Gray snapped, "If I want moralizing, I'll dial Pat Robertson's eight hundred number." Then to the old man, "My favorite of yours was the pine needles."
Scowling, Adrian turned Gray's words to Russian.
"Da, da, da," the old man chortled.
Gray explained in English for Coates's benefit, "Mr. Trusov could often smell an enemy's breath at a hundred yards."
" 'It was the goddamn sauerkraut,' " Adrian translated as Trusov spoke.
"So Mr. Trusov suspected the enemy might also be able to detect his breath."
" 'Beet soup. That's all we had to eat and it has an odor that carries.' "
"So before a mission he would chew pine needles. I learned that from him. Needles will kill any breath."
Adrian Wade's Russian came so easily that she would finish her translated sentence only a second or two after the speaker did. She continued with Trusov's words, " 'And I learned it from my father.' "
"Your father?" Gray asked. "I don't know about him."
" 'Sure you do, if you are a student of the art,' " Adrian rendered it into English. " 'You just don't know his name. The Red Army never released his name.' "
The pride in the old man's words was evident to Gray even in Russian.
" 'My father was the rifleman who froze the front at Tannenberg in the Great War.' "
Gray was astonished. "August 29 and 30, 1914, General Samsonov's Russian 2nd Army. The Red Devil?"
Trusov laughed. He patted his knee and a puff of dust rose from the yellow bathrobe to swirl in the sunlight.
Adrian translated, " 'Yes, the Germans called him the Red Devil. Tannenberg was a disaster for our army, but my father and his rifle stalled a part of the German pincer for almost eighteen hours, allowing thousands of Russian soldiers to escape east. He killed thirty-four of Ludendorff's soldiers in that eighteen hours alone. The Germans didn't dare lift their heads above the road embankments. He was the first in my family to leave a red shell.'"
"Did he survive the war?" Gray asked.
" 'He later rose to the rank of colonel, but one day in 1938 he disappeared from his office along with every other officer in the Kiev Military District above the rank of major.'" Trusov leaned forward to the television table to lift a podstakannik, a silver-handled glass containing tea. He sipped loudly, then continued," 'He was a good teacher, and I learned the sniper's craft from him.'"
Coates dipped into the caviar again and asked with a full mouth, "When is the last time you fired a rifle, Mr. Trusov?"
After the translation, the old man pursed his lips, then said with Adrian translating," 'I suppose it's been two decades. The government didn't allow citizens to own firearms unless they were hunters, and I've never found any pleasure at shooting at animals. No sport to it. They can't shoot back.' "
Adrian shook her head at the last sentence.
The Russian continued: " 'I passed along the torch long ago.'"
Coates had been reaching for yet another blini, and his hand stopped abruptly. "You passed along the torch? To whom?"
More translation, then another proud beam from the old man. " 'To my boy Nikolai. He also served in the army.'"
Coates glanced at Adrian Wade. "Know anything about Mr. Trusov's son?"
"Nobody I spoke with ever mentioned him," she replied, her words quick in defense of herself. "But I wouldn't be surprised. The Red Army is like an onion, and maybe I wasn't allowed to peel it back far enough. Perhaps even the instructors at the Spetsnaz school had never heard of him."
"Could there be other sniper schools in Russia?" Gray asked. "Another group with its own instructors and history?"
"Not that I know about," she answered. "But maybe. The Red Army is famous for redundancy. Perhaps Kulikov and Rokossosky never heard of it either."
The old man dipped a finger into the tin and brought a dab of caviar to his lips. Several black eggs caught in the corner of his mouth, and only after a moment did he find them with his tongue. He began speaking again, and Adrian translated.
" 'My boy walked in my footsteps in Afghanistan.' "
"He was a sniper, Mr. Trusov?" Gray asked.
" 'Seventy-eight confirmed kills in Afghanistan,' " Adrian translated. " 'Lots of turbans got ruined, thanks to my boy. If the army had kept him there, we wouldn't have lost Afghanistan, and maybe the Soviet Union wouldn't have collapsed.' "
He laughed heartily, which shook his frame like a leaf in a wind. " 'He left a red shell at his firing sites, too. Three generations of red shells.' "
With that revelation, Adrian Wade found Gray's eyes. She smiled narrowly. The sun was edging lower in the sky, and rays reflected off the room's bright work — the antique key escutcheons, the brass hinges, the gilt on the mirror, the brass knockers on a dresser, and Adrian's silver brooch. The sun picked up the dust in the room, and a fine sheet of it lay over everything.
The old man added, " 'I don't have any grandchildren, so the family tradition will end with Nikolai.' " He lifted a finger toward Owen Gray. "Nikolai is about your age. Handsome boy, too, like you. His hair is lighter, though. I don't know where he got his blond hair. When I had hair, it was brown. Same with his mother.' "
"What's he doing now?" Gray asked.
The Russian squinted his eyes at the mantel clock. Adrian turned his answer to English. " 'I imagine he is getting ready for dinner.' "
Gray smiled. "I mean, where is he now?"
" 'I don't know,' " Adrian translated. " 'I haven't seen him since yesterday.' " Then she blurted in Russian, "You mean he's here in the United States?"
Trusov replied and Adrian turned it to English, " 'He received an emergency visitor's visa and escorted me here for the surgery. He's having a good time in New York, too, from what he tells me.' "
Gray mulled over this news. Nikolai Trusov. Did the name mean anything to him? The detective was staring at Gray, doubtless wondering the same thing. Gray didn't think so.
"Does your son know me, Mr. Trusov?" Gray asked.
The old man scooped the last of the caviar onto a finger, dropping a few eggs onto his plate.
He spoke and Adrian interpreted, " 'Nikolai didn't know anybody in the United States. Either did I. But I've met a lot of nice people, though. My surgeons and nurses. You three. You people aren't as bad as Khrushchev said.' "
"When do you expect Nikolai to visit you again?" the detective asked.
He chewed the caviar. Adrian echoed his words," 'He comes and goes. Brings me sausage and this caviar and yobla. He is a dutiful son.'"
When the old man hesitated, Adrian nodded encouragement. Finally Victor Trusov continued. " 'My boy, I love him very much. But' " — he paused and a few seconds passed before he went on—" 'but there is something missing from him. My father and I were snipers because of war. Nikolai is a sniper because that is all he can be. It is the center of him.' "
Coates said, "We'll swamp the streets around here with my people. Nikolai won't be coming and going anymore, not until we talk to him."
Adrian Wade thanked the old sniper. Gray said he was honored to have met him. They all moved toward the door.
Adrian turned back and asked in Russian, then in English, "Mr. Trusov, do you ever catch flies out of the air?"
The old fellow narrowed his eyes at her. He finally said, and Adrian translated," 'Why would I do that?' "
She looked at Gray with both censure and triumph.
" 'But there was a time during the war when I caught bats. They were all I had to eat.' "
As she translated, Adrian looked back and forth between the two snipers. " 'Not many people can seize a bat right out of the air.' "
Adrian Wade's glare swept into Gray. Reassessing him or dismissing him, Gray couldn't tell which. She said her goodbye in Russian, then left the room. Coates followed.