Cherkshan had tried to call his wife back, but it had been useless. She had not accepted his calls. He had known she would accept nothing less than him being there. He had sent men, but she had turned them away.
Nevsky had accepted Cherkshan’s call, proffered condolences, and grudgingly allowed his general’s flight home to be with his grieving wife. Through all of that, Cherkshan had gotten the opinion that Nevsky would hold this abandonment of his post in Kiev against him.
He didn’t know how he felt about that.
Before he could decide what to do, the door opened, and there stood Katrina. She looked as hard and as cold as the Russian winter, and he knew that a part of her blamed him for their daughter’s death, even though she did not mean to.
“You should come in. You are going to freeze.”
Cherkshan nodded, unable to speak past the lump in his throat. He kicked the snow off his boots and walked into the house.
“Come into the kitchen. I have fixed you some dinner. I knew you would not eat.”
Cherkshan did not feel like eating. He wanted to hold his wife, but he knew she would not allow that. Not yet. Not until she had off of her mind whatever she was holding back.
So he went into the kitchen and sat at the table. She brought food and put it before him. Like a machine, he ate. When he finished, Katrina took the dishes, washed them, and put them away.
He looked at her. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Can you bring back my daughter? Can you bring back my Anna?”
He shook his head, having no words to give her.
She left him, going back to the bedroom, and he knew not to follow. Instead, he went to his study and he waited. At this point there was nothing for him to do.
Three hours later, he got a phone call from Emil, who also expressed his condolences.
“Thank you.”
Emil hesitated. “I have a Greek policeman on the line, General. He says that it is important to talk to you.”
“Put him through.”
There was a series of clicks, and Cherkshan knew he and the policeman were not alone on the line.
“General Cherkshan, I am told you speak English.”
“I do.”
“Good, because I speak no Russian.”
“And I speak no Greek.”
“I have some questions about your daughter.”
Cherkshan thought for a moment, then realized that whoever was listening in on his phone call would already know about Anna. They would know more, in fact, than he did.
“All right.”
“I am Hermes Asimakopoulos, a police detective. I am afraid I am calling with some bad news about your daughter.”
“You are too late, Detective. I have already heard the news.”
“I am sorry for your loss, General. But there are some questions I must ask.”
“Proceed.”
“When was the last time you saw your daughter?”
Cherkshan felt angry, and it almost got the better of him. “Do not waste your time or mine. Get to the important questions.”
“What would those be?”
“What killed my daughter?”
“Why do you think something killed your daughter?”
“Because a police detective would not call me otherwise. The embassy people would handle this.”
“You’re right, General. My apologies. Your daughter died from radiation poisoning. It was all through her system. Due to the nature of your daughter’s interview on—”
Cherkshan broke the phone connection and leaned back in his chair. He was startled to find Katrina standing in his doorway with her arms folded.
Her voice, when she spoke, was cold and brittle. “What killed our daughter?”
“Radiation poisoning.”
“You and I both know she has not been around radiation.”
Cherkshan nodded.
“Someone killed our daughter, Anton.” Katrina stared at him. “In all the time that we have been married, I have never asked you about the things you have done. But I will speak of them now. You have killed men, my husband. To save your life and for your country. I know this is true.”
“Yes.”
“Promise me this: promise me that the people responsible for our daughter’s death will die.”
Cherkshan took in a breath and let it out. Katrina did not know how much she was asking. But it did not matter. She had asked. He nodded. “It will be done.”
Dressed in old clothes, Cherkshan stood inside a bodega four kilometers from his home. He had slipped out of his house using a subterranean tunnel he had built into his neighbor’s yard. There was a good chance that the FSB didn’t know about the tunnel, and he was very careful about his departure. The heavy snow made it easier to disappear.
Along the walk to the bodega, he had checked behind him several times. No one had followed him. When he had reached the bodega, he had used the payphone to make one call.
The man at the other end had picked up and said hello.
The general had named another place, but the man at the other end of the connection had known he had meant to meet at the bodega and to be careful about coming.
Forty-two minutes later, Dmitry Dolgov entered the bodega. He looked older than Cherkshan remembered, but he still had the roving eyes with steel in his gaze. He gave no indication that he recognized Cherkshan as he walked to the counter and purchased a paper and a hot tea.
The paper meant that he had not been followed. If he had purchased gum or candy, he had a tail.
After his transaction had been completed, Dmitry left the bodega. A few minutes after that, Cherkshan left as well. He stepped out into the cold and walked a block to the east. Dmitry waited in the shadows at the corner.
“My condolences on your loss, General.”
“Thank you, Dmitry, but you do not have to rely on titles here. You and I, we are old friends.”
“True.” Dmitry sipped his tea as they walked and watched for tails.
“My daughter was murdered.”
Dmitry said nothing.
“It was done by a sociopathic dog who works for the FSB. One of my own.” Cherkshan passed over a photograph of Colonel Sergay Linko. “He poisoned my daughter with radiation.”
“I am truly sorry, Anton. That is a bad way to go.”
“There are no good ways.”
“No, but there are some that are worse than others.” Dmitry put the photograph inside his coat. “I know this man. He has a reputation even among the SVR.”
“He is in Greece. Following Professor Lourds on a treasure hunt that the president believes in.”
“You do not?”
“I do not care. I want Linko dead. I am asking you to do this thing for me because too many people are watching me and because you have a history with Lourds.”
“After everything he has been through, Lourds may not trust me.”
“Then do not let him see you.”
“What about Lourds?”
“He is not my enemy.”
“And the treasure?”
“I do not care about it.”
Dmitry nodded. “As you wish.”
“Dmitry, I know this thing I ask is a lot, but I made a promise to Katrina that our daughter’s murderer will pay for his crimes.”
“You do not need to worry about it. We look out for each other, my friend. It is what good Russians do.”
“I fought with my daughter all the time, Dmitry. She had visions of what Russia would be like if it followed along the lines of freedom. I would not listen.”
“You and I argued with our fathers as well. Only not as loudly or as bravely as these young people do. This is a natural thing.”
“Perhaps, but perhaps I should have been listening more.”
Dmitry held up the paper. It was a copy of The Moscow Times. “Your daughter left many articles behind. I have read them. She was thoughtful and insightful. She has left a legacy. You can still read them. You can still hear her voice.”