The Oracle Code

48



Museum of the University of Athens

Plaka, Athens

Hellenic Republic (Greece)

February 21, 2013

“Thomas.”

It took Lourds a moment to recognize Layla’s voice. He pulled the phone closer to his ear and checked the time. It was 6:47 p.m. “Layla? Is something wrong?”

“Have you seen the news?”

“No. Adonis and I have been steadily working on solving the riddle of this scroll. Every time I think we almost have it, we reach an impasse.”

“Anna Cherkshan is dead.”

The news hit Lourds like a tsunami of cold water. All his attention was suddenly focused on the phone. “Are you sure? She was here only a few hours ago.” He brought up Marias’s computer and clicked on a local news site.

“Anna died at a local television station.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“Was she all right when you saw her?”

“Yes. Other than a headache. She thought she was fatigued.”

“It was more than fatigue. She had a nosebleed. It was horrible.”

Lourds found the news about Anna then. There was a print story as well as video clips.

RUSSIAN JOURNALIST DEAD

ANNA CHERKSHAN CLAIMS RUSSIAN PRESIDENT NEVSKY ARRANGED UKRAINIAN DOWNFALL

“Have they said what killed her?” Lourds clicked on one of the video clips and watched Anna’s impassioned plea for an investigation into President Nevsky. He watched the trickle of blood from her nostrils turn into a crimson rush that drenched her blouse. He closed his eyes, no longer able to look.

“No. No one is saying anything.” Layla sounded terribly upset. “God forgive me, but after what happened to her, I got so worried about you. Then, when I could not get in touch with you...” Her voice choked.

“I’m sorry, Layla. Truly I am. But we’re all fine here.”

“You will not continue to be fine if you pursue this. You know that.”

Lourds clicked off the computer, unable to watch any more, not wanting to know any more. “Layla, I have to follow up on this. Adonis and I almost have the answer.”

“It will get you killed. Just like it got Anna killed.”

“We don’t even know if her death was anything more than a terrible accident at this point.”

“She was a healthy young woman.”

“That could have been the result of an embolism. There doesn’t have to be anything nefarious about her death.”

“There is. I feel it. And you should feel it too.”

Lourds silently admitted to himself that maybe he did. “Layla, even if I tried to walk away from this thing, Nevsky—or whoever’s after Alexander’s tomb—will just come after me. I’m not going to be safe until I find it.” He paused, and a horrible thought crossed his mind. “You’re not going to be safe either. They know you and I are involved.”

“I will be fine. I am protected.”

“Except that Captain Fitrat is here.”

“That way I know that you are protected. As much as you can be. What bothers me most is that I cannot be there with you.”

“Don’t try to come. It’s too dangerous.”

“I will not. I cannot. I have too much going on here. I am being buried by the work I have to do. And I feel so badly that I cannot be there with you.”

“I’ll be fine. I promise.” Lourds hoped he wasn’t lying through his teeth, and he grieved terribly for Anna.

***



General Anton Cherkshan Residence

Patriarshiye Ponds

Moscow, Russian Federation

February 21, 2013

One short flight from Kiev to Moscow and the drive from the airport, two hours and twenty-three minutes after hearing about his daughter’s death, Cherkshan stood in front of the door to his house. He hesitated there, standing in the white, swirling snow gathered on his stoop. He wanted to go in, but it hurt him to think of what he was going to find.

Katrina had called once, to make sure that he had heard about Anna, and to verify that what she had heard on the Internet news was true. Then she had broken down crying and hung up the phone.

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.”

Cherkshan took a deep breath and knotted all his pain into a ball in his stomach. It was what he had learned to do.

“When do you want this person dealt with?”

“Soon.”

“I will leave straightaway.”

“Do you know where Lourds is?”

“Better. I know his girlfriend. She liked me. Perhaps she can tell me. If not, I will follow Linko. Whether Linko comes to me while I sit on Lourds, or I track Linko as he follows Lourds, it doesn’t matter to me. Either way, I will have him.”

They stopped at the next street corner. Dmitry leaned into Cherkshan and hugged him fiercely. Then, without another word, they went their separate ways.