He took his time getting a cigarette going. With the sea breeze coming in off the Atlantic, he had a hard time getting the lighter to work. When the weed was burning satisfactorily, Ilin bestowed another amused look on the American naval officer. "I think Zelda Hudson is telling the FBI that she stole a lot of secrets and sold them to the highest bidder. Occasionally that was me. She was a first-class, high-tech entrepreneur."
"She was more than that," Jake said. "She played the system like a violin."
Ilin smoked in silence.
"Where is Kolnikov?" Jake asked. "He swiped the minisub off Americas back and sailed away before we popped the E-grenades and destroyed the computers."
"Did he? Perhaps he is at the bottom of the sea with Heydrich."
"Sleeping with the fishes? I think not," Jake said. "Kolnikov struck me as a smart, smooth operator. Where is he now?"
"Do you want him?"
"Stealing a submarine and firing missiles at American cities were acts of war. And there was ha Jolla."
"He was not SVR. You know that? He was not working for any branch of the Russian government. I swear to you, no official in the Russian government had any idea Kolnikov or anyone else would steal an American submarine."
"They tell you these things, do they?" Jake snapped. "So you can take blanket oaths?"
Ilin didn't turn a hair. He smoked in silence.
Finally Jake asked, "Zelda Hudson didn't tell you it was going to happen before it did?"
"No," said Janos Ilin.
Perhaps it didn't matter, Jake reflected. He doubted that the politicians would want to push the issue with the Europeans or the Russian government. The airlines were flying again, telephone and electrical services were being restored in Washington and New York, bills were pending in Congress to fund the necessary repairs, life in America was rapidly returning to normal. Even the stock and currency markets were rebounding. Precipitating another major international crisis over a disaster that was past didn't seem like something that would strike the Beltway politicians as a good idea.
The politicians were also smart enough to know that if the FBI talked to Kolnikov, it was possible he would say things they didn't want to hear. As the wise man once said, "If you think you might not like the answer, don't ask the question." Still. .
"I want to know where he is," Jake told Ilin. "Just in case someone wants to hear it from his lips. Or wants a pound of flesh."
Ilin flipped his cigarette butt away from the ship. The brisk breeze caught it and carried it into the scummy harbor water. He turned up his collar and buried his hands in his coat pockets. "The situation is as I have told you." He looked Grafton square in the eyes. "If you want to talk to Vladimir Kolnikov, try Paris. If I were looking for him I would look there."
Ilin held out his hand, and Jake shook it. Then he went down the ladders to the main deck, walked over to the third stage and patted it, then headed for the gangway. As he crossed it he waved to Jake Grafton on the bridge. And Grafton waved back.
On Jake Grafton's first day back at the office a federal marshal delivered a joint congressional committee subpoena. The date and time were set for the next day, which required that he waive the usual waiting period. Jake called the committee staff and told them he would be there.
Jouany had friends in Congress and the financial community. Rich, powerful friends who were making a lot of noise over the seizure of his American assets. In a way the situation was unfortunate for Jouany — the closed markets and New York power problems meant that his trades during the crisis couldn't be settled as they usually were. In the two weeks Jake had been gone the power grid and telephone systems had been returned to normal function and the financial markets were once again in full operation… but almost five billion dollars had been in the Jouany bank accounts or clearinghouse channels when the feds latched on to everything.
Jake went to see Flap in the Pentagon. The commandant had also been subpoenaed and, like Jake, had waived the time requirement. Tomorrow morning at ten.
After Jake had told the general about the recovery of the satellite and his conversation with Janos Ilin, Flap had some choice words for the senators and congresspeople who insisted that the flag officers' investments in the Jouany firms be investigated fully. "It's blackmail," Flap fumed. "Hardball. They know nobody over here played the currency futures or took a bribe. And they're throwing all the mud they can get their hands on. For their buddy Jouany, who's a slimy son of a bitch."
