“You mean the Kurskov thing?”
“How did you find out about that?” said Kutzler.
“Sam called me on the road. Gave me the basics.”
“That’s not why we’re here, of course,” said Smathers. “I’m sure the locals will want to hear your take on that at some point. We’d like to know if it’s somehow connected.”
“Have you talked to Sam McFadden about this?”
“Just briefly, sir. We had hoped to interview you prior to this recent development—the Kurskov case—but you were unavailable.”
“Well, I’m here now.”
“Okay, what can you tell us about rumors of some sort of ledger or notebook that may or may not have had something to do with Dan Colter’s death during your trip to Moscow?”
Wolf danced around the subject, careful with his words. “We didn’t bring back any book, Agent Smathers. There seems to be a misunderstanding about that. Criminals, who may have mistaken us for another party, attacked us in Domodovo Airport. Commander Colter paid for their mistake with his life.”
“Yes, we’re aware of that. A tragedy, of course.”
“Part of the tragedy is the inability of State to furnish me with any details about his eventual death or the follow-up. Family, funeral arrangements. I’ve been left completely in the dark.”
“We’re aware you’ve made some inquiries, Commander.”
“Oh, really? Such as?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
“I didn’t know I was on the Bureau’s radar. Are you interested in this because of the possible terrorism angle?”
Agent Kutzler ignored Wolf’s question and moved his chair closer. “Could you tell us the purpose of your trip here to San Diego?”
Another long draw on the beer. “Came out here to see my old friend, Sam McFadden. It’s a great spot to clear your head. He’s a sympathetic ear.”
Smathers again. “I think it would make our job a lot easier if you’d touch base with Robert Nells at State. He’s most concerned that the two of you finish the conversation you started.”
“I can certainly manage that…on my timetable, though.”
“Will you be returning to the east coast in the near future?”
“Don’t see why not. I’ve done what I needed to do out here.”
McFadden came across the lanai. “Got room for another?” Without waiting for an answer he sat down next to Wolf. “You fellas getting what you need?”
“Not exactly,” said Smathers. “We now have this situation with Mr. Kurskov. It’s a complication. Either of you have any idea if this ties into our investigation into Commander Colter’s death?”
Wolf said, “Which I assume includes my role.”
“Beyond your role as a witness to his stabbing in the airport, I’m not sure what part you play in this new scenario. Unless, of course, there is something that may have escaped your recollection of events.”
“I think it’s a bit of a stretch, but I’ll be sure to let the Bureau know if something turns up.”
As a fencing match it was becoming a draw. As a hint, McFadden rose to his feet and parked his chair at the table. “Will you be following the Kurskov case, Agent Smathers?”
“As of right now it’s a local case. If the San Diego PD asks, we’re ready to assist. If we find some link—”
Challenging Smathers, Wolf said, “A link to what?”
The agent shrugged. “One can never tell. Odd things happen in cases like this. There’s always a loose thread that ties in somehow. We’ll be in touch.”
The FBI agents handed business cards to both men. Kutzler said to Wolf in parting, “Good luck with your conversation with State.”
Wolf ignored the remark and stayed behind as McFadden walked the feds to their car.
When McFadden returned he motioned for Wolf to abandon the umbrella table for the fire pit at the far end of the lanai, away from the house.
“Where’s Reggie?” said Wolf.
“Sleeping. Major headache. She’s not taking this latest chapter in the Sam and Wolfman saga very well.”
“Hey, if I’m a hindrance I can be gone before dinner.”
“You’re not going anywhere, Wolfman. This too shall pass.”
“That’s what they say about kidney stones.”
McFadden laughed. “I’ve thought of you as many things but never a kidney stone. Don’t even think about leaving.”
“Okay, Sam, give me more details about the Kurskov thing. What’s the skinny? What the hell happened?”
“I didn’t give you the gory details because I didn’t want you to drive off the road. And I didn’t want Reggie to eavesdrop. We got big problems, man.”
