Mitch Silver - The Bookworm

With the shock wearing off and the tear from her one working duct drying on her cheek, Lara knew, if she wanted those divorce papers signed, she was going to have to make up with Viktor. But not right now. Right now, she desperately needed a long hot soak.

At least the bathroom was reasonably presentable. She dropped the stopper in the drain and turned on the taps. Grabbing the mat from the towel bar, she spread it on the floor. On a shelf above the soap dish was her collection of American bath salts from the ’40s, each a different floral scent in a colorful paper packet, like seeds. She reached for Lily-of-the-Valley.

Some cold warrior from Washington or New York must have brought them in to trade for—what? A drink? A meal? Information? Who gives away the location of a missile base for a bunch of bubble bath? Black market collectible or not, Lara ripped open the packet and let the powder run out under the faucet.

Almost immediately, the strong, and strongly artificial, fragrance filled the air. While the tub was filling, Lara went and got her mobile. Letting her clothes fall to the tile floor, she carefully placed the phone on the wide flat edge of the tub. It was reckless, she knew; one false move on her part and it was checkmate, electronics. But she needed to be connected to the outside world.

As soon as she put it down, the phone rang. It was her brother. “Larashka!”

“Lev?”

“You were right! Someone did try to kill me, but I got him instead.”

“Lev, what? How? Are you all right!? Where are you?”

“I’m fine, but you should see the other guy. I left him in the wildlife area where they’ve started drilling. Or rather, not drilling.”

“Lev, slow down, I don’t understand.”

“I’m up near Prudhoe, calling you on a satellite phone. They’re supposed to be drilling for oil, only they’re not. That warning you got… it was for real. The guard here tried to kill me, almost did too. Look, I don’t know how much more juice this baby still has, and I have to call around for an emergency room.”

“I thought you said you were okay.”

“I am, mostly. I’ll get back to you first chance I get.”

She put down the phone, not at all reassured by the call. The worst part of it was, there was nothing she could do.

Milky-white bubbles threatened to flow over the top of the tub. The scent of chemical blossoms was now overwhelming. She turned off the water, shivers from Lev’s close call still running up and down her spine, and lowered herself in. Keeping her hands out of the water, Lara summoned up the messages on her phone.

Pavel’s calls were lined up in voicemail like planes at Sheremetyevo waiting to take off. He’d phoned her when she and Gerasimov were driving out to the dacha, and was going on about their next lunch not being so swanky.

His second message was different. “Larashka, I’m worried about what I got you into. I know you’re up there at Gerasimov’s place, with him and his kid. He’s a bad guy, that Nikki.

“There’s something else. Someone I know here at the Broadcast Center, someone who does, did, the weather—look, it’s complicated. This isn’t about me, it’s bigger than that. I’ll explain everything when I see you. Just this once, call me back.”

Pavel’s third voicemail was an angry outburst. “Did I embarrass you at the restaurant? Is that what this is? Are my hopes and dreams so pathetic that… Anyway, I told you this isn’t about me: I’m sending you a text. If your parents’ pain and suffering mean anything to you…”

Now she was alarmed. What did her mother and father have to do with anything? Pavel’s fourth message, in its entirety, read: itms://ax.itunes.apple.ru/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/ViewVidPodcast?id=120315179&ign-mscache=1.

She got up out of the water, wiped her wet hands on a towel, and picked up the phone. Carrying it across the bedroom and dripping on the carpet, she put it down and got her iPad from her bag. The she laboriously typed the entire text message from her relic of a phone into the iPad’s Google search box. Almost immediately, the iTunes icon in the dock at the bottom of the screen activated itself and started bouncing up and down. Could Pavel possibly have wanted her to hear a song?

Lara carried the little computer into the bathroom, setting it down where the phone had been. Slipping back into the still warm bath and touching the Play arrow—the advantage of having Wi-Fi all over the flat—Lara was startled to see a woman’s face fill the entire screen. Stranger still, wasn’t that Tatiana Ivanova, the woman from the flirt party?

“The following vodcast has been prepared for those members of the regional committees of the United Russia Party who have already indicated your support. If you are not a committee member, turn this video off and delete this file now. Unauthorized individuals will suffer the prescribed consequences.”

The picture went to black and the word Background briefly came on before dissolving off again to reveal Tatiana, if that was her real name, standing in front of a map of the world.

“The European oil and natural gas ‘monopoly’ we currently enjoy drives our national economy. At the same time, unlike the West or the other large ‘emerging’ economies—those of China, India, Korea, etc.—we produce virtually no consumer goods that foreigners (i.e., Americans) wish to buy.”

As she moved in front of the large map, the camera followed her over to China. “Without export-quality flat-screen televisions, mobile phones, or cheap shirts and shoes, Russia’s balance of trade and our economic well-being depend overwhelmingly upon this energy dominance.”

The tall, confident woman now walked slowly east across the Pacific Ocean and the United States, stopping at the eastern seaboard. “And, because global energy markets are traded in dollars, events here on Wall Street and in Washington have enormous consequences in Moscow.” The camera pushed in slightly on her. She held up a dollar bill and started to ball it up in her fist. “When the American dollar weakens, the way it did in the middle of the last decade, the price of oil goes up. From $55 a barrel back in 2006, it reached nearly $150 in 2008, tripling the value of Russia’s vast oil reserves.”

Like the TV weatherperson she was, Tatiana Ivanova gestured back at the American Midwest as if she were discussing a cold front. “Then, thanks to the American home mortgage debacle that raced across the country, it took only five months for the price of oil to plummet to under $35. Hedge fund traders who had ‘parked’ their dollars in energy raised cash by selling off their leveraged positions. That selloff weakened our central bank’s ability to secure international credit lines.

“Thirty months later, the ‘Arab Spring’ uprisings of 2011 and the continuing conflicts in Libya, Egypt, and Syria increased instability in the region and enabled oil to recoup some of its losses.” She paused and looked straight into the camera. “In hindsight, though, it is evident that no national economic planning can proceed when a country’s assets are constantly in flux.”

Lara was confused. What could this possibly have to do with anything? Her frustration with these Russians who don’t or won’t explain themselves made her want to scream.

Tatiana Ivanova started walking again, this time across the Atlantic and into Europe. “With energy so volatile, the Americans and their friends are making aggressive efforts to conserve and to find new/alternative energy sources. Consider: if every automobile on the world’s roads had one of today’s new induction engines, fuel consumption would come down by thirty-eight percent.”