paper had learned many things during a “misspent youth.” Lockpicking was just one of those things. Now, he used some of those skills getting into and out of government offices. Kirill had cautioned him, letting him know he would one day get caught, but then Kirill always congratulated him on his scoops as well.

Anna had gotten him to teach her because he had been interesting and handsome. Unfortunately, he was also unable to commit to anything more than a deadline. Thankfully, she had found that out early in the relationship.

She knelt and worked on the lock to the general’s study, smiling in triumph when she heard the tumblers click into place. She put the lockpicks away and turned the knob. Even though she knew the general didn’t keep any alarms in the house other than the smoke alarm and the burglar alarms on the entrances and windows, she still expected some kind of siren to go off.

The room was neat, and everything was in its place, just as she remembered it always being. One of the general’s prize possessions was a large globe in a three-legged floor stand. It had been given to him by his father, who had traded labor for the globe and told his son that one day he would travel the world as a successful man if he would only do his job as any good Russian did. The globe was sadly out of date regarding the names of countries and the shifting boundaries. But the general loved that globe and used to talk to her about countries he had seen in the Middle East. He had never been to America, and he’d never wanted to go.

The desk was large and imposing, a monolith that took up a lot of floor space. It looked extravagant, but when the general was working on a project, he covered all of the available space with folders and papers and pictures.

Anna had seen him working sometimes, and he’d always looked grim when he did.

A massive bookshelf took up nearly one entire wall, filled with volumes on history and politics and on military hardware and training manuals. It also held some of the books the general had read to her as a child.

Forcing her thoughts to the task at hand, knowing that her mother could arrive home at any time, Anna sat down at the desk and brought up the general’s computer. It asked for a password.

She didn’t even try to guess. Instead, she dug out the second thing she had gotten from her office, a small USB device that could connect any computer to her friend, Spaso, a hacker she had met in Moscow while writing a story dealing with the Internet.

Spaso lived off the grid, and she had never been able to identify him. He was a ghost, and anyone in the digital information business in Russia and a dozen other countries told stories about him. He wasn’t hacking for money, though he’d told her he took that when he needed to, but was more interested in obtaining the most valuable commodity in the world: information.

They had become friends. Spaso was also a handsome man, bearded and very mysterious, but he’d told her that he wasn’t interested in anyone who couldn’t live off the grid with him. Even her friendship was a risk. But he’d been willing to take it because she’d been so charming.

At the time, she’d blushed and been surprised at how quickly the outlaw had swept her off her feet. Spaso had taken his name from Spasopeskovskaya Square, which meant
Savior on the Sands
and referred to the sandy soil of the Arabat District in Moscow. She’d wondered if he had lived there once or, perhaps, if he lived there still. He claimed to be the
Savior of Cyberspace.

Quieting her nerves, Anna pushed the device into an open port on the general’s computer. Then she opened her phone and dialed a number Spaso had forced her to commit to memory. It wasn’t written down anywhere.

Occasionally, Spaso changed the number because one contact or another had gotten caught or sold him out. When that happened, he came around and met her—almost anywhere. She was surprised at how well he tracked her movements, until she remembered they were all in her planner in her computer. He would take her to lunch in the park or somewhere, and he would give her the new number, never once explaining why the old one had been compromised.

“Hello, Anna.” Spaso’s voice was low and cheery.

“Hello, Spaso. I do not have a lot of time, so I need to be quick about this. I will be glad to meet you for dinner at some time in the future.”

“I look forward to that. I suppose you need a computer unlocked.”

“I do. I have your device installed, but the computer is asking for a password.”

“It is no problem. Sit back and watch me work magic.”

True to his word, the password field suddenly filled in, then the computer booted up the rest of the way.

“What are we looking for?”

“Anything you can find involving the Russian military.”

Spaso was quiet for a moment, then when he came back on the line, he wasn’t quite so laidback. “You didn’t say whose computer this was.”

She didn’t want to hide the truth from him. He was putting himself at risk to do this. “General Cherkshan’s.”

“Ah. You are asking for trouble then.”

Anna watched the screen as pages flew by. “Not if we do not get caught.”

“This is true.”

42

Stadiou Street

Omonoia District

Athens

Hellenic Republic (Greece)

February 20, 2013

A man stepped out from one of the trees that lined Stadiou Street at night, but Linko refrained from drawing his pistol. It was a careless, almost amateurish, move, but he’d been expecting something like that.

Then the man lifted his hands away from his body to show that he was unarmed. “Mr. Smith?”