“Lay it out for me. You said Kurskov fucked up bad.”
McFadden squeezed his eyes shut as if in pain. “The cops are calling it a home invasion, but I know better. Turns out Kurskov did a little freelance research on that book of yours.”
“Explain freelance research.”
“I told him explicitly NOT to go outside his own expertise to translate those pages.”
“I got a bad feeling,” said Wolf, a catch in his throat.
“Yeah. He took the disc to a former language professor of his.”
“Don’t tell me…the guy’s Russian.”
“Bingo. Kurskov got this guy to look at the stuff to corroborate what he found. Shouldn’t have bothered. The prof confirmed Kurskov’s translation.”
“How do you know this?”
“His wife, Suzanne, told me.”
“Oh, great. Another leak. So what happened?”
“Turns out this retired professor plays chess every Friday night with a certain friend from the Old Country.”
“Shit. I can guess where this is going.”
Nodding, McFadden said, “Bingo again. The old saying: loose lips sink ships. So, the old guy gets in his cups. Vodka, of course. Next thing you know the news is out about this amazing little book and all its interesting secrets.”
“Suzanne told me once Kurskov realized what he had done he panicked; told her what had happened. The next night they got three phone calls. Each one worse than the last. The caller wanted the book, said if Kurskov didn’t give it up, they would kill his family…in front of him.”
“These animals don’t play around.”
McFadden pinched the bridge of his nose. “Suzanne wanted to call the cops, but Kurskov said he’d make a duplicate of the disc and give them that. Said he’d tell them the book no longer existed.”
“I can’t see those numb-nuts swallowing that.”
“They didn’t. They made a house call, caught Kurskov packing.”
“What about his family?”
“They had been staying with relatives after the first phone call.”
“So, these guys caught Kurskov?”
“Gorillas, man. They took their time with him. Got the disc and two copies he had made. Trashed the house. Beat the shit out of him. Destroyed his computers. Sons of bitches cut off two of his fingers before they were done. I’m surprised he wasn’t killed. He crawled to a neighbor’s house.”
“But he survived.”
“Barely. He’s lost sight in one eye, has brain damage, and is not out of the woods yet. At this point it’s not a given he’ll make it.”
“And the cops call this a home invasion?”
“That’s what they told me,” said McFadden. “They’ve already been to the office twice and talked to everyone on staff who worked with Kurskov. We looked through our records to see if any clients had a problem with him. Came up empty. Even his community college students were squeaky clean.”
McFadden said, “That’s how the police are playing it for now. They don’t know what else to call it, and they don’t know about the discs or the book, Wolfman.”
“But his wife knows. Why hasn’t she told the cops?”
“She’s scared what these animals will do next.”
“They’ve done their worst.�
��
“Maybe. Hell, how would you even know who these people are? Where would you start?”
“I’d start with the professor.”
“And then what?”
“Work up the ladder. Kick ass and take names.”
“Maybe you should let the cops do their job.”
“You do realize that whoever wanted that book bad enough to hurt Kurskov is not going to be satisfied with those discs.” Wolf got up to pace around the fire pit, his mind racing. “Sam, these assholes are going to open that disc and see scanned pages. They’re going to think the book still exists. They’re bound to figure out Kurskov worked for you. He may have even told them before they finished with him.”
“Despite getting the discs, you think they may come after me?”
“You’d be the obvious next choice,” said Wolf.
“I guess we have to assume Kurskov gave me up.”
“Everyone has their breaking point. Not to worry. I have an idea.”
“Do I want to hear this?”
“Just listen.” Wolf rubbed his chin, his eyes on the ground. “Go to the cops. Ask them to keep a squad car on duty. You need protection. Send Reggie to her mother until this is over. Get the Santa Barbara cops to offer security if she goes up there.”
McFadden got up, began circling the fire pit at Wolf’s side. “How does that solve my problem?”
Wolf faced McFadden. “It gets Reggie out of harm’s way. She’s your number-one priority. Meanwhile, the San Diego PD is looking for these guys.”
