Novotsky handed Thorne's passport back to him. He stepped away from the car and saluted.

  "You are free to go. Thank you, Colonel," he said.

  "No, thank you, Sergeant. Your vigilance keeps us safe."

  Thorne put the car in gear and drove away. He watched the rearview mirror until the flashing lights were gone.

  "That was a great performance," he said. "He blushed when you hit him with that smile."

  "You do not achieve much in Russia if you don't know how to play a role," she said.

  "Do you want to go to America?" Thorne asked.

  "I had not thought about it. Why?"

  "Because if you go to Washington, you'll fit right in."

  Chapter 69

  Stepanov's driver was beginning to worry. Usually the general came down promptly at seven, where Gennady would be waiting in front of the building. From there they would go to the Ministry. It was now ten minutes past the hour, and Stepanov had not yet appeared. The general was never late. Perhaps he was ill.

  Gennady turned off the engine and entered the lobby. He went over to the security guard.

  "You didn't see General Stepanov go out, did you?"

  "No. He hasn't left the building, I'm sure of that."

  "He's not down yet. It's not like him. I'm going up to see if he's all right."

  "No problem. I'll keep an eye on the car."

  "Thanks."

  Gennady took the elevator to Stepanov's floor and walked down the hall to his door. He knocked. There was no response. He knocked again, harder.

  "General? Are you there, sir?"

  Would Stepanov be angry if he tried the door? Gennady turned the handle and was surprised when the door opened.

  "General?" he called again.

  God, the stink was terrible in here. Maybe he was in the bathroom. That could explain it. He started down the hall. That was when he saw the body through the open study door.

  *****

  Two hours later, Colonel Ivanov stood at attention before the desk of his superior, wondering what new indignity was about to be heaped upon him.

  General Peshkov looked at him with disapproval.

  "You will be pleased to hear that I am canceling your transfer to Novosibirsk."

  "Sir. Thank you, sir."

  "Don't thank me yet, Colonel. Do you know why you are so fortunate?"

  "No, General."

  "It appears your suspicions regarding Colonel Volkova were correct. Last night she murdered General Stepanov."

  I was right!

  "Murdered, sir?"

  "She killed him, Ivanov. There's no doubt she did it. She's gone, of course. You and Petrov are familiar with her and her background. You are ordered to find her and bring her in. You will have all the resources you need. General Stepanov's apartment has been sealed until you have a chance to examine the crime scene."

  "May I make a suggestion, sir? We should alert the border militia. She may try to leave the country."

  "Do I look like an idiot? That has already been done, Colonel. Any other suggestions?"

  Ivanov knew the answer to that.

  "No, General."

  "Good. Dismissed."

  Ivanov turned to leave.

  "Ivanov. Do not fail to apprehend her or Novosibirsk will be the least of your worries."

  "Yes, sir."

  Outside Peshkov's office, Ivanov took a deep breath. Now Volkova would get what she deserved. He would make sure of that. He would bring her in, and if the goods were a little damaged when he delivered them, well, he didn't think anyone would mind.

  He took out his phone and called Major Petrov.

  "You can stop packing, Major. We have a new assignment."

  "Yes, sir. What has happened?"

  "Colonel Volkova killed General Stepanov. It seems our model of patriotic dedication is a traitor after all."

  "She killed Stepanov?"

  "You're not hard of hearing, are you, Major? Peshkov has given me whatever I need to catch her. That includes you. Where are you now?"

  "In my office. I was clearing out my desk."

  "Good. I'll meet you there in a few minutes."

  "Yes, sir."

  Five minutes later, Ivanov walked into Petrov's office. He felt reborn. Half an hour before, he'd been about to leave for a dead-end job in the Arctic. Now he had a chance to turn everything around. He didn't doubt he'd catch Volkova. Success would bring the resurrection of his career. Perhaps even promotion. All in all, it was turning into a good day.

