The Oracle Code

44



General Anton Cherkshan Residence

Patriarshiye Ponds

Moscow, Russian Federation

February 20, 2013

Dinner with her mother reminded Anna of the meals they’d had in her years before going off to university. Her father had usually been home during those years, but sometimes he’d had to stay and work on projects that he couldn’t talk about.

This was like one of those nights. Anna helped her mother in the kitchen, made small talk, and dashed off to make telephone calls that she didn’t want her mother to hear.

The kitchen was smaller than Anna remembered. It seemed like everything had gotten smaller since the last time she had visited. Even her mother seemed smaller.

Katrina Cherkshan was only a couple inches above five feet and always looked tiny next to her husband. Anna’s family on her father’s side talked about Katrina and claimed that she had gypsy blood, like it was some kind of bad thing.

Her mother’s family were smaller and darker than the Cherkshan side, but they didn’t look like the Romani or act like them. They were just small and quiet, like her mother. If there was Romani blood there, it had been generations since the family had wandered and been virtually homeless. Anna’s grandparents on that side had lived in the small house that had been passed down from her great-grandmother.

“Why do you have to make so many phone calls?” Her mother didn’t complain, actually, but she noticed things with true passion.

“Because it’s my job.”

“This is for the newspaper?”

“This is for a story I’m working on.” Anna chopped iceberg lettuce and wished for the tenth time that she’d never agreed to dinner. She should have gone to her apartment. Better yet, she should have stayed at the newspaper office.

Then she wouldn’t have known about her father and the planned revolution in Greece.

“What story could be so important that you cannot simply fix a meal and eat it?” Her mother stood at the stove stirring lapsha, noodle soup with mushrooms.

The smell was delicious, and despite her confusion and terror, Anna’s stomach growled in anticipation. “The Ukraine was invaded, Mother. Perhaps you heard?”

Her mother shot her a hard glance. “Do not take a tone with me, little princess.” That had been her mother’s nickname for her as a child. Little princess. Because her father had treated her like one.

“I apologize. I am tired. It was a long trip.”

Her mother sighed. “No, it is I who must apologize. Make your phone calls. You have work to do. I know this.” She smiled. “I see you here, I just want my little girl back.”

Anna went to her mother and hugged her. “It is good to be home.”

Her mother held her tightly. “These times are troubled, Anna. Your father’s business worries me. I do not know how he is doing.”

“What do you mean?”

Her mother shrugged. “We talk sometimes. Not much. You know he cannot talk much when he is away from home. The military has too many secrets.”

Anna agreed.

“He would rather talk to me about his feelings and what he thinks when he is home. But I know he is troubled by everything that has happened in the Ukraine. The decisions he has made have not been easy for him.”

“But he made them.”

“No. Not the decision to see reunification for the Ukraine.”

Anna stopped herself short of challenging the term.

“That decision was made by President Nevsky. Your father only figured out the best ways to do this thing. Being your father has never been easy.”

In a little while, the soup was ready. Her mother heated up pirozhki, small buns stuffed with meat, rice, and onion, and boiled eggs with dill—which were Anna’s favorite—that she had made earlier in anticipation of the dinner. They sat and ate and pretended nothing was wrong in the world as they made small talk about the neighbors that Anna remembered.

As they were clearing dishes, Layla Teneen called. Anna excused herself and stepped around the corner.

“I have gotten you listed as an Afghani diplomatic courier, which will make your travel easier. It was the best I could do on such short notice.” Layla sounded as tired as Anna felt.

“You’re a miracle worker, Layla. Thank you. How soon can I leave?”

“There is a flight leaving in a couple hours if you want to try for that one. Otherwise, there is another tomorrow afternoon. Your credentials will be waiting for you at the airport.”

“I will take the one tonight.”

“All right, but the flight is a cargo plane. Some of the Afghan museum exhibits there in Moscow are being flown to museums in Athens.”

“That is fine. Do you know where Professor Lourds is?”

“Just that he is in Athens as well.” Layla’s curiosity was piqued. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I have tried his phone several times and he has not answered.”

Layla laughed. “For Thomas, that is not unusual. When he is working, sometimes he forgets to eat. He becomes totally focused.”

