Nothing.
He searched dead astern. Clear there, too, except for a gray curtain that was a snow squall crawling seaward from Kil’din Island. Another 360-degree sweep. “All clear. Down periscope.”
Litvanov pushed away from the descending tube. “Come. Let’s have a drink.”
8
For several hours Jack Slaughter had sat in a sub basement room facing a bank of computers and monitors at the heart of the embassy’s communications center. Slaughter had entered the embassy voice mail system’s Stored Program Control through COMSEC–Communications Security — and retrieved Drummond’s cell phone message to Alex.
With the use of filters and modulation techniques, Slaughter had minimized many of the defects in the message caused by nulls and voids and signal fades. Scott and Alex listened through headphones to replay after replay, but only two phrases spoken by Drummond were made clear enough to understand:
“I’m staying there” and “will return tomorrow.”
While Slaughter experimented, he gave Scott and Alex a running commentary on the complexity of multi path effects, echo elimination, and modulated signal parameters. He spun around in his swivel chair and said, “Try it now; see if it’s any better.”
Scott listened carefully, but Drummond’s voice, badly distorted by noise and signal fade, came through only marginally improved. “Any other ideas that might work?” he asked.
“Afraid not,” Slaughter said. “I’ve used all the tricks I have in my black bag. Cell transmissions from the north are notoriously bad. Pity he didn’t use a satellite bounce. The Russian ground relay system has very long transmission paths that badly degrade signals.”
“What about his armored cell phone?” Scott said. “Why didn’t he use that?”
“Good question,” Slaughter said. “By the way, did you ever find it?”
“No.”
“Whoever stole it, it’s no good to them. It’s locked.”
Alex saw Scott’s disappointment. “Sorry, Jake, I thought for sure we were onto something.”
The phone at Slaughter’s workstation chirped. He answered, punched the hold button, and said, “It’s for you, Captain Scott. It’s Mr. Stretzlof.”
Scott and Alex found Chief of Mission Viktor Stretzlof waiting for them in a “bubble,” one of the embassy’s safe rooms on the second floor. He sat at the head of the long coffin-shaped mahogany conference table sipping a diet cola through a bendable straw. David Hoffman sat to Stretzlof’s left facing Scott and Alex, his face set in stone.
Without preamble Stretzlof said, “For your information, Captain Scott, the use of the embassy comm center is restricted to the sending and receiving of official embassy communications. It is not to be used for any other purpose.”
“Jack Slaughter helped me clear up some messaging Admiral Drummond sent to Dr. Thorne before he was murdered,” Scott said. “I felt it was important to know what he was trying to tell her.”
“General Radford gave me a rundown on your orders,” Stretzlof said gravely. He favored suspenders and starched shirts with white collars and cuffs and blue bodies that crackled when he moved as he did now, turning to Alex then back to Scott. “It seems you’ve blatantly disregarded them. Furthermore, you’ve involved Dr. Thorne in your adventures, which, as I understand from David, has taken her away from important duties at the embassy as well as in the field. You were told by General Radford to confine your work to the return of Rear Admiral Drummond’s remains and the security of his papers.
Apparantly you’ve seen fit once again to expand your warrant.”
“Mr. Stretzlof, I can explain everything—”
Stretzlof cut Alex off with a vigorous chop of his hand that made his jowls oscillate. “I want to hear Captain Scott’s explanation, not yours, Dr. Thorne.”
“My ‘adventure,’ as you call it,” Scott said, “concerns the murder of an American naval officer—”
“Total conjecture on your part, Captain, isn’t that so?” Stretzlof interrupted. “The official FSB report states that Drummond committed suicide.”
“The FSB report is wrong.”
Stretzlof showed mock surprise. “Is it, now? And I suppose you have ironclad proof to refute the FSB.”
“Yes, I do have some information, and I expect to have more soon. Alex — Dr. Thorne — has assisted in the investigation. I believe Frank may have been murdered because he uncovered information about Chechen terrorist activity in Russia.”
“My, my, you are quite the detective,” Stretzlof said. He put his cola aside. “But General Radford’s orders don’t authorize you to conduct a police investigation.”
“They also don’t authorize you to enlist Alex to help you,” Hoffman added.
“I volunteered, David,” said Alex. “Because I had worked with Admiral Drummond, I thought that any information I had might be helpful to Captain Scott’s investigation.”
“There you go again,” Stretzlof said. “Captain Scott is not here to conduct an investigation. Is that understood?”
Alex said, “Mr. Stretzlof, David, I was very skeptical when Jake told me that he believed Frank was murdered. But I’ve seen evidence — some of it circumstantial, I admit — that challenges the FSB report.
Also, we think—”
“Alex, that’s enough,” Scott said.
“No, let her speak,” Stretzlof said.
“I’m not authorized to reveal what we know, nor is she,” Scott said.
“Really? Aren’t you lucky that you are able to interpret your orders to suit your every whim.”
“You’ve got it wrong, Mr. Stretzlof. I’m not doing any such thing and I’m not playing detective. What I am trying to do is find out why an American was murdered in Russia. If it involves terrorism, it should concern you too.”
Stretzlof’s face turned hard as flint. “Don’t presume to tell me what should or should not concern me. I know something of your background, Captain, and you appear to have a penchant for taking matters into your own hands when the orders you’ve been issued don’t suit.”
“The facts, if you bothered to look at them, may prove your assumptions wrong,” Scott said.
Hoffman cleared his throat. “Alex, Mr. Stretzlof and I have decided that you are to withdraw from further involvement in Captain Scott’s assignment. Is that understood?”
“David, I—”
“Is it?” Hoffman insisted.
She nodded.
“Good. The President arrives in St. Petersburg next Wednesday….”
“I know the President’s schedule, David.”
“Then you also know we still have a lot to do to get ready.”
“And I’m doing it,” Alex said, not hiding her annoyance and embarrassment at being treated like a glorified secretary.
“Don’t take it out on Alex,” Scott said to Hoffman. “I drafted her to work with me on this investigation and she’s done a great job.”
“I told you, Scott, she works for DOE, not the U.S. Navy.”
Stretzlof raised a hand. “And how far have you gotten with this ‘investigation’?” he asked drily.
“I plan to report my findings to General Radford this evening.”
“Yes, do that,” Stretzlof said. He opened a file folder and took out a message flimsy, which he slid across the table to Scott. “This is from General Radford. You’ll note that I am also an addressee.”
Scott took a quick look at the message and said, “Thank you.”
Stretzlof stood. “Until General Radford either countermands your present orders or modifies them in some way, and as long as you are in country, you will cease making further inquiries into Admiral Drummond’s suicide. For the record, I will report this conversation to the ambassador.”