Kilkenny watched the Russians move farther away while he impatiently waited for a reply.
‘Rookie, lower your weapon!’ the cop’s partner shouted as he jogged over from the patrol car. ‘This is the guy who was tracking these fucks for us. We’re here to back him up.’
‘Then let’s move it,’ Kilkenny ordered, leading the way down the sidewalk.
The crackling sound of automatic-weapons fire filled the air.
‘Oh my God!’ someone shouted, terror-stricken.
When he reached the toppled barricades at Huron Street, Kilkenny saw a plume of pale yellow steam rising from the grille of a police cruiser. Dozens of holes pockmarked the dark blue sedan. On the pavement, two more officers lay clinging to life. Farther up Main Street, a green Suburban with tinted windows sped north toward the highway.
36
It was well past nine and evening was ebbing into night by the time Nolan and Kelsey’s question-and-answer session with Detective Ptashnik was finally through. After the debriefing, an Ann Arbor police patrol car ferried them down to the southeast corner of the Diag. They picked up a carryout of General Tso’s chicken from their favorite Chinese restaurant, then walked over to Kelsey’s old sorority house, where Nolan’s SUV was parked.
‘Do you mind driving?’ Nolan asked, offering Kelsey his keys. ‘There’s a call I need to make.’
Nolan set the bag of food cartons on the floor behind the passenger’s seat and pulled the PalmPilot from his briefcase. As they drove toward Dexter, he searched through the handheld computer for Cal Mosley’s number, which he keyed into his phone.
‘This is Mosley.’
‘Cal, it’s Nolan Kilkenny.’
‘What can I do for you?’ Mosley asked.
‘The Russians struck again today, this time in Ann Arbor. Four people dead. Cal, these were the same guys who hit Sandstrom’s lab in South Bend.’ Nolan then launched into a brief report of the latest attack.
‘So they were after these old notebooks?’ Mosley asked.
‘Yes. Definitely. After Wolff’s body was found, the police made no public mention of the notebooks. Only a handful of people even know about their existence and their potential importance to our project — and I trust all of ’em. My best guess is that these guys are still watching Sandstrom and probably have his hospital room bugged.’
‘They got their intel from somewhere,’ Mosley agreed. ‘Get the hospital to move him and ask the FBI to sweep his old room for any surveillance equipment. In the meantime, I’m going to run this latest information past some people here and see what I can come up with. Thanks for the update.’
‘Cal, I need all the help you can give me. This project I’m working on has the potential to become a multibillion-dollar-a-year industry. If whoever’s behind these attacks succeeds in taking control of Sandstrom’s quantum technology, they’ll have the power to pull the economic equivalent of a coup d’état on the rest of the industrialized world.’
37
The numbers from the Far East exchanges looked flat, the third straight day without any sign of the occasional exuberance or volatility that made watching the markets interesting in the first place. A day without winners or losers, without victory or defeat — so far. The day was still young, and the Western markets had yet to open.
Orlov shuffled around a few positions, much like placing bets on a roulette table — only on a global scale. His bets were spread over the three Cs: companies, commodities, and currencies. The billions under his control allowed Orlov to cover a wide field of opportunities; since the beginning of the year, his portfolio had already increased sixty-five percent.
The phone on his desk rang softly.
‘Da, Irena,’ he answered.
‘You have a call from Dmitri Leskov.’
Orlov glanced at his watch; it was just after midnight in the eastern United States. ‘Put him through.’ There was a click, and then a dull hum that often accompanied overseas phone calls. ‘Dmitri, what news do you have?’ Orlov asked.
‘The materials are en route to you now. The courier should deliver them to you by the end of the day.’
‘Excellent.’
Cherny quietly walked into the office and laid several laser-printed pages on his desk. It was a copy of a news 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
‘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.