Yakov pointed a long finger at Lubyanka. “When I go in there, remember that.” A waiter passed by, and Yakov barked at him in Russian. Seconds later, there were three vodkas on the table. “Drink,” Yakov said. He lifted his glass and downed it. He nodded at Katyenka. “I will see you later.”
“And you also,” Katyenka said. She stood and walked off, disappearing into the crowd in the square.
Yakov placed a hand on Turcotte’s shoulder. “If I am not back in… let us say an hour, I recommend you go home.”
“What is Katyenka doing?”
“She is checking in with her boss. Remember, she doesn’t work for me and she has to keep up the illusion that she works for the GRU.”
“Make sure you get back here in an hour,” Turcotte said. “I don’t want to have to go in there after you.”
“You go in there after me, that makes two of us not coming out,” Yakov said.
“I’m not leaving without you.”
“Easy to say now,” Yakov said. “You might feel differently in an hour.”
Turcotte checked his watch. “We have eighteen hours. Exactly.” His SATPhone buzzed. He flipped it open.
“Yes?”
“Mike, the key is known as the Spear of Destiny. Either the Russians got it from the Germans at the end of the Second World War or it’s in Egypt. You need to turn around and go back to Russia.”
Turcotte digested that information, before responding. “I’m still in Russia, Lisa. Downtown Moscow to be exact. And if the Russians have it, Yakov and I are on the right trail.”
“Good. I’m going to Egypt to check that possibility out.” She relayed the information she’d gotten from von Seeckt about the Spear and what it looked like.
Yakov was staring at Turcotte across the table, his bushy eyebrows arched in question.
“Be careful,” Turcotte warned.
“You too.”
Turcotte turned slightly away from Yakov. “I mean it. Be careful.”
There was a slight pause. “I know you do. And you know I meant it also. I’ve got to get going. Out here.”
The phone went dead. Turcotte turned to Yakov and relayed Duncan’s information.
Yakov stood. “The KGB must have the Spear. I will find out.”
“Remember what I said,” Turcotte reminded him.
“I will.” Yakov walked off.
Turcotte flipped open the SATPhone and punched in a new number.
“Billam here.”
“It’s Turcotte. I’m sitting across the square from Lubyanka. Yakov is going in.”
“This guy Quinn is pretty good,” Billam said. “He got us floor plans for Lubyanka. We could land the bouncer right on the roof and work our way down. Any idea what floor you’ll be on?”
“By the time you get there, if I need you, I’ll know.”
“We’re locked and loaded,” Billam said. “We can be airborne in thirty seconds and the pilot of the bouncer says he can get us there in thirty-six minutes.”
“Let’s hope you don’t need to come,” Turcotte said. “I want you to keep on top of Dr. Duncan also. Out here.” He closed the phone and put it in his pocket, then checked his watch.
Major Quinn walked up to Professor Mualama. “How’s the translation going?”
“Most interesting,” Mualama said. He reached into his backpack and pulled out the scepter. “I now know where this goes.”
Quinn stared at the artifact. “That’s Airlia.”
“Yes. I found it in the coffin.”
“Goddamn!” Quinn exploded. “When the hell were you going to tell us you had that?”
“When I knew what it was,” Mualama said.
“We’ve been searching for the key to Qian-Ling and… ”
“It is not the key to Qian-Ling,” Mualama interrupted him. “I knew that from the very beginning. But what I didn’t have to know is where it was the key to and if I could trust you.”
Quinn had seen this before, in the dark days under Majestic. Information was compartmentalized… in this case the threat from Lexina… so much that those who had pertinent information weren’t aware it was pertinent. Secrecy was sometimes a necessity, but always with a cost.
“And you know where it goes?” Quinn asked.
“Yes.”
“Don’t move.” Quinn pulled out his SATPhone and called Duncan.
“We have cooperated with United Nations Alien Oversight Committee as directed by our president and parliament,” the man seated across from Yakov said. His name was Lyoncheka and he wore a very expensive suit, something that was not unusual here in the halls of the FSB headquarters these days. Yakov knew that the reason Lyoncheka could afford such clothes was that he had strong ties with the Mafia here in Moscow. It was the new way.
“It is your organization,” Lyoncheka continued, “that was penetrated. It was your facility that was destroyed. Why do you come to me?”
“Because I believe the KGB withheld alien material and records from Section Four. Material recovered at the end of the Great Patriotic War.”
Lyoncheka leaned back in his deep leather chair. His desk was huge, made of expensive wood. The windows behind him opened onto Lubyanka Square. It was on the third floor, which Yakov knew meant much prestige, because the office of the head of the KGB, now the FSB, was on the same floor, just three doors away.
The KGB had changed its name to FSB, but Lyoncheka had the same look Yakov had always associated with the KGB. A thick, solid body that did not fit well inside the tailored suit, heavy-lidded eyes that rarely made direct contact, and a total lack of anything remotely resembling happiness in his features. The sort of man that would choke his own mother to death if it would advance his position and increase his power.
“The KGB no longer exists,” Lyoncheka said.
“You have all the records from… ”
“No, we don’t,” Lyoncheka interrupted. “Much was destroyed in the change of power from communism. We are a free country now. As such we cannot maintain the type of records the KGB used to have. And”… Lyoncheka smiled without any humor… “there were many incriminating records that could not stand the light of day so the individuals who were mentioned in them spent many a late night shredding and burning.”
Yakov was impressed that Lyoncheka could say that without the slightest hint of sarcasm in his voice. Yakov realized it was time to switch his approach. Appealing to Lyoncheka as a member of the government was obviously futile. He would have to approach the man’s more basic side, the part that worked hand in hand with the Mafia.
As with any other country, there had always been crime in the Soviet Union, and there was crime now in the new Russia. Yakov knew that under the Communists, the top criminals had been in bed with the government, their actions controlled. If anything, since the change, it was now the government that was in bed with the criminals.
In the decade following the fall of communism, the Mafia had grown to the point where it rivaled the government for control of the country. Those who were smart… and ruthless… like Lyoncheka had seen the handwriting on the wall very early on. The previous year Russia had taken in a total of $60 billion in Western goods; over half of that had been imported illegally by the Mafia. Yakov knew that in the streets of Moscow, the murder rate was standing at approximately a hundred Mafia-related killings a day. And no one was being arrested for those crimes.
“I believe UNAOC would pay for any Airlia-related information,” Yakov said. Thick bushy eyebrows lifted in mock amazement. “Are you trying to bribe me? That is a crime.”