WE SEARCHED THE rest of the base as thoroughly as we could, but in the end the freezing conditions defeated us, and we left without going inside two of the hangars. The others had all been empty, and apart from the desk in what we assumed had once been a classroom, we discovered nothing of note.

  I struggled to imagine what Ernie Fisher had been doing there, and had even more difficulty picturing Karl Parker at the base.

  It was a little after 3 p.m. when we returned to the idling car, which was almost out of fuel. Our journey back to Volkovo took fifteen minutes. There had been no fresh snowfall and I’d dug out the worst drifts on our way to the base.

  We found Leonid waiting in the bakery. He was sitting at a small table enjoying a coffee and pastry, chatting to the owner, who stood behind a display counter.

  “Anything?” Leonid asked when we entered.

  “We found a classroom and an old American children’s book,” I said. “Nothing else.”

  “Kofe?” the baker asked.

  Finally, a word I could understand. I shook my head. “No, thanks,” I replied. “We should get going,” I said to Dinara and Leonid. “Get back to Moscow. See if we can pick up any leads. I want us to look into Ernie Fisher’s work at the embassy.”

  Leonid got to his feet.

  “You find anything?” I asked.

  “No,” he replied. “The people I spoke to were junior personnel. Gate guards, patrolmen. None of them knew about any of the classified activities at the base. And they didn’t recognize anyone in the photo.”

  Leonid settled his check, and we left the bakery, got in the truck and headed south. We filled up at a gas station not far outside town, and as we sped toward Moscow in the fading light, I tried to put the pieces together.

  Karl Parker had asked me to New York to tell me a secret, but he’d been killed before we could speak. If Madame Agafiya and the Volkovo bar owner’s testimony was to be trusted, it seemed likely Karl knew Ernie Fisher and Elizabeth Connor, and that they might have met in Russia, where Fisher seemed to have spent some time in a maximum-security military base. If Fisher had been a Russian operative, why had he been killed by one of his own?

  I sat in the back of the truck, turning over scenarios, while Leonid drove. After a couple of hours, he and Dinara traded, and another three hours later, I took the wheel. It was 9 p.m., and we were a little under one hundred miles from Moscow when my phone rang. I pulled to the side of the dark, deserted road and took the call.

  “Jack, it’s Victoria. Justine Smith said I should call.”

  “Victoria, how are you and Kevin holding up?”

  She sighed. “It seems wrong, but you eat, you sleep, you do the mundane things that need to get done. I always thought grief was all-consuming, but life forces its way in.”

  “I’m sorry, Victoria,” I said. “I wish I could have done something.”

  “You’re doing enough,” she replied. “Sorry it took me a while to return your call. Kevin and I have been staying with my folks.”

  “I wanted to ask you about Karl’s childhood,” I said. “He talk about it much?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  I couldn’t tell her what we’d discovered. Not yet. Not without more evidence.

  “We’re just running full background on all the victims,” I replied.

  “He didn’t like talking about it,” she said. “His parents died in a car crash when he was seven, and he didn’t have any other family, so he went into the foster system.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Like I said, he didn’t like to talk about it,” she replied. “And he had his official records sealed by court order. I think he tried to erase as much of his childhood as he could. He just found it too painful.”

  I thought about her answer. Karl’s behavior was compatible with the actions of a spy, or they could have been those of someone who wanted to forget a traumatic childhood.

  “Anything else?” Victoria asked.

  “Can you dig out any childhood pictures you have of Karl?” I asked. “Send them to Justine?”

  “Sure,” Victoria replied. “And Jack…” She hesitated. “Thank you for everything you’re doing.”

  “Don’t thank me,” I said. “I owe it to Karl to find out the truth.”

  “What did she say?” Dinara asked from the back after I’d hung up.

  “He lost his parents young and went into care. He took steps to get his childhood history sealed.”

  “Either he suffered things as a child that he wanted to keep secret,” Leonid remarked, “or he’s a spy.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” I said.