Linko wore a red and black hoodie against the wind. He had a 9mm pistol on his hip under the long tail of the garment. The hoodie had been his identification to the man he was meeting. “I am Smith.”

“Please stop there, Mr. Smith. Otherwise you will be shot.”

Linko came to a stop and didn’t look around for the sniper. Since there were no other people on the street, there had to be a sniper. The street was lined with multi-storied buildings. “I am simply here to meet. If I had meant anything else, I would have brought an army.”

“These are perilous times.” The man was older, in his fifties, with curly gray hair and an equally curly gray beard. He looked like someone’s grandfather, not the leader of a revolutionary group. He also looked like the photograph of Nicolos Aigle Linko had received on his tablet PC.

“I understand. What do you wish me to do?”

“Take a ride with me.”

Linko didn’t like getting into the car with the man, but he knew disagreeing would only create problems and increase the amount of time he’d need to pull the operation together. He shrugged. “Of course.”

Aigle waved and a taxi rolled forward and stopped beside him. “Join me.” He opened the door and climbed into the vehicle.

Linko walked over to the taxi and slid into the back seat with Aigle. A soundproof glass partition separated the rear of the taxi from the driver.

The driver pulled forward without looking back.

Aigle studied Linko. “We’re just going to drive around in this area for a time, if that is all right?”

“We could have met somewhere.”

“I prefer to do my business in the back of a cab, not in a public place. Too many people are looking for me.”

Linko disagreed with that but didn’t say anything. The 17N were still hunted, that was true, but not very aggressively. They had taken their last kill in 2000, and even that assassination wasn’t universally believed to be the work of the 17N. There were some who thought the CIA had performed it, even though the last man killed had been a British military attaché.

“Of course. But the man I represent—”

“You mean President Nevsky?”

Linko went on as if Aigle had not interrupted. “—will make sure you and your organization will become much more respected in this country.”

Aigle drummed his fingers on the hand rest. “I am not so convinced.”

“You only need look to the Ukraine to see that what I am telling you is the truth.”

“I have been watching the news with great interest, comrade.”

“What you are seeing there is the result of months of long, hard work.” Linko launched into his sales pitch. “Your country is being abandoned by the West, comrade. They do not care for this place any more. Your government has become too problematic and too expensive to support. The writing was on the wall when President George W. Bush supported the Republic of Macedonia as an independent country, as well as a member of NATO. The government here doesn’t have a strong ally anymore. But
you
can have one if you wish.”

Aigle studied Linko. “We have been promised this before.”

“Look to the Ukraine. See what is being done.” Linko spoke passionately, and—truthfully—he felt some of that. He felt certain that he was part of something that was continuing to grow. “We live in a time when most citizens do not know their own leaders or even their own government policies. These people just take and take, not contributing to the country they are graciously allowed to live in. They have become too lackadaisical in their view of the world. If they are allowed to continue, unchecked and unguided and unpunished, they will empty the world, and future generations will starve or prey on themselves. They must be brought to heel, and the world needs to look to a strong leader.”

“You think the man you work for is that man?”

Linko shook his head. “He is the man for my country, comrade, but he is not the man for your country.” There, he’d set out the bait. “Who will lead your country in the future has yet to be determined. But whoever it is must be strong enough to stand up and seize the reins. Then he will join with my leader so that the West can encroach on our world no longer. This is what it will take. I have been told to tell you this.”

Aigle took in a breath and let it out.

“There is already much unrest in your country, comrade. Without guidance—and soon—there may be no chance to be yourselves. What would happen if Turkey decides to expand its borders? Who will protect you then?”

“Russia also supported the Republic of Macedonia’s recognition as a country. I have not forgotten that.”

“I am aware of this. But the president that was responsible for that is not the man who sent me here. He is looking for an ally, and he is willing to fund your operations against the corrupt government that bleeds your people dry.”

“What your president wants done will take time.”

“He understands that. But it must be done. He wants to build an ally here, and I assume you want one as well. We both want the United States gone from your country.”

Aigle was silent for a moment. “I will think about your offer. We will meet again in a few days.”

“That is fine.” Linko didn’t like being brushed off by the man, but he knew he had no choice. Still, he couldn’t let it go without firing a salvo back. “I have a list of other people to contact. Probably you should be contacting them as well.” He named them off on his fingers. “The Revolutionary Nuclei. The Sect of Revolutionaries. The Conspiracy of Fire Nuclei. The Revolutionary Struggle. All of these groups and more will be interested in what I have to say on behalf of the man I represent.” He took a breath. “So take all the time you need.
Comrade.
“