"Oh, no," Jake pointed out. "He's a rich, slimy son of a bitch." Flap gave the admiral The Look.
Grafton grinned. He hadn't been stewing in Washington for ten days, as Flap had, reading the papers every morning. "What was that fine old phrase, 'twisting slowly in the wind'?"
"That's it. Defamation by innuendo is the name of this game." "Sir, may I use your telephone?"
Flap frowned and nodded a curt yes. Jake called a lawyer who had a beach house two blocks from his. After he identified himself, he asked the question, "Can a subpoenaed witness before Congress be sued for libel or slander?"
"You mean for something he said while testifying under oath?" "That's right."
"No. The testimony is privileged. The witness can be prosecuted for perjury, though, if the testimony is false. You know anybody going to the Hill to bare his soul?"
"Me. Tomorrow morning at ten. And General Le Beau. Watch us on television. We're going to be famous. Not rich, just famous." "The proper word to describe that condition is infamous." Jake chuckled and asked the lawyer to dinner the following Saturday night, then thanked him and rang off.
Flap was up to speed. He grinned wolfishly at Grafton. "You should have been a marine," he said.
"If you don't mind, sir, I'd like to go first tomorrow. I'll read a statement, telling what I know about Zelda Hudson and Antoine Jouany and EuroSpace. The only way to shut these people up is to throw the truth in their faces." "The prosecutors won't like it."
"Not my problem," Jake said and laced his fingers behind his head. He was alive and home, and he felt pretty damned good.
Jake wore his dress blue uniform the next morning. Callie was home from Europe, so she came and sat in the gallery. Carmellini sat with her and Corina Le Beau, while Toad sat at the long wooden witness table beside Jake and Flap so it wouldn't look as if they hadn't a friend in the world.
Finally the television lights came on and the chairman made a few remarks. "I understand the commandant has suggested that you go first, Admiral. Do you wish to make a statement?"
"Yes, sir." Jake began reading from his handwritten notes: "This is a story of superpower politics, cutting-edge technology, and greed…."
About the Author
One of today's best action-adventure writers, Stephen Coonts is the author of ten published novels. His writing, he says, is the culmination of a lifelong love affair with books.
Mr. Coonts enlisted in the Naval Reserve during his sophomore year at West Virginia University "to avoid the draft," and because the Navy promised to send him to flight school. The Navy kept its promise, ordering him to flight training at NAS Pensacola, Florida, upon his graduation in 1968. He received his Navy wings in August 1969. After completion of fleet replacement training in the A-6 Intruder aircraft, he reported to Attack Squadron 196 at NAS Whid-bey Island, Washington. He made two combat cruises as a member of this squadron aboard USS Enterprise during the final years of the Vietnam War. After the war he served as a flight instructor on A-6 aircraft for two years, then did a tour as an assistant catapult and arresting gear officer aboard USS Nimitz. He left active duty in 1977 and moved to Colorado.
After short stints as a taxi driver and police officer, Mr. Coonts entered the University of Colorado School of Law in the fall of 1977. He received his law degree in December 1979. He was practicing law as a staff attorney for a large independent oil company when his first novel, Flight of the Intruder, the classic novel of naval aviation in the jet era, was published in 1986.
Since his fi
rst flight as a student naval aviator, Mr. Coonts has been flying whenever finances permit. His nonfiction flying adventure, The Cannibal Queen, first published in 1992, has been hailed by critics as a general aviation classic. "That," he says, "is the book I hope they remember me for fifty years from now. Over half the fan mail I receive is inspired by that book. After reading it, many people decide they know me pretty well, so they write me a long letter telling me of their life's adventure. Receiving letters like that is the coolest part of being a writer."
In addition to flying, Mr. Coonts collects and shoots rifles. "Av gas and gunpowder are my substances of choice. They'll be illegal someday, so I'm burning all I can right now."
He maintains a Web site at www.coonts.com. He and his wife, Deborah Buell Coonts, live in Las Vegas with their son, Tyler.
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