  “I may have a way for us to find out what was going on at that base,” Leonid said. He was leaning back in the passenger seat, which he’d set to recline, and looking at him made me think of a lazy snake. Languid and patient, but lightning fast and deadly when the time came to strike.

  “It will involve us doing a deal with the devil,” he revealed.

  I shot him a skeptical look.

  “Let’s go,” he told me. “I’ll explain on the way.”

  I put the truck in gear and we headed into darkness.

  CHAPTER 73

  LEONID BOYKOV YAWNED and shifted in his seat. He’d told Dinara and Jack his plan during the drive back from Volkovo. He’d billed it as a deal with the devil, but that was melodramatic. In truth, he planned some mutual backscratching with a Moscow cop, and Jack had approved the idea.

  They’d arrived back at the Residence shortly after midnight, and Leonid had resisted Feo’s invitation to join him and a few reprobates in a backgammon tournament. Instead, Leonid had gone straight to bed.

  He’d risen at 5 a.m., feeling tired and dull, but a coffee and the short walk to his car that had filled his lungs with ice-cold air shocked him awake. He’d driven through the quiet city to Zhitnaya Street and the Ministry of Internal Affairs. He’d parked nearby, and had gone inside. After introducing himself to the officer on duty, he’d taken a seat in the grand lobby and waited.

  A call to an old colleague had revealed Anna Bolshova’s shift started at 6 a.m., and when she arrived ten minutes early, she looked tired and miserable. Her mood darkened further when she caught sight of Leonid. He intercepted her as she crossed the expansive lobby.

  “Whatever it is,” she said, “I don’t have time.”

  “I’ve got something for you,” Leonid replied.

  “Really,” Anna said, feigning interest. “I’m so lucky to have you in my life.”

  “You are,” Leonid responded.

  Anna’s mood soured. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? They’re talking about sending me back to regular duty for destroying an SVR investigation.” She picked up her pace. They were almost at the security barriers.

  “It’s a big one.”

  Anna stopped in her tracks and turned toward Leonid. He felt waves of anger radiating off her.

  “What have you got for me this time?” she asked. “Are you going to get me to raid the Kremlin? Or perhaps round up the government?”

  “You’re going to like this,” Leonid said.

  “No, I’m not,” she replied. “Leave me alone, Leonid Boykov.”

  She turned away from him and marched toward the security barriers. She pulled a pass from her pocket and was about to scan it, when Leonid spoke up.

  “What if I could give you a Black Hundreds recruiter?”

  Anna stopped and looked at him skeptically. The offer had even managed to get the duty officer’s attention, but he quickly went back to the paperwork he was doing at the front desk.

  Anna slowly retraced her steps. “How?” she asked.

  “He’s got his chapter running a sideline,” Leonid revealed when he and Anna were toe to toe. “Selling narcotics.”

  She whistled. “Even Black Hundreds’ supporters within the force won’t try to protect him if that’s true.”

  “Exactly,” Leonid said. “It’s an easy win. You can arrest the entire ring, put away some rotten apples and do it without fear of political interference. The Black Hundreds might try to kill the man, but they certainly won’t protect him.”

  “Who’s the recruiter?” Anna asked.

  Leonid smiled, and Anna backed away, exasperated.

  “And here’s me thinking this was payback for sabotaging my career,” she remarked.

  “What’s one thing got to do with the other?” Leonid asked. “This is a new favor, and a new favor deserves a new reward.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Your assignment to the Interior Ministry gives you access to information beyond the reach of a normal police officer,” Leonid replied. “I need you to find out what Boltino Army Base was used for.”

  “Tell me who the recruiter is,” Anna replied.

  Leonid slipped a card into her hand. “Here’s my number,” he said. “Call me when you’ve got answers.”

  He backed toward the exit.

  “I should have you arrested,” she said.

  “But you won’t,” he responded. “Find out what was happening at Boltino, and I’ll give you a name that will put you back on the command fast track.”