  Petrov stood as Ivanov came into the room.

  "At ease, Major. Sit. Let's think about what our traitor might be doing."

  "Yes, sir." Petrov sat. Ivanov remained on his feet, pacing back and forth.

  "I don't think she will stay in Moscow, sir."

  "No, she can't hide here, not for long. Thanks to the public campaign, everyone knows what she looks like. She'll run. The question is where?"

  "She'll have a dacha out in the country."

  "We can check that easily enough. It will be in the registry. It could be under her father's name. Make that your first priority."

  Petrov made a note on a piece of paper.

  "She'll try to leave the country, escape to the west. Peshkov has already alerted border security. It's the only way she can be safe."

  "That won't be easy, sir. How would she travel?"

  "Check departures from the airports, train stations and bus stations. It's still early in the day. If we're lucky, this can be over quickly."

  "What if she has a car?"

  "Something else for you to check."

  Petrov made another note.

  "Let's assume she's trying to get out of the country," Ivanov said. "Where would she go?"

  "The obvious choice is Finland."

  "As you said, the obvious choice. Where else?"

  "Belarus? She wouldn't need a passport there."

  "That's possible. However, she could easily be captured there. The same applies to Ukraine. We control the border and a good portion of the area beyond. Security is tight. She cannot escape that way."

  "That leaves Finland by way of Saint Petersburg, or Estonia," Petrov said. "Or she could make for Lithuania and get to Poland from there. Or she could try to have somebody take her across the Gulf to Finland."

  "All very difficult," Ivanov said. "My guess is she'll take the easiest route and try to get through Saint Petersburg to Finland."

  "Something occurs to me, sir. We've been talking as if she's traveling alone. What if someone is helping her?"

  "Another traitor? If someone is helping her, it will make our job more difficult."

  "We don't know why she killed General Stepanov."

  "Go on."

  "Stepanov had a habit of taking classified material home with him. You'll recall that I reported it. It's against regulations, but no one wanted to challenge the First Deputy Minister."

  "If she is a spy and he caught her looking at classified material that would explain why she killed him."

  "It seems logical to me, sir."

  "Maybe it was an argument that got out of hand. Watching the videos, it was obvious she didn't enjoy Stepanov's sexual attentions. Maybe he wanted her to do something she didn't like."

  "She was conspiring with the dissident, Sokolov," Petrov said. "I am convinced she's a spy. Sir, shouldn't we inspect the crime scene? We might find something to confirm it."

  "Peshkov had the apartment sealed. We'll go take a look. Before we do that, issue the orders to cover what we talked about a few moments ago."

  "Yes, sir."

  From GRU headquarters to Stepanov's apartment took forty minutes. Ivanov and Petrov got off the elevator on Stepanov's floor. The militia man guarding the crime scene took one look at their uniforms and came to attention.

  "Has anyone entered the apartment?" Ivanov said.

  "No, Colonel."

  "Has the general's body been moved?"

  "No, sir. Everything has been left as it was."

  "Good. Continue to keep everyone out."

  "Sir."

  They entered the apartment. Petrov held his finger under his nose.

  "What a stink!"

  They walked down the hall to the study. Ivanov took in the scene. Stepanov on the floor, the top of his skull caved in. The bloodstained desk lamp lying next to him. The chair lying on the floor, with Stepanov's uniform jacket crumpled underneath. The gun belt and empty holster. The crusted blood spread out around the body.

  "Why was he in this room?" Petrov said.

  "He's wearing a bathrobe. Something got him out of bed and brought him in here."

  Ivanov stepped around the mess on the floor. He stooped and picked up the polished belt with Stepanov's empty holster. He looked around the room.

  "I don't see his pistol. She must have taken it with her."

  "What was she doing in here?"

  "His computer is on. Perhaps she was looking at it?"

  Petrov touched the space bar. The screen lit, requesting a password.

  "Do you have Level 7 clearance, sir?"

