“Not a one,” replied Fahimah.
“Any chance he could have been blackmailed by someone into helping them steal the probe?” queried Mitchell.
“I thought about that,” replied Fahimah. “However, I was unable to find anything that might cause him to act out of duress. He was never married. His parents and his sister are living peacefully in Anchorage. His bank records don’t show any unusual activity. He wasn’t a gambler and never once failed a drug test in the navy. Don’t forget, Ryan, that we did our own extensive background checks on him before he was offered a job with us.”
“Gents, there’s no way in hell you or I could have foreseen McMasters’ treachery,” said O’Reilly, looking over at Mitchell and Jackson. “That doesn’t excuse me from hiring the son of a bitch. A person is dead because of that decision — one I wish I could take back, but I can’t.”
“I take it he’s a wanted man,” said Mitchell.
“Damn straight,” replied O’Reilly. “The instant you called me to tell me about Maria’s death, I contacted my friends in the FBI and told them what had happened. He’s wanted not only by us, but by the Norwegians, as four of their citizens were also murdered. Not to mention, the whole incident took place on their soil.”
“The one thing that doesn’t add up is McMasters himself,” said Jackson. “He’s obviously no fool. He would have known that the authorities would have eventually come around wondering what happened to us. When they only found three bodies, even the dumbest cops would have put two and two together and realized that McMasters was behind our deaths.”
Mitchell jumped in. “I’ve thought about that myself and the only answer I can come up with is that he was going to be found dead as well.”
“Not sure I’m following you on this one, Ryan,” replied Jackson.
“I don’t mean that he intended to die. My money’s on another body with a similar build and facial features being dumped on the site with ours. That way he disappears from sight and doesn’t become a wanted man.”
“What about his dental records?” asked Fahimah. “They don’t lie.”
“There’re plenty of ways around that. Have the doppelganger’s teeth made up to resemble McMasters’s or have him die with a shot to the head that shatters his teeth. As the old saying goes, where there’s a will, there’s a way.”
“True enough,” said O’Reilly.
“What about that crashed plane?” asked Jackson.
“I’ve been informed that a forensic team made up of British and Norwegian experts is on their way to the island to examine the body and recover what they can from the wreckage,” answered Fahimah.
“Thanks, Fahimah,” said O’Reilly, wanting to move things along. “As always, a thorough and well-researched brief.”
“Are there any questions?” asked Fahimah. When no one asked any, she took her seat while Jen moved over to the lectern.
In a few moments, an image of a Luna probe came up on the screen. After giving a brief history of the Soviet Luna Moon landing program, Jen brought up a black-and-white picture of a young man with thick glasses, unkempt wavy hair and a scientist’s ubiquitous white lab coat.
Jen said, “On the screen is a picture of Valery Tokarev, junior mission planner for the Luna 15 probe. He is the only surviving scientist who was present in the command center the day the probe landed on the Moon. All of the other men have either died of old age, or in accidents over the years. He is now eighty-one years old and lives in Saint Petersburg with his wife of fifty-three years. Using one of our Russian speakers, I was able to have a pleasant chat with Mister Tokarev. For a man of his age, he is quite talkative and his mind seems as sharp as a tack.”
“What were you able to learn about the probe?” asked O’Reilly.
“Sir, Mister Tokarev didn’t seem the least bit perturbed when I asked him about the probe landing on the Moon and gathering a sample of rock to be returned to the Earth. In fact, he stated that he was surprised that it had taken this long for someone outside of Russia to come along and ask about the mission.”
Mitchell asked, “Did you find out why the Soviets decided to terminate the mission rather than allow the probe to return to Earth?”
“Unfortunately, no; however, Mister Tokarev told me that he has kept in touch with the son of one of the other scientists on the mission,” said Jen. “He claims that his friend was a meticulous note-taker and managed to smuggle out his books before the security services took over the mission and told everyone to go home. The man’s son claims to have all of his father’s work.”
“Can Tokarev get his hands on the books?” asked Jackson.
Jen shook her head. “He isn’t as mobile as he used to be, and the books are in the son’s home in a village about ninety kilometers east of Saint Petersburg.”
“Why don’t we just pay to have the books shipped to him?” said Fahimah.
“I asked about that,” replied Jen. “The problem is the son; he won’t let the books out of his home.”
“What about Yuri?” asked Jackson. “Why don’t we just have him deal with this?”
“He’s not returning my calls,” responded Jen.
“If he’s gone to ground, he’ll be next to impossible to get a hold of,” said Mitchell. “I’ll see what I can do, but I wouldn’t put much hope in getting him to help out.”
“So it would appear that if we want to know what is in those books, we’re going to have to take Mister Tokarev to them,” said O’Reilly.
“Precisely, sir,” replied Jen.
O’Reilly placed his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair, lost in thought. A few seconds later, he brought his hands down, thanked Jen for her report, and asked her to take a seat.
O’Reilly drummed his fingers on the table for a few seconds before speaking. “Okay, folks, I want to get to the bottom of this mystery as much as anyone in this room, so this is how I’d like things to proceed. This is strictly off the books. We won’t be billing Houston for this one. Jen, I need you to head to Russia right away. When you get there, escort Mister Tokarev to these books so he can take a look at them. It may end up being a fool’s errand. However, recent events would say otherwise and I want to know what we’re up against.”
Jen nodded.
O’Reilly continued. “Fahimah, I know you don’t want to hear this, but with Mike away, I can’t afford to have you out of the office. I need you here to run his department. I want to know the instant that the authorities learn anything new about McMasters or the people he was working for.”
Mitchell leaned forward in his seat. “Sir, don’t you think it would be better if Nate and I went to Russia? The people who stole the probe could come after Mister Tokarev to keep him quiet.”
O’Reilly shook his head. “Ryan, I see where you’re coming from; however, I’ve been asked by David Houston to have you and Nate visit him at his ranch in Dallas. Jen will be fine. I intend to send Sam and Cardinal along with her.”
“Sir, with all due respect, Houston can wait; finding out the truth behind the disappearance of the probe is far more important in my books.”
“Ryan, I share your concerns as well. However, as Houston is still paying the bills, until he fires us, we’re going to play nice with him,” said O’Reilly. “Sam and Cardinal are more than capable of looking after Jen.”
“I guess you’re right, sir,” responded Mitchell, still not happy with the direction things were heading.
“I know I am,” replied O’Reilly firmly. “Now, you and Nate had best head home and pack as you’re flying down to Texas in the morning. A private jet will be waiting for you at the airport at five in the morning. Don’t be late, gentlemen!”
“Great, a month away and now I’m heading off down south,” moaned Jackson. “My wife is gonna kill me.”