The taller man stepped forward and reached into his inner jacket pocket for a small leather identification folder. He flipped it open and Maria stared at it. Not his papers, but photographs. Her mother and younger brother still Mapped in Lithuania. Fighting the growing feeling of numbness, she stepped back and held the door open for them.
The tall man spoke quietly in Russian.
'We must see Paul Krone.'
'He's not well,' Latvin replied, slipping into the same language.
'We know that. We must see him anyway and judge his condition for ourselves.'
'You know who I am. Why are you interested in Paul?'
'This is not necessary for you to know. You will take us to him.'
The woman led the two Russians into the study.
'There, you see,' she pointed to a figure seated before the fireplace, 'he is very ill and cannot talk to you.'
The two men approached the figure in the chair slowly. They crouched next to the chair, then began to whisper animatedly to one another.
Finally the taller one stood and walked back across the room to where Maria Latvin stood. 'You take care of him?'
'He responds to me a little. Enough for me to feed and wash him, to see to his basic functions.' 'His research?'
The woman merely raised an eyebrow in a deeply sceptical look.
'What do you know of his work?' the man demanded.
'Nothing. I am no scientist. I know nothing.'
'Notes. Does he keep notes of his work?'
'If he does, they are at the lab. He never worked here.'
A faint crinkling cracked the frost around the man's eyes.
'I must report for instructions. He will stay with you,' he said, gesturing to his companion.
The woman's face betrayed no expression. The man shot a glance at his companion, a silent order, and left the room rapidly.
He had been gone five minutes when they heard a car coming up the drive. Maria Latvin looked questioningly at the remaining Russian. He shook his head and slid a hand towards the bulge under his jacket.
'Quickly,' she said, 'you can hide in a rear bedroom. I'll see who it is.'
'Get rid of them. Immediately!' he demanded, as she hustled him down the hallway.
Isaacs scanned the house as they approached. It was a large, multi-level adobe structure, graceful despite the characteristic thick walls and solid projecting beams. It faced the southwest with a glorious view of the plains and the oncoming sunset. Isaacs spoke to the agents and the pilot who had driven them up to the house.
'This is a private home, and we don't want to come on like an invasion force. We're just going to try to speak with the man who runs the complex up the road. I'd like you to sit tight here.'
The agents nodded.
Isaacs, Danielson, and Runyan walked up the flagstone walk to the massive carved front door. Not seeing a doorbell, Isaacs used his knuckles.
After a moment the door swung open. Runyan was not sure what he expected, but it was certainly not what he saw in his view over Isaacs's shoulder. A lovely young woman stood there, one hand on the knob of the door. She was of medium height, dressed in a dark hostess gown. She had a smooth brown complexion, thick black hair in a longish page-boy cut, and high cheekbones. Her black eyes sparkled behind gold-rimmed eyeglasses, but registered no surprise at the three strangers in the doorway of her redoubt. Runyan saw her take in Isaacs and then swing her gaze to him. After a moment she looked past him to Danielson and raised one eyebrow in a slight quizzical gesture.
Isaacs displayed his badge and said, 'We are here by authority of the President of the United States. May we come in?'
The woman seemed to instantly understand and accept the situation. She stepped aside and said, 'Come in,' in a lilting slightly accented voice.
Inside the door was a foyer, high ceilinged and about eight feet across. There was a closet door on the left. On the right was a small stand holding a lamp and fronting a mirror which ran nearly to the ceiling and added even more width to the area.
The woman led them from the foyer to a large living room. The room was decorated in Spanish style. A massive fireplace dominated the wall directly across from where they entered. A thick Navaho rug lay on the dark tile floor in front of the fireplace. Bordering the rug were two heavy feather sofas at right angles with a high-backed overstuffed leather chair filling the gap on the right side of the fireplace. On the wall on either side of the door through which they had entered were floor to ceiling shelves of dark mahogany which contrasted with the whitewashed walls. The shelves were filled with books and excellent specimens of Mayan and Incan relics. To their left a large archway led to a dining room dominated by a great mahogany table, surrounded by twelve ornate chairs, but set, Isaacs noted, with only two places — the right end and the position to the immediate left of that, such that the diner would face away from the living room. To the right of the fireplace a hallway disappeared from view.
The woman stepped around the sofa which faced the fireplace and sat back in the chair, fucking her legs beneath her. Without taking his eyes off her, Runyan followed her and perched unbidden on the corner of the sofa nearest her chair. Danielson watched him with the closest scrutiny, but remained standing behind the central sofa with Isaacs. Isaacs asked the key question.
'Is Paul Krone here?' The woman looked back at Runyan and then at Isaacs.
'Yes,' she replied simply.
'May I ask who you are?'
'I am Maria Latvin, his companion.'
'I would like to speak with Dr Krone.'
'Certainly.' She arose without further comment and proceeded down the hallway to the right of the fireplace.
Runyan rose with the woman as she led the three of them down the corridor. They passed a closed door on the right, but she paused before a door somewhat beyond that to the left. Opening that door, she stood aside and gestured for them to enter.
The room was a study, extending down to the left and ending in another large fireplace which backed up to the one in the living room.
The other three walls were lined with shelves completely filled with books. A large desk dominated the middle of the room. Its surface looked well used, but was currently empty save for a pencil holder and a couple of mementos. Two high-backed large chairs, mates of the one in the other room, flanked the fireplace. Unlike the other fireplace this one had a small flame flickering in the grate. A figure was seated in the chair to the right of the hearth. From their vantage point just inside the door at the far end of the room, they could only see extended legs, and the left arm draped on the armrest.
'Paul?'
Runyan jumped slightly and turned at the sound of the voice behind him. Her tone had been gentle, but family condescending, as one might address a child. The figure gathered itself slowly and rose from the chair.
Isaacs had never met Krone personally, but he recognized him immediately from photographs. He also saw more. Krone was in slippers and a dressing gown, incongruous attire for a physicist, but it was his face which arrested Isaacs's attention. The jaw was slack, the eyes glazed and unfocused, his whole visage one of lifelessness. Isaacs stepped forward.
'Krone? Paul Krone?'
The eyes shifted slowly to the speaker, but there was no sign that the words registered.
Isaacs stepped up to Krone and lightly grasped his arm above the elbow. The eyes maintained their original focus. Isaacs waved his other hand in front of Krone's face. The eyes blinked about three seconds later with no apparent regard to cause and effect.
Isaacs released Krone and spun around to face the dark figure in the doorway. 'He's virtually catatonic!
