Mitch Silver - The Bookworm

Lara could see the startled look in the president’s eyes as his mouth fell open slightly in surprise. The TelePrompTer man on the other side of the glass, already typing in the next question, scrolled back hurriedly to see what he’d done; the question had been about Arabs, hadn’t it?

And then the president smiled. What the hell, he was going right from the studio to close the deal, wasn’t he? What better way to put the story out?

Leaning in toward the camera he said, “Yes, our people have struck oil exactly where we said we would. I’ve been there, walked the ground, talked with the hundreds of scientists and technicians and actually seen the oil gushing out for myself, a billion barrels of new American petroleum. We’ll be announcing it later today in America, but I’m glad to be able to provide the students of Russia with a major ‘scoop.’”

With that he leaned back, satisfied, as Lara translated her response to more than five million students and teachers—and a host of other viewers—from one end of the country to the other.

The Chinese and Korean plasma TVs were stacked three high and a dozen across in the Electronics Department just inside the dramatic two-story doors that led into the vast TsUM department store from Ulitsa Petrovka. Every TV was tuned to Channel One and each silently displayed an image of the US president breaking the news of the American oil strike that Lara had teased from him an hour earlier, with Lara herself on-screen sitting alongside.

Suddenly, all thirty-six images were replaced by three-dozen more of a blown-up schematic of the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge in Alaska. The station’s business reporter stood in front of it, all thirty-six versions of himself ticking off the economic implications for Russia: a drop in the value of their biggest national asset, the possibility of inflation, etc.

Lara took the south escalator up to the main floor of the giant emporium. The people who held Lev were prepared to exchange him for the six Dictaphone tins that started it all. She’d insisted on a public place for the handover, so here she was.

With her plan of battle finally underway and the bag full of recordings at her feet, and the tiny USB device in her pocket—she tightened her grip on the handrail of the moving stairs. The giant clock high above the shoppers was already striking 12:00; Viktor and Katrina had better be in position.

Unlike an American department store such as Macy’s or Chicago’s old Marshall Field, TsUM is really a maze of individually leased boutiques, including the cosmetics counter upstairs where Katrina worked. Alexei would think he and his fellow goons could hide unseen amid the shoppers in the stalls and have the upper hand.

But Lara had her goons too. Well, goon: Viktor would station himself across the way in Jewelry. And, too, the store’s video cameras, focused 24/7 on all that glitter across the aisle from Cosmetics, would capture everything, if it came to that. Gerasimov, the unknown quantity, was back at the Broadcast Center, wrapping up the “interactive town hall” that had just made international news. So things were on track… if Lara was playing White.

She’d been given the Black pieces and, up till now, had desperately tried to figure out where the game was going and what all these strangers were up to. But now that Viktor had discovered that keylogger business, the table was turned. She was White now, wasn’t she? She was going to get her brother out of harm’s way, and keep herself alive in the process. If she could.

Cresting the main floor, she saw a young man wearing a raincoat with the hood up and looking in the other direction. Two meters away, Katrina stood on the other side of the counter, seemingly helping a customer but keeping an eye peeled. Viktor was where he said he’d be, apparently engrossed in the display of men’s watches.

Lara’s mobile rang. It was Viktor, whispering from his hunched-over position above the Rolexes. “Larashka, don’t look, but whoever it is brought three of them. The enormous guy who might be Mr. Spyware is now ten meters behind you.”

A little knowledge is a dangerous thing? Lara was working on a different piece of folk wisdom: knowledge is power. Knowing where the traps were laid meant you could sidestep them.

“Hello, Alexei.”

The young man across from her whirled around, the hood of the jacket falling back. He wasn’t red-headed.

Nikki replied, “Hello, Dr. Klimt.”

“So nice of you to come.” He stepped forward and kissed her on both cheeks. “Surprised?”

“What, what are you doing here?”

“Saving my country. What are you doing?”

“Freeing my brother. You have him, don’t you?”

Nikki smiled. “I believe he’s spending the day with American friends of ours.”

She involuntarily clenched her fist. “If you’ve hurt him…”

Nikki’s smile broadened. “He’s perfectly fine… except for his ankle. Lev’s quite comfortable, really, somewhere in Alaska. Let’s call it ‘cold storage.’”

Over Nikki’s left shoulder, Katrina was staring questioningly at Lara: who the hell is he? Trying to gather her wits, Lara spoke in a calm voice. “My original deal was with the red-headed kid.”

“And so it is.” Nikki gestured to his right. Diagonally across the way, looking back at her from within a forest of hanging ladies’ handbags, was the kid with the red buzz cut and tattoos. The messenger, he’d called himself. He smiled and gave a slight wave.

Nikki took out an envelope stuffed with high-denomination bills and showed it to her. “A million rubles, I believe he said.”

“You’re paying me?” Lara appeared stunned. “I don’t understand.”

The young man smiled again. “You’re not supposed to. You rose to the bait, that’s all—the old ‘loved one in peril’ gambit.”

The Red Army Hymn announced itself on Lara’s mobile. In a hoarse whisper from eight meters away, Viktor said, “What’s wrong? You’re white as a sheet. Do you need me to—”

In as normal a voice as possible, Lara said, “No, thank you,” into the phone and closed it again, getting over the shock. “Tell me something, Nikolai. Why steal the book if you were paying me to find it?”

“But that’s it, precisely: you found it so we could take it.” He patted the envelope. “Believe me, you earned this.”

He took a step forward until his face was just centimeters from hers. “You’re so innocent, I can see why my father came on to you. And you’re even more beautiful when those Tajik cheekbones of yours get that pink flush.”

She slapped his face, hard, leaving a red welt and bringing Viktor, Katrina, and the red-haired punk to high alert. But Nikki just grinned. He’d been slapped by women before. “Tell me, Larissa, were you always such a bad loser?”

Lara kept her voice calm. “Chess? I wouldn’t know; I hardly ever lost.”

“You’re not playing chess any more. And, as they say on the street, with your brother temporarily detained, we have you by the short hairs.”

“Not a classy neighborhood, your street. And who’s we? You and your father?”

“Him? Hardly. The other night at dinner, possibly you thought my father was the ventriloquist and I was the dummy. Turns out it was the other way around. No, in our family he’s precisely what he seems to be—the innocent bystander.”

Lara tried to keep her voice calm at the mention of family. “There’s something I have to know: why are you even here? You’ve got the Bible; why go to all the trouble of kidnapping Lev?”