“But what about your plans to make the book public?”
“That’s a work in progress. Nash can’t write it overnight. His piece will shed a lot of light in some dark corners here and overseas. It’ll have a shelf life of course, but it might prove a game changer. Bring a little heat on the bad boys, you know.”
“Okay, I’m good with that. I can call the cops.”
“Right. And there’s something you can do for me.”
“Name it, Wolfman.”
“I need a car and the name and address of that professor.”
“What are you thinking of doing?”
“Trust me.”
Chapter 56
Ivanov tossed two discs on Shurkov’s desk.
“What is this you bring me?”
“Look at them. Be prepared to be amazed.”
Shurkov’s driver stood immobile off to one side, his face blank.
“I don’t understand,” growled Shurkov. “I ask for a book, you bring me these.”
Ivanov planted clenched fists on Shurkov’s overflowing desk. “What century do you live in? Insert the discs. Tell me what you see.”
The mobster grumbled. He quit one program, ejected a disc, and replaced it with one of the two Ivanov had given him. A few strokes on the keyboard to open the folder’s icon on the screen and a laundry list of pages appeared in Cyrillic and English. Shurkov stared at the screen.
Ivanov leaned over the desk and tapped an icon on the screen. “Try this one. Open this page.”
Shurkov hit another key as instructed. The image of two facing pages floated into view. Studying the listed names and figures without saying a word, his eyes shifted rapidly from one side of the screen to the other. “You found the man, eh? And he gives you this?”
“Yes. He had these two copies in his possession. We took them both and destroyed his computer.”
“And the man?”
“We destroyed him as well. He will not live through tomorrow.”
“You are certain?”
“Yes.”
Shurkov glowered at Ivanov. “Does it occur to you that these are scanned images from the original? I send you for a book and you bring back these? How are our friends in Moscow supposed to hold these in their hands and turn the pages? Do you know what they will say?”
“The man told us the book no longer exists!”
“And you believed him?”
Turning to the placid chauffeur, Ivanov said, “Alexi, tell him how we got the information from Kurskov. Do you think he lied?”
The bullet-headed man spoke, his voice high and halting. “I don’t think he lied, no. He broke in my hands like a doll. I think Ivanov brings you what you want, Boss.”
“Idiots, both of you,” barked Shurkov. “The book is still out there. Do you understand? We cannot give them these discs in place of the real thing.”
“I’ve done what I was sent to do,” deadpanned Ivanov.
Alexi spoke up. “Maybe we go back. There is another man, Dimitri. The one this Kurskov mentioned to us. He said he works for him. You remember? He is in San Diego, too.”
Shurkov shot a confused glance at his driver, then turned back to Ivanov. “Who is this person Alexi is speaking of? Who is this man? Maybe he is the one with the book.”
“His name is McFadden. By the time Kurskov gave us this name he was willing to say anything. I don’t think this is worth the risk. Besides, I’m needed in New York.”
“Not yet,” snarled Shurkov. “You’re needed here. You have no choice. Both of you must go back. Find this McFadden person. Let Alexi talk to him in his own special way. Don’t come back without the book.”
“You insist we go back, eh? If I’m to return to San Diego I want at least a good night’s sleep and a decent meal. I’m not going to spend one more night in that slop house. Give me money for expenses.”
Shurkov riffled a desk drawer and stuffed an envelope with six folded one hundred dollar bills, all the while mumbling about spoiled youth.
“Not enough,” said Ivanov.
Shurkov added more bills and curses in Russian. “You think I print money?”
“Why not, this is your business, no?” Ivanov grinned in triumph. “Finally, he sees the light. Okay, we leave in the morning, Alexi.” Ivanov pocketed the cash and waved to the big man. “Let’s go.”
“Alexi, you stay. Dimitri, wait out front,” ordered Shurkov. “And don’t bother my girls. They have work to finish.”
