sheet of brown paper, toward the cab.
The pizza was tasteless and barely warm, but Rostnikov found himself hungry. He ate slowly as he moved back from the statue and looked up.
“History is made by the innocent and the guilty,” a woman’s voice said behind him.
“Guilt and innocence change with history,” said Rostnikov, finishing his pizza. He did not turn around.
“I’ll take the bag,” the woman said.
“And you have something for me,” the man said.
“First you,” she said.
He turned and found himself facing a slight, reasonably pretty young woman with pink cheeks and no makeup. Her coat was dark fur but quite old.
He handed her the bag. “Now, …” he said.
“First I check to be sure you have what you have promised,” she said, starting to unzip the bag she had been handed.
“Clothes,” the man said.
The woman looked up at him. Fury, anger, and then fear.
“I have given you a better gift than money. I have saved your life,” he said. “That is what I have for you.”
“You have?…”
“The man who was to give you the money was going to kill you as soon as you handed him what you are carrying. If I had not taken care of him, you would be lying on the ice here now, and he would be walking off with the money and your gift.”
“You are lying,” she said, starting to back away.
Rostnikov limped a step toward her.
The young woman turned to run and found her way blocked by Sasha Tkach. The woman tried to dart past the young man but Sasha reached out and grabbed the woman’s wrist with one hand as he reached into her coat pocket with the other to remove a wrapped package about the size of a paperback novel.
When he had placed it in his pocket, the young woman was released.
“I want my money,” she said, turning to Rostnikov.
“We can arrest you,” he said. “We can also let you walk away. We give you the choice.”
The young woman looked at the two who had stopped her, bumped into a woman carrying a bulging shopping bag, and ran away.
“We got it,” Sasha said, handing the package to Rostnikov. “What do you think it is?”
Rostnikov unzipped the duffel bag and placed the package inside.
“There are questions to which it is best we not know the answer. I have a cab waiting.”
They moved to the cab and got in.
“Extra for a second passenger,” said the cabbie.
“We are policemen from Moscow,” said Rostnikov. “Consider the pizza your extra fare.”
“Where do you want to go now?”
“The airport,” said Rostnikov.
“You just got here,” said the cabbie. “You came all the way from Moscow to look at a statue?”
“We collected a souvenir,” said Rostnikov.
It took them a little over an hour to arrange for a military plane at Koltsovo Airport to take them to Moscow. A call to the Yak had been needed. Their conversation had been brief.
DIRECTOR YAKLOVEV: You have it?
ROSTNIKOV: Yes.
YAKLOVEV: In what form is it?
ROSTNIKOV: A package about the size of a paper-covered copy of
YAKLOVEV: You have not opened it?
ROSTNIKOV: No.
YAKLOVEV: The money?
ROSTNIKOV: It is in the possession of another branch of the government which provided us with assistance essential to secure the package.
YAKLOVEV: The money is of little importance. The courier?
ROSTNIKOV: Dead.
YAKLOVEV: You had to kill him?
ROSTNIKOV: No. He was assassinated by an old man who is now in the custody of the other branch which I mentioned. We are at the airport in Ekaterinburg.
YAKLOVEV: I know the commanding officer of military security in Ekaterinburg. He owes me a favor. Go to the ticket counter. There will be two tickets on the next plane to Moscow.
ROSTNIKOV: We are on the way.
YAKLOVEV: Come to my office directly when you arrive. A car will be waiting for you at the airport.
With that, the Yak hung up the phone.
The flight back was uneventful. It was a small business-flight plane with a handful of men in business suits. One of the businessmen, clutching a briefcase in his lap, his eyes closed, sat alone in the rear of the plane. His face was rigid. A brief burst of minimal turbulence made the man quiver in fear.
“Porfiry Petrovich,” Sasha said. “Maya will be home when we get to Moscow. Maya and the children.”
Since he knew this, Rostnikov said nothing.
Sasha continued. “That woman.”
“Svetlana Britchevna.”
“Yes. She …”
“I know,” said Rostnikov. “A beautiful woman, very skilled.”
“I have been tempted by those less beautiful than she,” Sasha said.
“You have no choice,” said Rostnikov. “None of us do. Temptation is … let us leave it at that. Temptation
“It is a weakness in me,” Sasha said.
“Obviously,” said Rostnikov. “But it is not one which you need indulge. These things are indeed obvious, Sasha Tkach. I am giving you no great words of wisdom. Now, if you will please, I will remove this leg, this enemy with which I have a truce, place it on the floor, and indulge myself in some self-indulgent scratching.”
Chapter Eight
Before the dreams of ancient Greece
Before the shaman and the priest
Jason and the Golden Fleece
Before the Dead Sea Scrolls released
Their meaning or the experts pieced together
The epic of Gilgamesh
Trans-Siberian Express
The car was waiting for them at the Star City military runway just outside of Moscow. It was night.
Rostnikov was surprised to see Akardy Zelach seated next to the driver. However, he was grateful that Zelach was not driving. He was, Porfiry Petrovich knew from experience, a threat to mankind behind the wheel.
“To what do we owe the pleasure of your coming to greet us, Akardy Zelach?” asked Rostnikov.
“I must talk to you,” Zelach said, his voice less than steady.