  "Working for our organization has certain advantages, Petrov."

  Ivanov entered a string of characters on the keyboard and the screen cleared.

  "Lots of files," Ivanov said. "Let's see..."

  He opened a folder marked URAL. It was an feasibility study for improving the missile defense system for Western Russia. There was nothing particularly secret about it. Ivanov had seen an article in Red Star about it not long ago.

  "What's that one, sir? The one marked MEDUZA?"

  Ivanov opened the folder. The two men began reading.

  "Shit," Petrov said. "This might be a good time to visit my mother in the country."

  "Major Petrov. You did not see this. You understand?"

  "Yes, sir. Seen what, sir?"

  "Unplug the computer. We'll take it with us."

  "Do you think this is why she killed him?"

  "Yes. If General Stepanov caught her looking at this, he would have had her arrested."

  "She's a traitor," Petrov said. "She should be shot."

  "Don't worry," Ivanov said. "She will be. After we question her."

  Chapter 70

  There were no more roadblocks. Red streaks in the sky hinted at the coming dawn as the sky began to lighten with the coming day. They were a little more than twenty kilometers south of Novogorod, the last city before Saint Petersburg.

  Following the GPS, Thorne turned off the main highway and drove into the countryside.

  "It's not far now," Thorne said.

  They drove through flat farmland, low crops showing green in the fields. Thorne came to a narrow dirt track and turned, following it through the fields until they came to a bleak looking farmhouse. The land here was untended, choked with weeds. A sagging wooden barn and an outhouse stood behind the house. A rusty well pump with a long handle stuck up out of the ground.

  Thorne drove to the barn and stopped, got out, pushed the barn door open, and got back in the car. He drove into the barn and shut down the car. The floor was dirt, the back piled up with rotting bales of hay next to an old van that looked like it had been there for years. A pile of firewood dusted with ancient cobwebs lay off to one side.

  They got out. Thorne stretched, felt his joints aching. His old scars ached.

  "Our home away from home. We'll be okay here for a while."

  "They will stop at nothing to find us," Anya said.

  "They're not going to find us."

  They walked from the barn to the back of the house. The back door was locked, but he'd been told where to find the key. They entered through the kitchen. A thin film of dust covered every surface. Cobwebs decorated the corners of a low, beamed ceiling. The floor was covered with ancient linoleum and scattered with mouse droppings. A battered teakettle sat on top of a wood burning stove, next to a square sink of gray concrete.

  There was a bucket in the sink, but no running water. Thorne remembered the pump in the yard outside. A neat pile of kindling and wood was placed next to the stove. A box of matches and several candles sat on a shelf above.

  The rest of the house consisted of a front room and a small bedroom. The front door was barred with a plank. The bedroom contained a wooden platform covered with a thin mattress.

  The front room featured a stone fireplace, a table, and four wooden chairs. A candle stub sat in a puddle of melted wax on the table. A dusty couch with curved legs and faded upholstery had been placed against one wall. Light coming into the room filtered through small windows covered with grime.

  "This is what your CIA calls a safe house?" Anya said.

  "At least we're out of sight. It hasn't been used for a while, that's obvious."

  "How long will we stay here?"

  "Long enough to figure out how to get across the border."

  Anya went into the kitchen and began opening cabinets. She found a box of stale tea, along with two chipped mugs.

  "There is tea, but no food."

  "We still have some snacks in the car. I'm going to call in."

  He entered Carlson's number. His phone showed a 60% charge. Carlson picked up.

  "About time. What's your situation?"

  "We're at the safe house. We were stopped on the M10, but OPERA talked us through it. She had to show her ID. They knew who she was because of all the publicity she's gotten. The cop even asked her for her autograph. It helped get us through, but now they know we went this way. The cops will report us. I had to use my Russian ID."

  "You're in the middle of a real shit storm, Thorne. The Russians have gone ballistic. Security at every border point has been stepped up. The consensus here is that you head for Estonia. Once you get there, we'll pull you out."