Ivanov arched an eyebrow at the rotund shop owner and shut the door behind him. He paused, his ear pressed against the hollow wooden door. His smile disappeared, replaced by a grim set of the jaw. He moved down the paneled hallway and lingered at the counter, flirting with the help despite Shurkov’s warning.
Alexi lumbered by, scowling at Ivanov for defying Shurkov by bantering with the girls. He went out into the last of the day’s heat with Ivanov on his heels. Following Ivanov’s directions they drove until they found an upscale chain motel promising cable, a pool, and a continental breakfast.
Ivanov got out at the motel office and taunted the big man. “Hey, Alexi, you like to join me? I will buy your dinner. Shurkov is paying.”
“Nyet. I have things to do. I pick you up at six o’clock tomorrow morning. We must go back like the boss says. This time we bring back the book, eh?”
“Of course. This time we get the book. But don’t come before eight.”
Chapter 57
Wolf slowed as he passed the bookstore, circled the block, and parked in a weedy asphalt lot behind the shop. He called McFadden. “I had a chat with our loud-mouthed professor. He was very helpful.”
“That was quick. I take it you were your usual direct self.”
“Had to be. I’m on a tight schedule. You know how academics can be.”
“Was he upright when you left him?”
“Sam, please. He was most cooperative.”
“I’m sure. Okay, what’s next?”
“I’m off to my next appointment.”
“Where are you?”
“Right where I need to be. I have to see a man about a book. Actually, a lot of books.” Changing subjects, he said, “You taking the missus to her mom’s place?”
“Negative. Reggie’s refused to go. I made it clear what’s happened but she insists on staying.”
“Not a good choice.”
“Try telling her that.”
“Sorry I got you into this. The local ge
ndarmes still there?”
“The relief got here an hour ago.”
“Right. Better than nothing. Don’t tell them a thing. I’ll call you later with a sit rep.”
Wolf locked his car and stayed close to the bookstore’s blank wall until he reached the front. Once an auto parts store, the long, one-level cinderblock building now housed used and rare books. Opening the door, he reached up, silencing a dangling copper bell with his hand. Stravinsky’s Firebird was playing throughout the store. Wolf closed the door behind him, locked it, and flipped an “Open” sign to “Closed.”
He stood in the front half of a cluttered shop lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves groaning with books. The storefront’s dusty picture window, its sill lined with volumes and dead flies, was covered in faded green film. Vintage Soviet posters papered the walls. Piled high with paperbacks and stacked hardcovers, two large tables dominated the open room. Towers of books crowded an aisle leading to an alcove overflowing with even more titles.
A steady tapping sound, like a prisoner breaking large rocks into little ones, came from the book-lined bay. A wild-haired, morbidly obese man, his broad back to Wolf, sat hunched over a vintage computer, stabbing the keyboard. Arming himself with a heavy sharp-edged volume, Wolf came round the corner of the shop owner’s desk, startling him.
“Pardon me, I’m looking for a volume of Lenin’s speeches.”
“Ach! I did not hear you come in.”
Smiling, Wolf moved closer. “So sorry. You apparently were busy.”
Bespectacled and bearded, Viktor Kirov overflowed an inadequate chair, his fleshy bulk showing only the wheels beneath him. Outweighed by at least two hundred–plus pounds, Wolf was on guard.
“Lenin, you say?”
“Yes. His earliest speeches, if you have them.”
“Da, let me check my reference file.”
“Or better yet…perhaps something on the Bratva.”
The word hovered in the air. Suddenly wary, the typist reached for a drawer at his sagging belly. He made a clumsy attempt to cover his sleight of hand. Wolf caught the move and shifted in anticipation.
“Ah, here it is,” said the man, his hand in the drawer.
Wolf grabbed a fistful of hair and slammed Kirov’s face into the edge of the desk. Caught off-balance, the stunned man was no match for the agile Wolf. One kick took out the chair from under the bookseller and he went down without a fight. Wolf pulled open the desk drawer and plucked a nine-millimeter Beretta hidden in a nest of paperwork.
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