told her. “We think he was selling stolen mini nukes to an Islamic extremist group, maybe al-Qaeda, maybe someone else, a Pakistani terror organization. I don’t know why the Chinese guy is here.”
“Don’t you understand? Vasilyev will be back soon with a technician to check the bodies for radiation. They’re not going want to let word of this get out. Stolen nuclear weapons? That makes the Moscow government look
“It’s okay, Masha,” Akulinin said. He was thinking fast. It was a breach of operational security, but in for a penny—
“It is
“Look, you said you were trying to get back to the States, right? Maybe I can help.”
Her eyes widened. “What? Really? That would be—”
“I’m going to need to clear some stuff with my superiors, but at the very least we can get you out of
The immediate problem was how. Dean and Akulinin were supposed to exfiltrate across the border into Afghanistan when their part of the op was over. Bringing along a civilian woman they’d just happened to pick up along the way was definitely
“People who get on the bad side of the FSB,” she said, “they … they disappear.”
Akulinin nodded. The
“I know,” he said. “That’s not going to happen to you. I promise you.” He stooped over and reattached the radiation counter to his ankle. “Listen, have you tried the American Embassy here in Dushanbe? I’d think they could help you.”
“No. My parents surrendered their American citizenship when they came here … and mine, too. And I would need money,
“It depends on who you talk to, Masha. I have … friends. They should be able to swing something.” He saw a pad of notepaper on a desk nearby, and a pen. He walked to the desk and wrote out an address in clear block Cyrillic letters. “Do you know where this is?”
“Adkhamov Street? It’s in the eastern part of the city. About, oh, five kilometers from here.”
A long way for her to walk. “Do you have a car?”
“No … but there’s good bus service.”
“Where do you live?”
“Prospekt Apartments, on Karamova. Perhaps a kilometer and a half.”
“I want you to go home, pack whatever you need to bring with you — a small suitcase, no more. Then get to this address.”
“What is it?”
“A safe house. You’ll buzz the intercom at the front door, and when a voice answers, you’ll ask them
She looked puzzled. “Do you have a better room?”
“Right. It’s a code phrase. They’ll let you stay there, no questions asked. I’ll come by later.”
“Wait! Where are you going?”
“I have to see about rescuing my friend.”
“Who? Oh! The Indian Air Force officer?”
“The same. He’s in a lot of trouble right now.”
“You … you know they probably have men watching the hospital outside. If they see you leave … or me …”
Damn, she was right — and he should have thought about that. He wasn’t thinking clearly, and that could spell disaster for operators in the field, especially when the carefully crafted script had just been thrown out and they were ad-libbing it.
“I know. Masha, look. I’ll see what I can do about getting you out of the building and on your way. Then I have to take care of my friend. But I
“I … I do. It’s just …”
“Just what?”
“Why are you doing this? Why are you helping me this way?”
“Let’s just say I really liked the way you stood up to Vasilyev a little while ago. And you were willing to help me. Besides … what are the chances of two kids from Brighton Beach meeting up
“Thank you, Ilya.” She stepped forward, stood on tiptoe, and kissed him. After an awkward moment, he put his arms around her and hugged her close.
“Well, well,” he said as they stepped apart. “What was that for?”
“For helping me get these cadavers into the refrigerator,” she said, all business again.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Well, I don’t want to just leave them here in the open to start decomposing! Dr. Shmatko thinks better of me than that.” She began opening refrigerator doors, pulling out a morgue slab from each opening.
With a rueful shrug, Akulinin began helping her move the bodies.
They’d taken Dean out the back door to one of the cars parked beneath a pool of illumination from a security light in the alley behind the hospital. Vasilyev had told a soldier to put him in the rear seat and keep him there, then got into another vehicle just ahead, where he appeared to be making a phone call.
His guard was outside the car, leaning against the wall. The window was rolled down, but the man was far enough away that Dean could say, “I’m back. Did you miss me?”
He spoke quietly, barely vocalizing at all, but he knew the sensitive microphone would pick up the words and transmit them to a communications satellite and back to the Art Room.
“We hear you, Charlie.” It was Marie Telach. “What the hell happened?”
“No reception in the basement,” Dean said. He kept his replies terse. “I’m being held by Vympel personnel … decoy.”
“We still don’t have a signal on Ilya. Is he with you?”
“Negative. Ilya’s in the morgue. Still free, far as I know. I’ll keep you informed.”
“We copy, Charlie. Uh-oh. Hang on.”
“What’s going on?”
There was a long pause. “Your friend Vasilyev just put a call through to Subarao’s office. We had a ‘secretary’ talking to him. Now … okay. Sudhi is talking with him.”
Dr. Sudhi V. Anand was the Desk Three linguist for Hindi and several other Indian dialects.
“Have him give the SOB a good reaming for me,” Dean said.
“Copy that.”
“Listen, I used the story of possible Pakistani agents loose in Dushanbe and other bases, maybe spying, maybe working to screw the Indian-Tajik treaty. I used the name of another IAF officer — Group Captain Narayanan, at Ayni. I told him Narayanan had sent me to warn him about the threat personally.”
“Thanks, Charlie. I’ll pass that on to Dr. Anand’s monitor.”
“Hey … Hindu!” the guard outside asked in Russian, leaning closer. “What’s that you’re mumbling? Who are you talking to?”
“I’m praying,” Dean replied in the same language. “I’m calling upon my ancient and powerful gods to make sure that your commanding officer sees the error of his ways.”
From the rear seat of the vehicle, Dean could see the back of Vasilyev’s head as he spoke on the phone. The