  CHAPTER 74

  I WAS IN the library with Dinara when Leonid returned to the Residence. We were checking through the photographs Justine had sent us of Karl Parker as a child. Victoria had taken his album of childhood pictures to Private New York, and Justine had had them scanned and sent to Dinara’s secure email.

  There were baby photos, pictures of Karl as a young child, then there was a gap that started when he was around seven years old, the same time as his parents’ accident. The pictures resumed when he was a teenager, maybe fifteen or sixteen years old. I wondered what had happened to my friend in those intervening years, and kept returning to the image of him, Elizabeth Connor and Ernie Fisher in the Novoko Bar in Volkovo.

  “I made the offer,” Leonid said, taking a seat at the neighboring table. “Then I checked on the surveillance team watching Erik Utkin. They say he’s definitely supplying the dealers. He has eight teams selling drugs throughout Kapotnya.”

  “They documenting it?” I asked.

  “Of course,” Leonid replied. “Gathering everything they can on camera.”

  “And will Anna Bolshova get us what we need?” Dinara asked. “I think so,” Leonid replied. “She needs a win to get out of trouble with her superiors.” He looked at his watch. “Anyone hungry?” he asked. “Lunch finishes soon. Or do you just live on clues and paperwork?”

  Dinara smiled and got to her feet. I was about to follow when my phone rang. It was Justine.

  “Go ahead,” I told them. “I’ll catch up.”

  They left the library as I answered.

  “I managed to get hold of the chief of police of Clarion,” Justine said. “He was the officer on duty the night Karl Parker’s parents died. I’ve got him on the line now.”

  “Patch him through,” I said.

  “Hold on.”

  The line went dead, and a moment later I heard a voice.

  “Mr. Morgan?” a man said.

  “Yes.”

  “This is Chief Wilson. Your colleague, Miss Smith, left a message for me to call yesterday,” he said. “I got tied up with one thing or another, so my apologies. You’re first on my list today.”

  “Thanks for phoning, chief,” I said. “Must be early.”

  “Six a.m.,” he replied. “But you know what they say about a man being early to rise. Apparently it should make me wise as a hooting owl. How can I help you, Mr. Morgan?”

  “I want to ask you about an accident that happened thirty-five years ago,” I said. “The Parkers.”

  “Your colleague mentioned something about it in her message. I remember it vividly. It was the first fatal accident I attended as a rookie. You never forget your first fatality.”

  “Was there any evidence of foul play?” I asked.

  “No. None. The other driver was drunk. He overtook a truck out on the thirty-five and hit the Parkers head-on. There were no survivors,” Chief Wilson replied. “What’s this about?”

  “We’re investigating the death of Karl Parker,” I said.

  “The New York Stock Exchange shooting? I saw that,” Chief Wilson remarked. “That’s odd. Is he related to them?”

  I felt the hairs on my neck rise. That wasn’t a question I’d expected. Something wasn’t right.

  “He’s their child,” I said. “His parents were Ken and Delores Parker.”

  “That’s impossible,” Chief Wilson replied. “Their son was in the back of the car when it was hit. Karl Parker died at the scene of the crash with his parents.”

  CHAPTER 75

  I STAGGERED INTO the dining hall, stunned by my conversation with Chief Wilson. I clutched the childhood photos of Karl Parker tightly, as though holding them might keep me connected to a past I now knew to be a lie. Nothing about my old friend’s life was real. Everything he’d ever told me about his time before the Marines was false.

  I found myself at Leonid and Dinara’s table, and dropped the photos, which scattered like leaves falling from a tree.

  “What’s the matter?” Dinara asked.

  “I just spoke to the chief of police of Karl Parker’s home town,” I replied. “The real Karl Parker died in a car crash with his parents. It seems the man I knew stole the dead child’s identity.”

  Saying it out loud somehow made it even more real. I sat down, propped my elbows on the table and put my head in my hands.

  “I’m sorry, Jack,” Dinara offered.

  I glanced at her and Leonid, who offered a sympathetic nod.

