He moved along the corridor, past rooms containing Mark, Laith, and Adam. Aside from medical staff and armed Dutch police officers, no one else was allowed in the hospital wing. The injured DSI operatives had been taken to another facility, where they were not only receiving treatment but also being questioned as to what had happened during the flight.
A nurse approached him, her expression quizzical and angry. In English, she said, “You shouldn’t be walking. What are you doing?”
Mikhail stopped. “I need to call my family.”
“You know what the police told you. No calls to. .”
“The police,” Mikhail said softly, his breathing labored, “are uncertain what to make of this situation and have put in place procedures that make no sense.” He patted a hand against his leg. “We’re hardly a threat to anyone.”
“It’s for your own protection.”
Mikhail sighed, felt weary. “Please. I need to speak to my daughters.”
The nurse looked unsure.
“I just want to tell them I’m okay.”
She glanced over her shoulder toward the pay phone. The nearest cops were in the adjacent wing, out of sight of the phone. “Just your family?”
“Yes. I’ll be quick.”
The nurse smiled and nodded toward his crutches. “Not with those, you won’t.” Her smile vanished, was replaced by a look of authority. “Okay. But if anyone asks me, I’ll deny we ever had this conversation.”
She walked away, heading to the other men’s rooms to check up on them.
Mikhail stood in front of the phone, tried to catch his breath. Glancing left and right, he saw the corridor was empty and inserted some coins into the unit. A man answered. Mikhail spoke a few words to him in Russian and waited. Diana came onto the line; his wife spoke to him for two minutes, her comments and tone ranging from anger, to fear, to delight. She passed the phone to Tatyana, who was cross and combative-it didn’t bother Mikhail because these days the teenager was frequently like that. He told her he loved and missed her and that she was to help her mother as much as she could. The phone was handed to Yana.
His youngest daughter shouted, “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!” and gushed her adoration for him. Then she adopted a stern voice and concluded, “It’s wrong that you’re not here.”
After saying good-bye, he ended the call and stared at the keypad. Though his family were used to the fact that he was frequently away from them while conducting overseas missions, under these circumstances it was wrong that he wasn’t there to look after them. His thoughts turned to Lenka Yevtushenko. Three days ago, he’d ordered his men to vacate the Saxony farmstead and move the Russian defector to another location in Germany. He recalled Will’s comment.
Let him go. He’s got a woman and child to look after.
And his riposte.
I’ll take him back to Russia to face not only the charge of stealing secret intelligence. He’ll also stand trial for being a CIA agent.
He placed more coins into the machine, and his finger hovered over the keypad. What was he thinking? At first he wasn’t sure. A gut instinct? If he was about to break SVR rules, he had to do so with something more concrete than a hunch. He thought for a moment, nodded, and began pressing numbers.
Why?
Because if he punished Yevtushenko, he’d also be punishing his family. Cochrane had known from the outset that even if everything else in the mission was a failure, reuniting a foolish but decent man with his partner and daughter would be a good outcome. Mikhail now understood that.
He spoke to one of his assets, heard the man try to argue with him, told him to shut up, and gave him very precise instructions to transport Yevtushenko to Belarus within the next few days. “Keep him in hiding, away from Minsk for a month or two. I’m going to tell my superiors that we found him dead at the farmstead, but they may still check his lover’s address during the next few weeks. But they’ll soon get bored and move on to other matters.”
His last call would be to Will Cochrane.
Fifty-Eight
Stefan looked at the food his wife had laid out on the kitchen table and beamed. Kartoffelsuppe, kalbsrouladen, spargel, and kartoffel-one of his favorite meals. He poured his wife a glass of spatburgunder red wine and looked at Wendell and Mathias. “Tuck in, boys, before Daddy eats it all.”
The twins piled food onto their plates and began eating with smiles on their faces.
His wife gently squeezed Stefan’s hand and began serving him. “How was the conference, my dear?”
Stefan laughed. “It was as riveting as watching paint dry.” He swallowed soup and exclaimed, “Ooh, that’s good!”
Wendell asked, “What story are you going to tell us today?”
Stefan ate more food and thought for a moment. “You remember I told you about the giant earthworm that lives in the Black Forest?”
“Yes! Lumbricus badensis.”
Stefan nodded. “It’s cruel and smart. But it has a weakness.”
“What is it?”
“The worm has no honor.”
“But that doesn’t matter, Daddy, because it’s the most dangerous creature in the forest.”
Stefan sliced into his veal. “Honor matters enormously. There is one creature in the forest that’s much more dangerous than the worm and has honor. Would you like me to tell you the story of when the worm met this creature?”
His boys nodded eagerly while filling their mouths with more delicious food.
Stefan smiled. “Once upon a time, there were three bad woodsmen who gathered in the Black Forest to discuss their desire to gain wealth and power. They decided the best way to achieve this was to cut down all of the forest’s most ancient and valuable trees and sell the wood. All of them agreed that it had to be done in secret; that they would be severely punished if anyone found out what they were doing. But a songbird overheard them and flew away to tell good woodsmen about the plot. The bad woodsmen tried to shoot the bird, but they missed. Determined not to let the bird ruin their plans, they went deeper into the forest, lit torches, and entered one of the vast tunnels that led to the giant earthworm’s lair. They were terrified of the worm but knew that it was the only creature that could help them. Upon entering the lair, they saw the worm feasting on dead cattle. Its red eyes were staring at the woodsmen. The eldest woodsman stepped forward and told the worm that they would give it ten dead cows if it could kill the songbird before he spoke to the other woodsmen. The worm laughed, slithered close to them, and bared its enormous bloodstained fangs. The smell of its rancid breath filled the cavern as it told the men that it could only kill things on land. At first, the men didn’t know what to do. Then one of them had an idea and told the worm that they would pay it twenty dead cows if it could find a creature that could kill the bird. The worm considered this. The dead cows would make its body even bigger and stronger. It agreed and told the men to leave before it changed its mind and bit off their heads.”
Mathias popped the end of a piece of asparagus into his mouth, bit it in half, held the stem out, and grinned. “Like this.”
“Use your knife and fork please, Mathias.” Stefan took a sip of his wine. “Now, the worm knew that it would have to find a very special creature to hunt down and kill the songbird. Only one such creature lived in the forest. Do you know what it was?”
The boys shook their heads, wide eyed.