He was Sasha's twin brother.
When? he blurted out. When did the three rebyonka go missing?
Savina sighed harshly. They were there at the last bed check according to the matron on duty. So sometime in the last hour.
Yuri glanced to his wristwatch.
Around the time Sasha vanished.
Was it just a coincidence, or had Pyotr somehow sensed his twin sister's danger?
Had it set the boy into a panic? But Pyotr had never shown such talent before.
His empathic scores were high especially with animals but he'd never shown any of his sister's abilities. Still, as twins, they were closer than any brother and sister. In fact, they still shared their own special language, an incomprehensible twin speak.
As Yuri clutched the phone to his ear, he suspected something more sinister was happening, that unknown forces possibly an unknown hand were manipulating events.
But whose?
Savina barked at him, drawing back his attention. Find that girl, she ordered.
Before it's too late. You know what happens in two days.
Yuri knew that only too well. It was what they had worked decades to accomplish, why they had performed so many acts of cruelty. All in order to
A door slammed to the side. Yuri twisted around. The head of zoo security had returned. His tanned face was dour, lined with concern and worry.
Yuri spoke into the phone. I'll find her, he said firmly, but the promise was more to himself than to his icy superior. He clicked off the line and faced the tall man, switching to English. Has there been any sign of my granddaughter?
I'm afraid not. We've swept the park. So far no sign of her.
Yuri felt a sinking in his gut.
A hesitation entered the security chief's voice. But I must tell you. There was a report of a girl matching your granddaughter's description being carried into a van near the south exit.
Yuri stood up, his eyes widening.
A hand raised, urging patience. The D. C. police are following up on that. It might be a false lead. There's not much more we can do.
There must be more.
I'm sorry, sir. Also on the way back here, I was informed that someone at the
FBI has arranged an escort. They should be here any moment. They'll take you back to your hotel.
Yuri sensed the hand of Mapplethorpe involved with this last arrangement. Thank you. For all your help. Yuri crossed to the door and reached for the handle.
I I need some fresh air.
Certainly. There's a bench just outside.
Yuri exited the security office. He spotted the park bench, crossed toward it, but once out of view of the office window, he continued past the bench and strode toward the park exit.
Yuri could not put himself into Mapplethorpe's control. Not even now. The fool knew only a fraction of what was going on, just enough to keep the interest of
United States intelligence organizations whetted. They had no suspicion how the world would change in the next few days.
He had to find Sasha before Mapplethorpe did.
And there was only one way to do that.
As he exited the park through a cordon of police, he dialed his cell phone, again engaging the encryption. As before, it was answered promptly, this time by an answering machine.
You've reached the national switchboard for Argo, Inc. Please leave a message
Argo, Inc. was the cover for the Jasons. The pseudonym Argo was selected because it was the name of Jason's ship out of Greek mythology.
Yuri shook his head at such foolishness as he waited for the beep. He had murdered one of their own just hours ago. Now he needed the help of the secretive cabal of American scientists. And he knew how to get it. Going back to the Cold War, the two sides had been waging a clandestine battle for technological supremacy, each side supported by their respective military establishments and intelligence communities. The tools of war were not just intellectual, but also involved more nefarious means: sabotage, coercion, blackmail. But likewise, being men and women of science, each side operated independently of the military. Over the decades, they had come to recognize two things: there was occasionally common ground between them, but more important, there was a firm line neither side would cross.
When such a scenario arose, a means of communication had been established, a panic button. Speaking into the phone, Yuri gave his encrypted cell number, followed by a code word that traced back to the Cold War.
Pandora.
8:38 P. M.
Smoke billowed out the hall of the Star-Spangled Banner gallery.
Gray kept his group clustered in the vestibule just off the central atrium of the museum. They had pulled painters coveralls over their street clothes and covered their faces with respirators. Gray had also splashed paint on their clothes.
He leaned and stared back into the flag gallery. Smoke burned his eyes, but he spotted the flames dancing and racing across the pools of paint thinner he'd spilled across the gallery's wood floor. A moment later, emergency sprinklers engaged. Water jetted in a flood from ceiling spigots. An alarm klaxon rang out sharply.
Gray took an additional moment to make sure that the glass-enclosed display for the banner remained dry. He knew the display was an environmentally controlled chamber meant to preserve the icon for generations to come. For now, the case should protect the flag from the smoke and water.
Satisfied the treasure was safe, Gray turned his attention to the central atrium. Fresh shouts and cries echoed as smoke panicked the workers. The contractors were already on edge with the spreading word of a bomb scare.
And now the fire alarm and smoke.
Gray peeked around the vestibule's exit and into the atrium.
Already summoned by the bullhorn to proceed to this single exit, men and women milled and pushed. Many hauled tools and backpacks. Panic surged the crowd toward the doors, where the armed men had been conducting a systematic search of each exiting worker, including being scented by a pair of German shepherds.
Let's go, Gray said.
Under the cover of smoke and terror, the three joined the pressing throng. They split up to make it less likely they'd be recognized through their disguises. As they joined the panicked mass, it was like jumping into a storm- swept sea along a rocky coast. Pushed, shoved, jabbed, and jostled, Gray still kept a watch on the others.
The evacuating workers surged toward the doors. Despite the press, the armed men kept some semblance of order outside. Searches continued, but more cursory and swift. The dogs barked and tugged at their leads, aroused by the noise and confusion.
Gray gripped his shoulder bag tighter, hugging its weight to his chest. If need be, he could bull through the armed line, like a linebacker making a rush for the goal.
To the side, Gray spotted Elizabeth being shoved through a door and into the arms of one of the guards. She was brusquely searched and urged to move on. She passed one of the dogs, who barked and tugged at its lead. But it had not recognized her scent. The dog was merely agitated and confused by the press of people. Fresh paint and smoke also helped mask Elizabeth's scent. She stumbled away from the cordon of men and out into the national Mall's twilight.
Off on the other side, Kowalski hit the line next. To aid in his disguise, he carried a gallon of paint in each hand, which he was mostly using to knock people out of his way. He also was searched. Even the cans of paint were opened.
Gray held his breath. Not good. The panic was not disrupting the search as much as he would have liked.