Thinking of the diamond engagement ring she’d seen, Anna wondered how that would work out. “It can be awfully hard to live with someone who is so focused.”

“I am afraid I am just as culpable in that. That is why I have a personal assistant to keep me on track.”

Anna laughed. “When I see Professor Lourds, I’ll let him know you’re expecting him to call.”

“No. Not at the moment. I am still putting out fires in my own work. Just tell him I am thinking of him, and when he gets time, he should let me know how he is doing.”

“I will. And thank you.” Anna hung up the phone and went to give her mother the news that she would be leaving, not spending the night as she had thought. After the past few days she’d had, the thought of spending the night in her old bedroom had been appealing.

***



Moscow International Airport

Cargo Area

“This is a ridiculous time of night to be leaving, Anna.” Katrina Cherkshan was clearly not happy with her daughter’s decision. “And to be loaded through the cargo like you are livestock?” She shook her head. “I have a good mind to call your editor and talk to him about the way you are being treated.”

“Mother, this is the first flight out.”

“And why Greece? Why could you not stay in Moscow? You only just got back today.”

“Because I must go where the story takes me, Mother. This is what I do.”

Her mother followed the checkpoint signs and finally arrived at her destination inside the security compound. Russian soldiers stood on duty, their numbers doubled since the “reunification” of the Ukraine had begun.

From what Anna had learned, there were already protests going on inside the city. Most of them were quickly—and harshly—dealt with by military and police forces.

Katrina got out of the car and hugged her daughter goodbye, then held her at arm’s length. She hesitated for a moment, then took a breath. “Be careful, Anna. These are troubled times. Watch your step and return safely to us.”

“I will, Mother.” Anna hugged her mother one last time, then headed for the security gate. When she looked back, her mother was already in the car and driving away.

Steeling herself, ignoring the anxious feeling growing in her stomach, Anna went to retrieve her credentials and check in for her flight.

***



Grand Kremlin Palace

Moscow

Russian Federation

February 21, 2013

Andrew Fremenko hurried through the long halls of the Grand Kremlin Palace to President Nevsky’s suite. Although the Russian presidents usually lived in the Senate Building—called the First Building—not far away, Nevsky had never stayed there. He had chosen the alternate home of the presidents and made no excuse for it.

Fremenko was one of President Nevsky’s personal assistants. More precisely, Fremenko was the president’s spymaster when it came to keeping his eye on everyone that the president wanted watched in his immediate circle.

It was a busy, complicated job. Fremenko had to stay up on all those people, many of whom were spies or in counter-intelligence, without getting caught. He lived every day expecting to catch a bullet from someone on the list.

He knocked on the president’s door, thinking that he was going to wake Nevsky and that could be a painful thing to deal with. But the alternative—not telling the president what he knew until morning—would be worse. That was the only thing that made Fremenko lift his hand and knock again.

“Come in.”

Fremenko waited a beat, just enough time to allow the president’s mistress to clear the room, then opened the door and went inside.

Nevsky stood in the middle of the room in gray pajamas. “What is it?”

Fremenko held up the printouts he’d run off. “Reports, sir. Apparently someone broke into our military databases.”

Nevsky frowned. “Do we know who it was?”

“No, sir. Not yet. The computer security teams are working on it.”

Another frown. Fremenko knew that those teams might not survive the morning. Other people had “vanished” when the president became disenchanted with them.

“Which files were seen?”

“General Cherkshan’s architecture for the Reunification of the Ukraine, sir. And we think they may have gotten into the Greek files as well.”

Nevsky cursed. In all the years that Fremenko had served the man, he had never heard the president lose his temper.

“There is one other thing, sir.”

Nevsky looked at him warily, and Fremenko began to wonder if he was going to get out of the room alive.

“What is it?”

“It is Anna Cherkshan, sir. She just caught a flight out of Moscow with the Afghans.”

Curiosity softened Nevsky’s face. “Where is she off to?”

“I checked the flight manifest, sir. The shipment is from one of the museums. It is taking exhibit pieces back to Athens.”

Nevsky cursed longer this time. When he had finished, he made one request. “Get Colonel Linko for me.”