Krestinski did not disagree with this assessment; in fact he wondered if the thugs realized how dangerous their choice of houses had been. The FBI man studied his friend, seeing a tall, rather ordinary looking man with light brown hair and mild eyes, until you noticed the powerful shoulders underneath the suit coat, and the tanned skin that in February Boston signaled either a just-returned vacationer or someone who was outdoors more winter hours than sensible New Englanders. “I’ve seen what happens when someone tries to tackle the two of you together. Did they survive?”
“Got away.” Hudson grinned sheepishly.
“Surprise. They say anything?”
“Just that she should go with them, in a heavily accented voice. Where we don’t know; they’d only gotten to the foot of the stairs when she broke away.”
“And you didn’t call Chief Solomon, I’m sure. You telling me this in an official capacity?”
“No. Cilla said something about it being the wrong decade. I think her intuition took her further than her conscious mind. John, they were Russian.”
Krestinski had been bringing his coffee to his mouth. The cup stopped halfway. “Russian. You sure?”
“Yeah, I guess I am. Cilla heard one say some words. She thought they might be Swedish; they weren’t. I want to put it down as just a random robbery attempt.” He shook his head. “Do you hear me talking? `Just’ a robbery, as though it were a common everyday occurrence in Bartlett, New Hampshire for a house to be invaded by men with knife and gun. But what she heard was a Russian curse.”
The FBI agent pursed his lips. “Hudson, you live way up there in the sticks. If you were in a half-civilized part of the world you’d know Russians are a growing part of the New England population. From my end of things, they are now one of the major drug trade players in this section of the country. It’s no longer just the old Italian mafia. They were followed by the Columbians, then the Jamaicans, and then the Asians. Now maybe it’s Russians. They started in the Boston area where a lot of them went to work in the taxi business; others, like most immigrating national groups, formed mobs when they found people weren’t falling all over themselves to hire them. And that they could make money faster taking it than earning it. They’re now spreading out over the Northeast. I’m surprised you haven’t seen them at Great Haystack.”
“I’m not. If they skied, it wouldn’t be Alpine.”
Krestinski looked out the window at the lights of City Hall Plaza. He’d sometimes searched to see if he could identify vestiges of what used to be Scollay Square, made famous by the Old Howard vaudeville theater; more so by the strippers who performed there. “Yes. And I’m talking a lot of crap. There’s no way they should be in your area.”
Hudson nodded.
“I’m trying to avoid thinking your errand for me might have brought harm to your family.”
“So am I. But I hadn’t met or seen a Russian in years. I go to their country, where I’m bonked on the head, and a few days after I’m back, there are Russians invading my bedroom. Is it farfetched to connect the two? Maybe it is, I don’t know. I’ve been putting that question to myself the past week and finally decided to let you take a shot at it.”
“You think the one who attacked you in St. Petersburg wasn’t just after your wallet.”
“I had asked a lot of questions about your folks. Besides the police, I saw the hotel manager, maids, clerks, plus several coffee shops they visited, and your parents’ old St. Petersburg friends. Probably talked to 50 people in all. Russia’s not the best place in the world to ask about missing people. So, yeah, it could have been a warning. But if it was, that puts a new face on what’s happened to them.”
“Yeah… not a good one.” They both were silent with their thoughts. “I left the day after you did. There was no point.”
“I was surprised you were able to get over there at all.”
“My office wasn’t happy. We’ve had a kind of bothersome problem I’ve been on, but I had to come over when I heard you were in the hospital.”
“And still no word?”
“No. Nothing.”
“John, the thugs at my place wanted Cilla to go with them. Presumably out of the house, we haven’t got anything valuable in it. For sure no drugs. If they’re from the Boston area, and were after just any woman, they wouldn’t have come 140 miles for one. So why Cilla?”
Krestinski studied his friend. “She was in a… what do you call it. Some Indian place… when you met her.”
“An ashram.”
“Yeah. An ashram. Could it be something from there?”
“I doubt it. There was probably some grass around, but I don’t think they were in the selling business.”
Krestinski rolled a pen around his fingers. “What does Cilla know about your side trip for me?”
“Everything except my ending up in the hospital.”
“How are you feeling now? That Russian doctor said you took a hell of a blow.”
“I’m fine. John, I don’t want Cilla to know I got banged up over there. She’s had enough problems in her life. She needs me to provide a stable, secure and non-threatening environment. So far I’ve done a shit-poor job.”
Krestinski looked out the window and sighed. “It may not get much better if mafia is involved, particularly Russian mafia because…”
“They go after the wives?” Hudson put in.
“Not just the wives. Anyone in a family they feel has crossed them. Aunts, uncles, maybe a cousin or two.” He leaned forward with his hands on the desk. “God, Hudson, I’m sorry. I should never have brought you into this.”
“I’d have asked you the same if it had been my parents. Your father works for the UN doesn’t he?”
“Yeah. Started as a translator. The last year or two he’s been working from their office in Switzerland. This was to be their first vacation in over a year.”
“Is there a glimmer of hope the events up our way aren’t connected?”
“Sure, the Bartlett episode may have just been a random home invasion that’s now over. And the St. Petersburg head-knocker may have only been after money just as we thought. There may be no connection at all…”
“Yeah, those are the disclaimers.”
But neither believed it, and the drive home for Hudson was longer than the way down.
His wife received a little stronger hug than usual.
“Hmmmmm.” After a minute she pushed him back to look in his eyes. “Okay, something’s wrong. What did John say?”
“Offered sympathy. Suggested it might have to do with drugs. They’re spreading out from the Boston area. He said he was surprised we hadn’t seen them up here before. Drugs aren’t his field, but he said he’d pass the word along to those working in it.”
“Those men weren’t after drugs, Hudson.”
“I know. So I told him. Probably house jackers, if there is such a thing.”
The silence sat while he took off his coat. Then Cilla said softly, “So we’re on our own if they decide to return.”
“We’ve been there before.”
They went into the living room. “I just got in myself. I butted heads with Kurt today, and Gail wanted to talk about it.”
“Break his leg?” An inside joke. Cilla had training the equivalent of a black belt in tae quon do, and a hardened outlook on men and life brought on by the murder of her Indian mother and rape of herself at age fifteen. Her intensity in practice had, in one case, accidentally broken the leg of her best friend and fellow practitioner.
“Better.” Comfortable on the couch, she told him the Bale Out story.
Hudson, listening, felt a glow of almost paternal pride - though he wouldn’t have been enthusiastic about that adjective. “Good girl. I’m surprised Kurt made it as close as he did, the way he attacked the trail.”