The Oracle Code

55



Moskva River

Moscow

Russian Federation

February 25, 2013

General Anton Cherkshan’s boat sat at anchor on the Moskva River. He stood in the stern with a pair of high-powered binoculars. He had been using them for the past hour since the sun had risen. The wind blowing across the water was cold, and chunks of ice still floated with the current. Every now and again, they thudded against the boat’s hull.

From his position, he could see the street that led down from the Kremlin Grand Palace. He thought of his father, of when, as a boy, he had accompanied his father to work on days when he had operated the tugboats. And he thought of Anna as she had been as a child. He also regretted the fact that he had never gotten to know her as the adult she had become. It was a sadness that was almost unbearable. But he was Russian, so he would learn to bear it.

However, he would not allow the man who had killed her to live. He had made the promise to Katrina.

Twenty-three minutes later, he saw President Nevsky leave the building and get into the back of the black ZIL that was his personal car. The vehicle left the compound and rolled down the street.

Cherkshan had been waiting for this moment since Dmitry had called last night. He had been busy himself. He reached into his pocket and brought out a disposable phone. He had already entered Nevsky’s private phone number, the one he gave to his various mistresses. Cherkshan knew the man would answer.

“Hello?”

“President Nevsky?” Cherkshan took a remote control detonator from his pocket and placed his thumb on the button.

“Yes? General Cherkshan? How did you get this number?”

“I was the general of your FSB. I made it my business to know things.”

“Were? Are you going somewhere?”

“You had my daughter killed.”

Nevsky was silent for a moment. “Your daughter died.”

“By your hand. And now, you will die at mine, as my wife requested. She is of gypsy blood, you know, and she has cursed you. You will burn in Hell.” Cherkshan pressed the button.

On the street, the president’s ZIL turned into a fireball. The man’s death was too fast, but it was all Cherkshan could give him and keep his wife safe. For his own life, he didn’t care. But he would protect Katrina.

Cherkshan threw the detonator and phone into the river. Now there were other phone calls to make. Russia had to pull back from the mistakes she had made while blinded by a madman.