The Oracle Code

33



Safe House

Kandahar

Kandahar Province

Afghanistan

February 16, 2013

Anna woke with a start, not knowing what had roused her till she heard her phone trill again. It lay in bed with her because she didn’t want to risk leaving it behind in case she had to leave in a hurry. She felt safe among the ANA men guarding them, but after the past few days, she had learned not to trust everything.

A text message revealed the news:

RUSSIAN MILITARY HAS INVADED UKRAINE! ARE YOU THERE? K

Cursing, Anna pushed herself to her feet. She grabbed her pants and pulled them on, then threw off the T-shirt she’d been given to sleep in and pulled on her blouse. Still barefoot, she rushed to her computer while hitting the speed dial for Kirill.

“So there you are?” The editor sounded annoyed. “I was beginning to wonder if you were still alive.”

“I have been working hard to stay that way.” Anna booted up her computer. “Tell me what is going on. I just got your text.”

“Madness, that is what is going on. Only a few minutes ago, before dawn, the Russian government sent a military expedition—at least, that’s what they’re calling it—into the Ukraine. That precipitated a flurry of violence that has swept through the country.” Kirill cursed, and she could hear him pacing through his office.

“We did not know about this?” Frustrated with the computer’s speed, Anna rushed downstairs. There was a television there with satellite hookups to Western stations and news.

“No. Not one word. Not one hint of gossip.”

“But Nevsky has talked about bringing the satellite countries back into the Federation for months.”

“As invited guests, yes. But no one suspected he would roll an invasion force into the Ukraine. And we should have had some kind of indication.”

“Because we are so well connected? Phah. Believe me, Kirill, not everyone wishes to talk to The Moscow Times. I have been turned down several times regarding different stories.”

“None of those stories were this big.”

Anna reached the downstairs area where the television was located and discovered that Captain Fitrat and several of his soldiers were watching the story unfold on CNN. The video footage showed Russian Federation tanks rolling through city streets. Several cars around them were on fire. A few people threw Molotov cocktails at the tanks, but they were quickly shot by machine gunners.

How can anyone try to stand up against those behemoths? They have to know that they are just going to die. It was like watching moths drawn to a candleflame only to retreat with singed wings. Or drop dead in the street, ripped to pieces by machine-gun fire. She stood behind the couch where Fitrat sat in stunned silence with two of his men.

Layla Teneen, already covered in a hijab and burqa, stood to one side. Her face was expressionless, but her dark eyes glinted with regret and sorrow.

There was no sign of Thomas Lourds.

“Anna.”

Anna shook herself, realizing that Kirill had been calling her name. “Yes.”

“Can you hear me?”

“Yes. I am just...this is a lot to take in.”

The television view swept to another scene. In this one, fighting had erupted onto the street. Judging from the steadiness of the picture, Anna thought the broadcast was coming from a street cam. The dateline at the bottom announced that the scene was coming from Kiev, the Ukraine’s capital and its largest metropolis.

The male anchor at the desk looked calm and composed. “The violence in Kiev broke out at the same time as the invasion began. Military experts at the Pentagon state that they believe the events spanning the Ukraine were carefully orchestrated. At present, no one knows who has ordered this to begin.”

“Are you watching CNN?”

Kirill must have heard the anchor. “Yes, Kirill. The soldiers here have access to a satellite feed.”

“Good. Keep watching.”

The anchor continued. “There is some speculation that this is the start of a coup directed by Russian President Mikhail Nevsky.”

Stock footage of the Russian president scrolled across the screen.

“But some experts believe that this kind of operation, the utilization of homegrown terrorists and separatists within the Ukraine, was the work of this man.”

Immediately, Anna saw the picture of her father fill the television monitor. He stood atop a Russian tank, and Anna was convinced the image was deliberate, a visual memory tie back to the tanks now rolling through the Ukraine.

“General Anton Cherkshan, a noted war hero in Russia and veteran of the First Chechen War, then a major strategist for the Second Chechen War only a few years later, is currently immersed in military operations within the Russian Federation. Some Pentagon officials believe Cherkshan may be the guiding force behind the Ukraine invasion.”

“He wouldn’t do that.” Anna spoke out loud and didn’t know that she had until Kirill responded.

“Your father’s presence in the Ukraine has been confirmed, Anna.”

“I talked to him only last night. He didn’t say anything about this.”

Kirill laughed bitterly. “I don’t think this is something a Russian general would discuss with his daughter.”

Anna agreed and chastised herself for feeling betrayed. Then again, she had been betrayed.

“Anna?”

“Yes, I am here, Kirill.”

“I know. And I think you should be here. Whatever Professor Lourds is doing, whatever he pursues, it pales in comparison to what is going on here in this country.”

“I agree. Let me see if I can make arrangements to come home. If so, I will be there as quickly as I can.”

“The borders are being tightened. No flights in or out of Moscow have been stopped yet, but I expect that to happen as the Ukraine tries to strike back. Be careful, Anna.”

“I will.” Anna broke the connection and stared helplessly at the television. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing or that her father was involved.

She pulled up her phone’s contact list and punched his number on speed dial. She didn’t expect him to answer, but she had to try. The connection went straight to his answering service. She hung up the phone and turned to Layla. “Excuse me.”

“Yes.”

“I need to get back to Moscow. Can you help me?”

Layla nodded. “Of course. How soon do you want to go?”

“Now.”

***



Lourds woke with a pillow in his face and his eyes burning from too much reading and not enough sleep. He didn’t know what time he’d gone to bed, but dawn was already breaking in the east. From the lethargic way he felt and the pounding in his head, he assumed he hadn’t been resting long.

A glance at his watch told him the time was 6:27 a.m. He couldn’t have been asleep for more than a few minutes.

Knocking sounded on the door, and he deduced that had woken him.

“Yes?”

“Thomas?” Layla called through the closed door. “I need to speak with you. Please get dressed. Anna is with me.”

“Sure.” Lourds reached for his khaki shorts and pulled them on, added a tourist T-shirt one of Captain Fitrat’s men had gotten for him, and stood. “You can come in.”

Layla entered the room, followed by Anna. Both women were already dressed.

Lourds looked at them curiously. “Big plans?”

“I must return to my job, and Anna must return to Moscow.”

Lourds frowned. Although he hadn’t liked revealing everything he knew about the scrolls to a member of the media, he’d gotten rather comfortable having Anna around. When he looked at the young woman, he saw the tension in her. “Is something wrong?”

“I am afraid I must pick up a bigger story, Professor Lourds.”

Lourds shrugged and tried to hide his disappointment. “I understand. Translating documents can be tedious and time-consuming, I’m afraid. There’s not much excitement in it until you have the translation worked out. Then, I promise you, you’ll see some real excitement.” Still, he had to admit that one person’s excitement was not necessarily another’s.

“That is not what is at issue. The bigger story is the invasion of the Ukraine by Russia.”

“Russia invaded the Ukraine? But why?”

Layla snorted in disgust. “If we are to believe the swill President Nevsky is putting forth, it is to free the Russian people who want to become citizens of the Russian Federation once more.”

At that moment, the bells rang, calling the Islamic worshippers to morning prayer. In the moment after that, the keening voices of the people lifted in the fajr, the near-dawn ritual, blasted through the streets and were joined by the voices of Captain Fitrat and his soldiers in the rooms below.