At least officially. But MY-PID had tracked bank accounts he’d used, connecting them to a mortgage on a house just outside the city limits. The mortgage had been taken out six months after the clinic closed — and paid off eighteen months later. The name on the mortgage was different, but the person was also a doctor: Dr. Andrei Ivanski.
MY-PID turned up little information on Ivanski. He was Moldovan, of Russian descent, according to certification papers. He had no active practice in the country.
Were they the same person?
Nuri thought they probably were. And, interestingly, the doctor also had an account at the Russian bank, though the records showed it hadn’t been used for nearly four years.
“He has a pretty nice house,” said Nuri. He showed Danny satellite pictures of it as they drove into town. “I want it under surveillance, get some more information, see if we can figure out what the doc is up to.”
“Maybe we should make an appointment and ask him,” suggested Danny. “Does he have a practice?”
“In town. But first we need background,” said Nuri. “We need to know what kind of questions to ask.”
“Ask him about steroids.”
“That’s the last question we ask,” said Nuri. “We don’t ask that until we’re reeling him in.”
“I don’t know if I’m buying this whole human engineering thing,” Danny told Nuri. “For one thing, I’m not convinced Stoner survived the crash. For another, I don’t see a connection with the sports place. It’s all pretty far- fetched.”
“Enhancement, not engineering,” said Nuri. “You don’t like the idea that Stoner was involved? Is that it?”
“I don’t have feelings one way or another.”
It was a lie, but Nuri didn’t call him on it.
“Look, Stoner was Agency,” Nuri told Danny. “I know he was your friend, but in some ways he’s like a brother I didn’t know. And I agree the whole thing is pretty far-fetched. But if they have a genetic test—”
“It’s not foolproof,” said Danny. “He may be in that cemetery.”
“We’ll know about the cemetery in a few days,” said Nuri. “In the meantime, these are our best leads. Until Kiev.”
19
The argument with his wife still felt a little raw as Zen wheeled himself into the congressional dining room, where he was planning to lobby a pair of congressmen on the companion bill to his scholarship measure. Both were from the opposing party, but he didn’t figure either would be a hard sell — they had large military installations in their districts, and one had a brother who was still on active duty with the Marines.
The ease of the assignment let his mind drift a bit, and he thought of the NATO meeting even as he came up to the table where the congressmen had already been seated.
“Senator, good to see you,” said Kevin Sullivan, an upstate New Yorker in his third term. He practically jumped out of his chair as he grabbed Zen’s hand.
His companion, Brian Daly, was more reserved. But it was Daly who began the conversation by mentioning that he’d talked about the bill with his brother in the Marines. His brother, a lieutenant colonel, had heartily endorsed it.
That was good enough for Daly.
“I think it’s a good idea, too,” said Sullivan. “I’m on board.”
“Great,” said Zen. “Let’s eat.”
“My brother remembers you from your Dreamland days,” said Daly as they waited for their lunches. “He was on a deployment in Iran when you were active.”
“Hell of a time,” said Zen.
“He said you guys were something else. You took out a laser site in broad daylight? Ballsy.”
“Your brother was probably in a lot more danger than I ever was,” said Zen. “The guys on the ground always had it worse. Hell, if I was in trouble, I could just fly away.”
That was more than a slight exaggeration — piloting the Flighthawks from the belly of a Megafortress, he couldn’t “just fly away” at all. He was completely at the mercy of whoever was piloting the big plane — or firing at it.
During the war between Pakistan and India, it had almost cost him his life. At one point, the plane in flames, he parachuted out with Breanna. They’d spent several days shipwrecked on an island.
Air-wrecked. Whatever.
Their lives had changed so much since then. It wasn’t just because they weren’t in the same line of work anymore either. They had different outlooks on things, different attitudes toward Teri and how to raise her. Different priorities with their jobs and lives.
So what did any of that have to do with their argument?
Nothing.
Was that what really bothered him, their growing apart?
They weren’t apart — they were just older, with more things to worry about.
“There was a rumor today on one of the blogs — Politico, I think — that you were headed to Kiev,” said Sullivan.
“I am,” said Zen, returning from his brief daydream. “Senator Osten’s going to be in the hospital awhile.”
“Oh yeah, how is he?” asked Sullivan.
“I talked to him yesterday. He was joking about all the things he’s not supposed to do now.”
“You wouldn’t figure him for a heart attack,” said Sullivan.
Actually, thought Zen, you would — he didn’t exercise, was more than a little overweight, and had a complicated family medical history. But it was the sort of polite comment people made in passing.
“Do you really think Ukraine should be part of NATO?” asked Daly, changing the subject.
“I don’t think it’s a bad idea,” said Zen. “What do you think?”
Daly was neutral; Sullivan was opposed, though only mildly. Both seemed worried about diluting NATO as a military force by adding relatively weak allies on the border of Russia. It was a reasonable argument, even if Zen disagreed. He wasn’t in much of a mood to get into a philosophical discussion of how to best offer a counterweight to Russia.
But Sullivan and Daly were.
“Russia is a diminished force,” said Sullivan. “A nonentity militarily.”
“That’s what worries me, to some extent,” said Daly. “When you’re beaten down is when you get dangerous.”
“They haven’t been beaten down.”
“They think they have. That’s what matters.” Daly turned to Zen. “I’d be careful at that summit,” he told him. “I’ve heard plenty of rumors that the Russians are out to disrupt it somehow.”
“I’ll be as careful as possible,” said Zen.
Sitting at a committee hearing two hours later, Zen decided he would be more than careful — he’d spend a little time at the shooting range before leaving, something he hadn’t done in a few months.
And he’d buy Breanna some flowers. That was also long overdue.
20