  “I thought I knew Karl,” I said. “The guy trained me. We were friends.”

  “You think his wife knew?” Leonid asked.

  “I’m not sure,” I replied. “I don’t think so.”

  “Prizrak,” Leonid said to Dinara.

  I looked at her for an explanation.

  “Ghost,” she said. “It’s another word for a sleeper. A deep-cover agent.”

  I was reeling and refused to accept the possibility. “Karl—the man I knew—he served his country with distinction. He was no traitor.”

  Leonid’s phone rang, and he stepped away from the table to take the call.

  “How are you feeling?” Dinara asked.

  I looked at her clear, penetrating eyes. “Honestly, I don’t know. I came here and risked everything for a friend. And now it turns out I never knew him at all.”

  “I don’t think we can ever truly conceal what we are,” Dinara said. “Even when we’re deep under cover, I think our true character shines through.”

  I took little comfort from her words. A man prepared to lie big was certainly willing to lie small. All his interactions, every moment, everything he was and everything he stood for was all an illusion. Nothing he’d ever done was beyond question.

  “Can you email Justine?” I asked. “Let her know what the chief told me. I can’t face explaining it again.”

  I slapped the tabletop in frustration. “I feel like a fool!” I exclaimed, drawing the attention of a handful of people lingering over their late lunches. “The head of the world’s best detective agency couldn’t figure out his own friend was a fraud.”

  “Assuming he was, he will have been trained by the very best,” Dinara said. “I’ll let Justine know. And Jack…” She hesitated. “You weren’t looking for it. That’s why you didn’t see the lie. He was your friend and teacher, and you trusted him.”

  Leonid returned before I could answer.

  “That was Anna Bolshova. She says she’s got something for me. She wants to meet.”

  “When?” Dinara asked.

  “Thirty minutes, the Arts Park, by the river,” Leonid replied.

  “Want some company?” she asked.

  Leonid shrugged. “Sure.”

  “Jack?” Dinara asked.

  “I’m going to stay here,” I replied. “See if I can figure out when the man I knew took over the real Karl Parker’s identity.”

  “OK,” Leonid said. “Hopefully we’ll bring you back something useful.”

  Dinara got to her feet and followed the grizzled former detective out. I sat staring at the remains of their meals for a few moments, before I shook off my self-pity and headed back to the library.

  CHAPTER 76

  AN OLD WOMAN stood by the frozen edges of the river and tossed crumbs across the ice. A solitary robin flitted from spot to spot, pecking at the bounty, and the old woman chatted to the little bird as though it was a friend.

  Dinara watched her, and wondered at her story. What kind of life had led her to this small park, where she sought the company of birds? Leonid shuffled on the spot and rubbed his gloved hands together before pushing them into his coat pockets.

  It was only 3:45 p.m., but it was already gloomy. Heavy clouds had hung over the city for the past few days, threatening snow, but they were yet to deliver. They seemed to get lower and darker with each passing moment, and even though this winter had already seen more than enough snow to last a lifetime, Dinara wished they would shed their load and get the inevitable storm over with.

  “She’s late,” Leonid observed, checking his watch.

  Dinara caught sight of Anna Bolshova the moment the words had left Leonid’s mouth. She was hurrying along the wide boulevard that ran alongside the roadway that led to Krymsky Bridge. She wore her police uniform and standard-issue long winter coat. The boulevard had been cleared of snow, but the park itself was buried. Dinara and Leonid stood where the boulevard met the embankment, near the bridge. The only other person around was the old woman feeding the friendly robin. High to Dinara’s right, traffic rumbled over the bridge. To her left, the long pavilion, which usually housed hundreds of paintings by local artists, was empty. Robbed of vital people and civilizing artwork, the Muzeon Park of Arts seemed a desolate, foreboding place. The Interior Ministry stood approximately half a kilometer to the east, along Krymsky Bank, and Dinara was glad Anna hadn’t arranged to meet any closer to the department.

  “Sorry,” the detective said as she drew near. “I was called in for another corrective meeting.”