article she’d retrieved from a wire-service Web site on the Internet. Orlov’s left eyebrow
arched slightly as the headline caught his eye. FOUR KILLED, DOZENS INJURED IN ART FAIR ATTACK
‘Did you encounter any problems that I should know about?’
‘Nothing we weren’t prepared for. Did Irena locate the information I wanted you to see?’
‘I have it right here.’
Orlov skimmed the article, noting that three of the slain had been police officers. The search for the men responsible would undoubtedly be thorough, making it dangerous for Leskov’s team to travel.
‘Dmitri, there are many difficulties surrounding this assignment. I think you and your men should remain where you are for a while, just to make sure the situation resolves itself. I’m certain our associates there can find a comfortable place to house all of you.’
‘They already have, Victor Ivanovich.’
38
Moscow, Russia
‘Oksanna,’ Orlov said with a smile, the syllables of her name rolling almost musically off his tongue.
Zoshchenko passed through the tall French doors of his office, moving with poise and grace. The well-cut lines of her jacket and skirt accentuated her trim figure.
Orlov stood in front of his desk, enjoying every step of her approach. When she reached him, he clasped both her hands in his, leaned forward, and kissed her gently.
‘Will Dmitri be joining us today?’ she asked.
‘ Nyet,’ he replied, looking amorously into her eyes.
Orlov reached over his desk to activate his speaker-phone.
‘Irena?’ he called out. ‘While I am meeting with Dr Zoshchenko, please see that we are not disturbed.’
‘ Da, Victor Ivanovich.’
Orlov switched the speakerphone off, then motioned for Zoshchenko to accompany him into the adjacent room. Once inside, she turned and embraced him, pressing her body tightly against his, fueling their arousal.
She pulled back far enough that her hands could find space between them to begin the unfastening. Orlov carefully worked the buttons of her jacket and slid the garment off her shoulders.
Orlov stepped out of his Italian loafers, then bent down and caressed each of her calves as he removed her pumps. He lingered there, gazing up at her as his hands roamed up beneath her skirt to slowly draw down her tights.
His silk tie fell to the floor, quickly followed by his shirt and trousers, then her blouse and skirt. They kissed each patch of bare skin as it was revealed.
Orlov appraised her nude form with delight. She guided him to the ornate bed that dominated this private chamber. The headboard bore the carved image of a Romanov double eagle – Orlov had once told her that the last czar had commissioned this bed. Now, they shared it.
When their sexual relationship had begun to evolve, she found Orlov’s technique to be like that of most men she’d been involved with – crude and clumsy. Slowly, patiently she trained him and as a reward for his efforts brought him to dizzying heights of ecstasy. Orlov eventually developed a sense of improvisation, and their passion play now took occasional ventures into the exotic.
An hour later they both lay exhausted, their bodies entwined in the rumpled and sweat-soaked linen sheets of the royal bed.
‘Victor,’ Zoshchenko whispered as she ran her hand through the graying hair on his chest, ‘I had a chance to take a look at the notebooks you acquired.’
‘And?’
‘And I don’t know what to make of them.’
‘What do you mean?’ he said, a bit irritated. ‘Dmitri and his men went through a lot of trouble to get those notebooks.’
Zoshchenko propped herself up on her elbow to face him. ‘No, you misunderstand me. Acquiring the notebooks was definitely worthwhile. Wolff’s drawings give a hint at what he was thinking, but without the narrative and his calculations, they’re just a collection of very interesting pictures. I’ve put a former KGB cryptographer to work on them, but he doesn’t hold out much hope.’
‘Why? Isn’t he a very good code breaker? If not, get someone who can break the damn code.’
‘Actually, he’s one of the best the KGB ever employed. I know because I’m the one who found him for them. He’s never seen anything quite like the mathematics of Wolff’s cipher – he’s not even sure where to start.’
Orlov’s hand caressed the curve along the small of Zoshchenko’s back as he considered the notebooks. ‘Will this have any effect on Avvakum’s work?’
‘There’s no way of knowing until the notebooks are decrypted. According to your surveillance, Sandstrom believes Wolff may have had a working theory that can explain the quantum effect he discovered. If this is true, such information would go a long way in bolstering our claim on all technology derived from this discovery. Such knowledge would be almost as valuable as the device itself.’
Zoshchenko lifted her head off Orlov’s chest and rolled to prop up her upper body on her elbows so she could face him. ‘I believe then that we must maintain electronic surveillance on Sandstrom and his associates indefinitely.’
‘The longer we keep watching them, the riskier it becomes,’ Orlov reminded her.
‘I understand, but we don’t know how much of the notebooks they have stored in their computers. Our hackers were met with heavy resistance when they tried to access the MARC network. Someone shut them out completely and then began tracking them. If Dmitri hadn’t destroyed the lab server when he did, our hackers might well have been identified. Regardless, we have to assume that they are working to decrypt whatever portion of Wolff’s notebooks they have. Should they succeed, that might put their effort ahead of ours.’
‘And if their patent claim has priority, we lose.’
‘Precisely, Victor.’
39
Moscow, Russia
It was nearly midnight, but within the windowless lab the distinction between night and day wasn’t readily apparent. Lara Avvakum’s fascination with her work caused time to slip past more quickly than it ever had before. Her workdays grew long; spans of eighteen, even twenty, hours weren’t uncommon as the feverish passion of discovery consumed her.
She stared blankly at the screen, unable to get Ted Sandstrom out of her mind. The possibility that he might be the one who started this project whetted her desire to learn more about him.
But surely, Avvakum reasoned, Victor Orlov’s prohibition against contact with my predecessors on this project doesn’t extend to knowing something about them. After all, is it not wise to know all you can about the competition?
A moment later she accessed the Web search engine on her computer and keyed in a deliberately broad search for Ted Sandstrom. Within seconds there were seven responses to her query.
Avvakum selected an article from USA Today and waited while her computer connected with the newspaper’s Web site and downloaded the article. The peripheral elements of the Web page loaded first, then the story and accompanying photographs. In bold text, the headline appeared. ND PROF KILLED, ANOTHER INJURED IN LAB
