Peter Kirsanow - Second Strike

“Yes.” Mikhailov turned from the window. “Make a note, Alexei. When this matter is concluded, we must reevaluate Stetchkin. He’s proved valuable. A man with his qualities usually is. But he strikes me as increasingly… odious. The issue of Uganov, for example. That advanced nothing except Stetchkin’s own preferences.”

“Morosov—Egorshin’s uncle—contacted me again a short time ago. He is a sober individual. He provided details of Egorshin’s encounter in Stetchkin’s office. From what Morosov described, Stetchkin is either a peculiar motivator of personnel or dangerously unhinged.”

“Since I have known him he has been both. It seems lately his behavior leans increasingly toward the latter.”

“The Uganov episode was something of a retrogression.”

“Yes, it certainly was. Stetchkin seems to imagine himself a modern-day Beria. If he is not careful, he will come to a similar end.”

“Everyone can use a Beria.”

“Perhaps. Until he becomes a liability. Stetchkin is balancing precariously close to the edge.”

“Morosov agrees.”

“I directed Stetchkin he may take no action unless he is able to certify to me with one hundred percent certainty that the event can proceed without Egorshin. He cannot objectively make such certification.”

Vasiliev nodded. “Egorshin is the architect and the engineer. Without him, the most Stetchkin can guarantee is a ninety percent probability of success.”

“Egorshin is the future. Stetchkin is the past. You may tell your friend Morosov that Stetchkin will not move against Egorshin.”

Vasiliev began to leave but paused at the door and turned to Mikhailov. “May I ask, Mr. President, what the consequences would be if Stetchkin continues to act… odiously?”

A wry smile crossed Mikhailov’s face, as if he were enjoying the prospect. “Then Stetchkin will receive a visit from Taras Bor.”

GEORGIA,

AUGUST 16, 8:30 P.M. EDT

Ruth Ponder continued to persist, inspiring others to rally around her.

The kids had reclaimed their childhood bedrooms, and sleeping bags and air mattresses were laid down for the grandkids. Bob and Sue Lampley were, of course, fixtures in the living room and kitchen, respectively, Bob making phone calls to every law enforcement contact he knew and Sue keeping food warm and serving the other folks in the house. Amy Randall of the church choir, whose sister was the insurance adjuster, was sitting on a couch in the living room charging her cell phone in the wall outlet nearby. She had made dozens of calls to anyone and everyone who might possibly have information on the people responsible for Amos Ponder’s murder, and she had been invaluable—primarily because her calls prompted other people to make their own calls, which in turn kept the authorities from relaxing even one little bit.

According to Amy’s sister, the LaCrosse had been impounded and was being examined for evidence. Amos’s body was also being examined by the Cobb County coroner, after which it would be prepared for transport back home. Everyone in the house prevailed upon Ruth to stay put and not go up there—Amos’s body would be back soon enough.

Ruth’s persistence had turned the investigation of the massacre along I-85 into a juggernaut. Most of the folks busy calling, texting, and e-mailing in Ruth Ponder’s home were no more than high school graduates. Most were blue-collar. Ordinary, decent, hardworking folks. The kind of folks whom the young reporter from the big-city newspaper, who had given up and left, would consider backward and unsophisticated.

But they knew how to think and they had faith that Ruth’s persistence and their own diligence would yield answers. Rev. Broussard had led them in prayer to produce such answers.

And sure enough, answers started coming. In little disparate bits. Seemingly unconnected. But not burdened by the traps of superficial sophistication, the folks in Ruth Ponder’s home began to piece together leads.

The most important lead came from one of Ruth’s commonsense questions: “How did the scary man who had given the diner patron chills, along with his foreign-looking friends, leave the truck stop where they had parked Amos’s LaCrosse?” They didn’t just abandon it and proceed on foot. They had to have taken another vehicle. So where did that vehicle come from? Unless they’d stolen another one, they must’ve bought or rented it. And since there were no reports of stolen vehicles in the vicinity during that timeframe, they must’ve rented or bought another vehicle. Maybe two. And since it appeared the scary man and his friends left the area in relatively short order, they must’ve bought or rented the replacement vehicles from someplace close.

Not too complicated.

So Ruth asked Amy Randall if she could find out if there were any car rental places or sales lots nearby the truck stop. Amy brought up the satellite view of the area from Google Maps, and she zoomed in until Ruth could see what looked like trees and roads and roofs of buildings with the names of streets and businesses printed on top.

Ruth peered over Amy’s shoulder and bent down to get a better look. She took the glasses that were hanging on the little chain around her neck and slipped them on and could see the truck stop with its islands and pumps. Right behind was the diner where the patron had gotten the chills.

Across the street was a regular Shell gas station and next to that was something called Adam’s Professional Services. On the other side was the Rookwood Head Start Academy. No car sales or rental places.

Amy took her index finger and swiped it slowly across the screen. Ruth could see the buildings and creeks and roads move a little, and different buildings appeared. Next to the truck stop was Kirk’s Automotive Parts Store, and across the street next to Adam’s Professional Services was a Subway sandwich shop, and next to that on the other side of Five Mile Creek was Good Shepherd Baptist Church. No car sales or rental places.

So Ruth bent down a little more and swiped her own finger across the screen in the other direction, and the image moved slowly in that direction. On the opposite side of the truck stop was Carol’s Beauty and Braiding Shop, then Holy Redeemer Church, and then Roberts Car and Truck Sales.

Bingo.

Amy tapped the screen and the image changed to Street View. It looked to Ruth like the place was filled predominantly with used cars and pickup trucks. Probably easy in, easy out, Ruth thought. Less likely to need bank financing. Fewer calls, fewer hassles, less paperwork .

“Amy, can you find me the telephone number for Roberts Car and Truck Sales?”

A few minutes later Ruth was talking to Randy, who had been getting ready to go home and who at first was helpful because he thought he might make one last sale, then became guarded when Ruth started asking questions about a scary-looking guy who might be with foreign-looking friends.

But then Ruth told Randy about Amos and the massacre and the LaCrosse, and Randy had seen the stories on TV and it started to make some kind of sense. The guy who had been interested in the Durango and Tahoe was built like a mixed-martial-arts champ or maybe even an NFL running back, and Randy could easily see how he could be scary when he wasn’t friendly. And he was with a little guy who did look kind of foreign-looking. And he was ready to pay cash and was in a hurry.

So Randy weighed it and balanced it and turned it over in his head and decided that it was better to help Ruth than to help a possible bad guy get away. Besides, Randy wasn’t sure but he might be aiding and abetting or something or other if he didn’t tell Ruth what she needed to know. And it was the right thing to do. Heck, a widow calling for help so soon after her longtime husband got murdered.