“You still there?” Jenkins asked.
“Yeah. The scientists set down in a couple hours?”
“Right. You’ll meet them.”
She didn’t think so. “I need to think this over. Jake isn’t in Stockholm. He probably got off the train in Falun, but they didn’t change directions. They changed mode of transportation.”
“How do you know?”
“Because that’s what I would do. Someone had found them. Jake had to assume the only way was by the GPS SAT phone, so he dumped that onto the Stockholm train and found a car.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.” But she had no idea where he was going.
“Will he still bring the virus to Oslo?” Jenkins asked, concerned.
Something had changed. But what? “Jake will do the right thing. You know that.”
“I know. So I guess you get to the airport and wait for the scientists and Jake.”
“I understand,” she said. Not an actual promise. “Have you found Victor Petrova?”
“That was next,” he said. “We believe he checked into the Grand Hotel on Karl Johans Gate.”
“That’s only a few blocks from here. What name’s he using this time?”
“Vladislav Petrenko.”
“Keep it simple. Same initials.”
“Right.”
“I think I should stick with him. He doesn’t know me. You can send someone from the embassy to meet Jake and the scientists. But I have a feeling Petrova is the key here. Better to keep an eye on him.”
Heavy sigh on the other end. “You’re right. I’m glad you’re over there, Toni. All right. I’ll make it happen.”
“One more favor?”
“Shoot.”
“Could you make sure our NIS friend, Thom Hagen, escorts our embassy folks to the meet?”
“Why?”
“He’s a stiff and I don’t trust him.”
“No pulling punches with you, Toni. That’s what I like about you.”
They both hung up and Toni quickly went to her computer and scanned Victor Petrova’s file one more time, making sure she knew everything there was to know about the man. Then she grabbed her things and went to check out of her room.
23
Jake had mixed feelings as he had driven through the remote Swedish countryside, the trees lining the twisting road and broken only by fields of hay and well-kept farm houses. He had been too hard on Anna, he knew, but he also had no time to play games. He had to make up time and get to Mora as soon as possible. As it turned out he had gotten to the town just after the train had pulled into the station. When he saw the police arrive shortly after, he knew a porter had swept through and found the two men. Jake guessed the man he had questioned was a small-time criminal, but the police would suspect he was the victim this time and let the man go after a brief stop at the local hospital. That’s what Jake was counting on anyway.
Since Jake had anticipated the cops bringing the man to the Mora hospital, he had gone there in advance and had found the two men waiting outside in the black Volvo.
He sat now in his acquired Saab and waited, spending the time looking over information on Victor Petrova on his laptop. He was even able to access the internet with the hospital’s wireless network.
His phone buzzed in his pocket and he flipped it open. “Yeah.”
“Where the hell are you?” It was Kurt Jenkins, the director of Central Intelligence.
“Stockholm,” Jake said, his eyes still on the two douche bags in the Volvo across the parking lot.
“Ah, no. Some lady found the SAT phone in her purse and turned it over to the police in Stockholm. They traced the card to one of Victor Petrova’s front companies.”
“How’d you find out about that?”
“We’ve been intercepting all of their unsecured communications. It doesn’t matter. Can you just tell me what the hell is going on? We understand you ran into a little trouble on the train.”
“No big deal.”
“You have the package?”
“Of course.” Jake thought about telling Jenkins about the true contents, but that might keep him from helping him. And Jake could use his information.
“So, where are you?” he asked again.
“Have those scientists take a nap,” Jake said. “Better yet, you might want to get them a room. This could take a while.”
Hesitation. Silence.
Finally, Jenkins said, “You’re going after Victor Petrova.”
The man who had attacked them on the train suddenly appeared at the entrance to the hotel, looked around until the brain trusts in the Volvo flipped their lights on and off, catching his attention. Then he adjusted his pants, pulling them away from his buttocks, and wiggled down the sidewalk like an old man. Coke bottle, Jake thought with a smile.
“Well,” Jenkins said.
“Listen. I’ve gotta go. I’m going to be following three Nobel laureates. I’ll get back to you with my plan as soon as I know it.” With that he flipped the phone shut and cranked over the engine.
The three men in the Volvo were not hard to follow. In fact, he had a feeling he knew where they were going. Only time would tell if he was right.
They headed North immediately, but turned off onto a smaller country road in fifteen kilometers, heading west. An hour later they crossed a small frontier border station into Norway. Jake didn’t get much more than a nod at the border from the disinterested old guard, and would have had a lot of explaining to do if they had looked in the trunk and found the guns and gems. Or even looked under his left arm, where his 9mm automatic hung in its holster. Especially without Anna or Kjersti pulling credentials.
Shortly after crossing into Norway, Jake’s hunch about their direction was confirmed. He saw the signs for Hamar, Norway, 110 kilometers, and started to back off the Volvo. No need for them to entirely engrain the Saab in their mind. He knew where they were going.
While he drove the remote country road, Jake ran through his mind how he wanted to proceed. First, he would need to do a little house cleaning. He found an isolated area far from the nearest town and farm, pulling off on a tiny road that headed north. He drove for a while and parked the Saab on the side of the road. This road was nothing more than a logging access, but looked like the Norwegians had not cut trees here in ten years or more. That was good. It meant they probably wouldn’t cut again for twenty or thirty years.
He got out and went to the trunk. Found his handheld GPS, turned it on and took a reading of his location, and rendered the reading to his memory, speaking the numbers over and over in his mind until he would never forget it. Then he purged the location from the GPS memory.
Looking around, Jake saw what he was looking for — a rock with a large tree behind it. Swinging his backpack over his shoulder, he went to that spot and found a stick. He set the pack down. The ground was moist and mostly moss and lichen, which he ripped back like a thick blanket at the back side of the rock. Then, digging with the stick, he finally had a hole deep enough for the box. He set the box inside and covered it only with the thick moss. Satisfied with his work, he flipped the lighter pack over his shoulder and went back to the car.
Anything else, he thought. He would need the guns. No. Should be good. While he was there, he relieved himself on the side of the road, then took a bottle of water from the trunk before closing it. He got back into the car, turned around, and drove back toward the main road, running the GPS location through his mind again. Without all those millions in Alexandrite gems lingering around, he felt a lot better. Now he could go have a discussion with that little Russian troll and see why he had devised such an elaborate scheme involving Jake.