Voronin paused for several minutes, listening to the other person on the line.
‘ Da,’ he replied, ‘I’ll take care of it.’
Voronin slipped the tiny phone back into his pocket and looked down at Guk.
‘Walter, I’m so glad we had this talk, but I must go now. Don’t worry, I’m leaving you in very good hands.’
Voronin stepped back. A man appeared on the other side; he smiled and then swung a hinged lid over the top of the box. Guk was again plunged into darkness, and quickly the box reverberated with the sound of a hammer driving a nail.
‘Oleg,’ Voronin said as Artuzov set the last nail, ‘once again, thank you for your assistance.’
‘No bother at all, Pyotr Yefimovich. I’m just happy to be of service.’
With that, Artuzov rolled the trolley bearing the wooden box up to the door of the cremating furnace. The wooden box shuddered as Guk thrashed inside, screaming for his life. When the trolley was properly aligned, Artuzov walked over to the console and started the cremation. Slowly, the wooden box glided down the stainless- steel rollers into the furnace. Already the temperature inside the box was over two hundred degrees. The superheated air seared Guk’s throat and lungs, each frantic, labored breath more difficult than the last. The thrashing inside the box stopped as Guk lost consciousness.
This isn’t the first time Artuzov has incinerated a living person for me, Pyotr Voronin thought with a smile. No doubt, it won’t be the last.
As Voronin walked out of Artuzov’s funeral parlor, he thought about Guk’s cousin in Moscow and the visit he would soon receive from Dmitri Leskov.
‘Fool,’ he said incredulously, ‘you stole from the wrong man.’
18
Sverdlovsk 23, Russia
Lara Avvakum sat back in her chair, her legs propped up on a cushion that lay across the top of an open desk drawer. With a pad of paper on her lap, she stared out her window at the Siberian forest in the distance and the rhythmic swaying of the branches in the wind. The movement was both orderly and complex. In her mind’s eye, she could see the ebb and flow of energy within the organic system outside her window, the fluid beauty of nature framed before her like a painting by van Gogh.
Sverdlovsk 23 was the name government planners had given this secret research facility, and Avvakum had spent the past decade of her life here. It was a remote collection of buildings nestled in the foothills of the Ural Mountains, and its existence was still considered a state secret.
A sharp knock at the door brought her reverie to an abrupt end.
‘ Da,’ she said, recovering from her meditation.
The door opened slightly, and the graying head of Boris Zhirov emerged through the crack.
‘Lara, you have a visitor,’ Zhirov said, his voice carrying equal measures of concern and excitement. ‘Georgi just called from the main gate. She’ll be here in a minute.’
Visitors were uncommon events at Sverdlovsk 23. One never knew how to take the unexpected arrival of a government official – the only kind of visitor permitted there.
Avvakum stood and adjusted her pale yellow dress. ‘What do you think, Boris?’ she asked, hoping she was presentable.
‘Beautiful, as always,’ Zhirov replied. ‘Here she comes.’
Zhirov opened the door and stood aside, allowing a tall, well-dressed brunette to enter Avvakum’s office.
‘Dr Avvakum, I am Oksanna Zoshchenko, deputy director of the Russian Academy of Sciences.’
‘I am honored. Please have a seat.’
Zoshchenko nodded, accepting Avvakum’s hospitality despite the fact that the long, jarring drive from Yekaterinburg had left her back and buttocks aching.
‘Would you like some tea?’
‘Perhaps later. Right now, I would like to get to the purpose of my visit.’
Zoshchenko zipped open her thin leather briefcase and extracted a white file folder embossed with the academy’s insignia. The file tab bore Avvakum’s name.
‘You have worked for the academy since you graduated from Moscow State University, a little over ten years ago?’
‘ Da. ’
‘Your doctoral work was quite impressive,’ Zoshchenko continued, skimming over the dossier. ‘You did your thesis on quantum laser optics, which led to your assignment at this research facility.’
‘ Da,’ Avvakum replied, wishing now that she’d studied something less interesting to the academy’s military- applications apparatchiks.
‘I see that you have requested reassignment on numerous occasions and that each request has been denied.’
Avvakum nodded, her throat constricting. A feeling of dread welled up inside. Her frequent requests had finally been noticed, and this woman had been sent to reprimand her personally.
‘Pity,’ Zoshchenko said as she closed the file, ‘there were a number of more interesting projects that could have used a mind like yours. I offer the academy’s apologies for allowing you to rot in this wilderness.’
Avvakum’s mouth formed a small O, but she didn’t utter a sound. An apology from the academy for wasting so many years of her life was unheard-of. Like the sun rising in the west, this was something that simply did not happen.
‘You may know that the academy is branching out into new ventures, mostly of a commercial nature. Russia needs truly productive industries if it is to survive. This is the reason we are actively seeking commercial research projects – the academy needs to generate its own revenue, or it will starve.’ Zoshchenko stared directly into Avvakum’s blue eyes. ‘When was the last time you were paid?’
‘At the end of last year.’
‘Then you personally understand the situation the academy is in. Things cannot continue this way. There is a company, a Russian firm that has requested scientific assistance from the academy. It was involved in a research project with a group of Americans that has since dissolved. This firm would like to continue the research with the intent of developing a marketable product.’
‘What kind of product?’ she blurted out, curious to know more.
‘It has to do with energy production. I’m sorry, but I can’t be any more specific than that, except to say that both the firm and the academy believe that you are the most qualified candidate for the project. Under such an arrangement, the firm would pay a fee to the academy and pay your salary directly. It is my understanding that this money would be in hard currency.’
Avvakum’s eyes widened at the prospect of not only being paid but being paid in a currency whose value wouldn’t evaporate like the ruble.
‘The firm would also pay to relocate you to Moscow,’ Zoshchenko continued, ‘where a private laboratory would be equipped for your work. You will reside in a nice apartment building off Tverskaya Ulitsa, not far from the Bolshoi Theater.’
‘How do you know this company can do what it says?’ she wondered, afraid it was all too good to be true.
‘I can assure you that this firm is reputable and well financed. It has dealings around the world and its founder is a confidant of the President. It has already established an account containing approximately one million American dollars in funding for this project. As an added incentive to you, should any marketable product result from your work, you will be awarded shares of ownership in the company. This is an opportunity to create something worth-while for yourself and your country. In truth, it is far more important than what you are doing
