“I’m trying to reach him.”
“He’s not here,” said Mark. “Honestly, this isn’t a good time.”
“I haven’t heard from him in two weeks, no phone calls, no e-mails, nothing. I’ve left a million messages for him, he just doesn’t answer.”
Mark heard a couple of dogs barking. Speaking in a thick New England accent, a woman said, “Tell him about my birthday.”
Mark recalled that Decker had grown up in the north woods of New Hampshire. Born into a military family. That female voice in the background reminded Mark of Decker.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” said Mark. “I haven’t heard from him in months, so if you were in touch with him two weeks ago, then your contact information would be a lot more up-to-date than mine.”
“We’re just a little bit worried here. It was his mother’s birthday yesterday. He always remembers to call.”
“You know, Mr. Decker…I can tell you’re worried, but really there’s nothing I can do.”
“If you hear from him, will you tell him to call home?”
“Absolutely. Now, I’m sorry, but you’ve caught me at a rough time. I have to go.”
Mark tried to call Orkhan on the way to the airport.
Orkhan’s secretary claimed not to know where her boss was or when he’d be back, so Mark explained the situation with his computer and backup disks and said he expected the Azeri government to help recover his stolen belongings.
Orkhan needs to look into it personally, he said. Personally!
The receptionist said she’d relay the message.
Mark figured Orkhan was probably listening in on the conversation, blowing him off.
He took stock of what he had — a change of clothes, a black diplomatic passport that he was supposed to have turned in when he left the CIA, a credit card, and $456 in cash because the Azeris had let him stop at his bank in downtown Baku to close out his checking account.
He still hadn’t decided where to go. He thought back to that morning, drinking a cup of thick Turkish coffee at an outdoor café in Molokan Gardens in downtown Baku. That was just before meeting Heydar — what? — five hours ago? Everything had been so pleasantly normal.
He used to thrive on chaos when he was younger, but now…now he was getting too old for this crap.
The Ministry of National Security agent driving the car weaved in and out of the heavy traffic, stopping and starting with sudden, aggressive jerks.
Mark turned in his seat to look back at the city. Several green-domed mosques were sandwiched in among gleaming new skyscrapers. In the distance, bleak desert hills — dotted with oil derricks — marked the southern edge of the city. He’d always liked thinking of Baku as an exotic oasis in the desert, secluded from the wider world. He loved the medieval walls of the old city, the long promenade along the Caspian with its carnival rides and tea shops, the views from the heights at the southern end of the city, the fourteenth-century caravansary restaurant where he’d often met with visiting diplomats in smoke-blackened private rooms.
He was romanticizing the place, he knew. Much of Baku was just a dump. But it had been his dump.
He told himself to let it go. Moving on might be better for him in the long run anyway.
What would anybody want with his damn book, though? What good would it be to them? What was the point, just mindless destruction?
He thought about how Buddhist monks would spend days constructing an intricate sand painting, only to destroy it right after they’d finished. The exercise allegedly helped them embrace impermanence. Which was exactly what he needed to do.
Let it go.
Embrace impermanence.
Those fucking Russians. I bet it was the fucking Russians.
They were obsessive about their history; they’d probably been monitoring him and decided they didn’t like what he was writing. Maybe instead of embracing impermanence he’d just hunt down the Russian dickwads who’d stolen his book and rip their damn throats out.
He started to think through the logistics of how he would launch such a hunt, and the money and time and risk involved, and the odds of it turning out successfully, and then he sighed.
Orkhan pulled up to the airport in his armored black Jeep Commander as Mark was being escorted to the international terminal.
Mark’s minder led him to the back of Orkhan’s car. Orkhan opened the door and Mark climbed in.
“I’ve been speaking to Heydar.” Orkhan frowned deeply.
The back of the car was sealed off from the chauffeur in front by a plate of soundproof glass.
“And?”
“And I have concluded I was too quick to judge the boy. Heydar found out that you were leaving and he was gravely disappointed. He considers you his best teacher.” Orkhan paused, as if preparing to reveal some important bit of information. “He now tells me he thinks he can pass this SAT if he studies harder.”
Given the look of stoic pride on Orkhan’s face, Mark decided not to mention that the test wasn’t pass-fail.
“I sometimes get frustrated with him, and forget that he is just a boy,” said Orkhan. “I was not interested in my studies at that age either.” He shook his head.
“I’m sure you’ll be able to find another tutor,” offered Mark.
“Heydar doesn’t want another tutor. He wants you.”
For a brief moment, Mark though Orkhan might be saying that he could stay in Azerbaijan. Maybe this whole mess could be put to rest right now. Maybe—
“He asks that when you get to America, will it be possible to do a videoconference once a week?”
A long moment passed. Mark reminded himself that one should never burn one’s bridges unless the enemy was directly upon you. Orkhan wasn’t the enemy. But still.
Orkhan added, “I will pay, of course, for all the equipment, and for all the charges. If you require a charge yourself, that will be no problem provided it is reasonable. You have already repaid your debt.”
He looked outside to the airport. In the distance, at the end of one of the runways, he could see the top of a mound of twisted, weed-strewn metal, the remains of previous plane crashes that had been swept off the runway and left to rust. He was going to miss this place.
“I’ll call you,” Mark said. “When I’m settled.”
“Heydar will be grateful.”
That resolved, Orkhan unlocked the door of the Commander, a sign that it was time for Mark to leave.
“What about my computer?”
“What computer?”
Mark explained about his apartment, and his missing laptop and files. “Didn’t your secretary mention it?”
Orkhan said, “Of course I will have my men look for it. Anything they find will be stored with the rest of your belongings.”
“My book was on that computer. It means a lot to me.”
As Mark was stepping out onto the sidewalk, Orkhan said, “Next time you should back up off-site.”
“What?”
“Back up off-site, you know, through the Internet. Heydar tells me about this — he is not always as stupid as he seems. The young, they know these things.”
“I’m only forty-four. That’s not old.”
Orkhan shrugged. “Have a good trip, my friend.”
13
The perky twentysomething woman at the Azerbaijan Airlines ticketing window informed Mark that there were no direct flights to the States, but that a red-eye was leaving for London in three hours. From there he could catch a flight back to Washington.