  "We're on our own until then?"

  "An hour ago the Federation sealed the border tighter than a Swiss banker's asshole. You know what our situation is over there. They neutralized most of our assets years ago. There's no help to send and no way to get you out. You're going to have to improvise."

  "Christ, Lewis."

  "You need to get that information to us."

  "Right now I'm looking out a window at an empty beet field. What do you suggest? A carrier pigeon?"

  "You can't quit being a smartass, can you? If you'd handled OPERA differently, we wouldn't be in this mess."

  "You've got a bad habit of blaming the messenger, Lewis. It's not me who's planning to nuke America."

  "Find an Internet connection. Send us the info."

  Carlson broke the connection. Thorne looked at his phone and considered throwing it across the room.

  "Nobody's coming, are they?" Anya said. "They are not going to help us."

  "They want us to go to Estonia. Once we're there, they'll extract us."

  He began to pace back and forth past the table, where Anya sat on one of the chairs.

  "They want me to find an Internet connection and send them whatever you've got on that drive. Do you think this attack is imminent? Like tomorrow or the next day?"

  "I do not know. There are still critical supplies in transit. I do not think they will launch the attack without them."

  "I don't like to admit it, but Lewis is right. We need to get your information to him. The closest Internet connection will be in Novgorod."

  "You cannot use your phone to send this information?"

  "No. I don't have an interface for the drive."

  "Novgorod is too big a risk," Anya said. "They know we are on the road going north. They will be watching everywhere. Even if you find a connection, the Internet is controlled. There is an international firewall. They will suspect I have classified information. By now they have shut down all traffic out of the country. If you try, you will be arrested. You should believe me about this."

  "You're a real optimist, aren't you?"

  She shrugged. "I am Russian."

  "Are you familiar with Estonia?"

  "I have not been there. Estonia is considered a problem since they joined NATO. Travel there is not encouraged for people like me."

  "So you know nothing about the border."

  "No."

  "Great."

  He took out his phone.

  "What are you doing?"

  "I'm looking for a map. I want to see roads to the border."

  He didn't like what the map showed him. There was only one road leading to Estonia, beginning on the other side of Novgorod and leading to the city of Pskov. Past Pskov, it continued on to the border. The GPS showed a few gray lines that might be passable dirt roads. All but one of those petered out in the middle of nowhere. That one crossed through farmland, more or less parallel to the highway to Pskov, heading west toward Estonia. It stopped somewhere near the border.

  Thorne considered what he'd do if he were the Russians. He'd place militia at every major intersection that could lead to the West. The turnoff to Pskov and Estonia was a natural place to set up a roadblock. They couldn't risk going that way. Hell, they couldn't risk staying on the highway.

  Stepanov's body hadn't been found when they'd passed the checkpoint on the M10, but the next time they weren't going to talk their way through. Breaking through a roadblock guarded by soldiers armed with automatic weapons was not an option.

  "I will make tea," Anya said.

  She handed him the teakettle.

  "Bring me some water, please. Fill the bucket."

  He went outside to the well pump and tried the handle. It was rusted in place. He pushed hard and broke it free. The pump creaked and scraped as he worked the handle up and down. After a while he was rewarded with a gush of brown water. He kept pumping until the water ran clear, then filled the kettle and the bucket.

  Thorne looked at the sky, where dark clouds were piling up in the north. Lightning flickered in the distance, followed seconds later by a distant rumble. The air felt leaden and smelled of rain. The effort of pumping the water had darkened his shirt with sweat.

  Back in the kitchen, Anya had started a fire in the wood stove. She took the kettle and set it on top of the stove.

  "Looks like weather moving in," he said.

  "There can be storms this time of year. Sometimes, a lot of rain."

  "That might help. Makes it harder to look for us."

  "Tell me the truth," she said. "Do you really think we can get to Estonia?"