C. Graham - The Solomon Effect

She sat for a moment, as if running the last hour or so through in her head. “They already knew I was a linguist with the Navy. They even knew about my psychological discharge.” Her forehead crinkled. “How could they know any of that stuff?”

“You think we’re the only ones with spies? Their intelligence network is a hell of a lot more effective than it used to be. Back in the days of Communism, the Soviets were so insular the only spies they could run in the West were assigned to their embassies or with Aeroflot, which made them really, really easy to watch. Now the West is overrun with millions of expat Russians. And a big chunk of them report to the SVB.”

“He even knew about my father.”

Jax frowned. “Anything else?”

“No.”

It was time, Jax decided, to end Andrei’s little listening game. He said, “How’s your cat?”

The question obviously disconcerted her. Her face went almost comically blank. “My cat?”

“Your cat. What’s his name?”

“You mean, Beauregard?”

“That’s it. Beauregard.” Jax could practically hear Andrei sighing with frustration at the other end of the mike feed. A minute later, the door opened and the SVB man walked back into the room.

“Sorry about that,” he said in his precise English, shaking out a packet of British cigarettes. He held them out to October. “You smoke?”

“No, thank you,” she said with painful politeness.

The Russian went to perch on the edge of the desk, his attention all for the task of lighting his cigarette. It was a moment before he spoke. “You asked what’s going on, Jax.” He exhaled a stream of blue smoke. “I’ll tell you something: I’d like to know what’s going on.”

He pointed the tip of his cigarette at them. “A couple of days ago, the Kaliningrad militia reported a curious incident at a shipyard near the entrance to the Vistula Lagoon. When the manager stopped by to check on a shipment Saturday morning, he found his night watchman with a slit throat and a salvage ship called the Yalena floating in the cove. Everyone on board was dead.”

“A shipyard?” said Jax incredulously. He looked at October to find her sitting forward, her lips parted. He didn’t want to believe she had “seen” U-114 simply by reaching out with her mind, but the evidence was starting to stack up. “Did you say a shipyard? And a salvage ship?”

Andrei flicked the ash from his cigarette and frowned. “That’s what I said, Jax. A shipyard, a salvage ship, and thirteen dead men-fourteen, counting the night watchman. That’s an unusually high body count, even for Russia. And then I hear that Jason Aldrich has booked a flight to Kaliningrad.” He paused to look at Jax. “Don’t you ever change your cover identity?”

“There wasn’t a lot of time.”

“Evidently.” Andrei inhaled deeply, his eyes narrowing against the smoke. “I ask myself, what has happened, is happening, or is about to happen in Kaliningrad Oblast that’s unusual? I think about that incident near the Vistula Lagoon, and I find my curiosity piqued.”

His gaze shifted to October. He said, “So I leave my nice, comfortable office in Moscow and travel down to this godforsaken place, expecting to meet my old friend Jax Alexander at the airport and show him a good time in Kaliningrad. And what happens? A beautiful young American Naval officer flies in that same morning.”

October squirmed uncomfortably, but said nothing.

Andrei spread his arms wide, then dropped them to his sides. “So, here I am. I have a salvage ship with thirteen dead bodies, a dead night watchman, a live CIA agent, and an American Naval officer with an interesting past, all showing up in Kaliningrad Oblast at roughly the same time. So now I ask you, Jax, what is going on here?”

Jax leaned back against the window, his gaze on his old adversary’s battle-scarred face. His options were severely limited, and he knew it. If he tried to stonewall Andrei, the Russian would have them both on the next flight out of Kaliningrad-or worse. There were times when the truth was the best option. “It’s about Nazi gold.”

October threw him a quick, incredulous glance, while Andrei-caught with a lungful of cigarette smoke-fell into a coughing fit. “What?” he said when he was able.

“The militia didn’t by any chance find an old German U-boat at this shipyard, did they?”

Andrei’s eyes narrowed. “How did you know about that? We haven’t even notified Berlin yet.”

“We saw it,” said Jax. He was aware of October giving him another look. But Jax knew what Andrei would think-that the Americans had “seen” the sub on a satellite image.

Andrei cupped his hand around his cigarette to scratch behind his right ear. “What is your interest in the U-boat?”

Choosing his words carefully, Jax laid it all out for him-the missing sub, the Nazi gold, the link to a looming terrorist hit on the United States.

At the end of it all, Andrei blew out a long stream of smoke, his eyes twinkling with silent laughter. “And you expect me to believe this?”

Jax shrugged. “It’s what they told me.”

Andrei’s smile widened. “I take it you’re still in Division Thirteen?”

“What do you think?”

The Russian swung his head to fix October with a hard stare. He was no longer smiling. “And you?”

She froze, her eyes widening in a deer-in-the-headlights look.

Jax answered for her. “The CIA didn’t anticipate me receiving such a warm and personal reception from the SVR. Since my Russian’s no better than it used to be, they sent Ensign Guinness along as a translator.”

“Her command of the language is certainly better than yours ever was,” said Andrei, his gaze still on Tobie. “Tell me, Ensign, did you learn Russian before or after your psychiatric discharge from the Navy?”

“Before.”

She said it calmly enough, although Jax knew that psychiatric discharge was a sensitive subject with her. Which was, of course, why Andrei mentioned it. Andrei was very good at finding sore points and pressing on them.

“That’s the only reason you’re here?”

Jax said, “What other reason could there be?”

Rather than answer, Andrei said, “You do realize, of course, that if there ever was any gold on that U-boat, it’s not there anymore?”

It was common knowledge among Russians that when the militia investigated a robbery, anything the thieves missed, the militia took. Jax said, “It’s not the gold I want. I want the guys who hired that salvage ship in the first place.”

“You mean, your terrorists?” Andrei blew out a lungful of smoke, his eyes narrowing with what looked like amusement. “I think there’s something on that U-boat you need to see.”

Jax pushed away from the window. “If you’ll just point us to the local rent-a-car people, we’ll be on our-”

“You forget; I know you, Jax.” Andrei took a final drag on his cigarette and ground it out on the ashtray beside him. “Which means you go to the shipyard in my car, or you don’t go. It’s that simple.”

“You didn’t expect it to really be here, did you?” said Tobie, shouting to be heard over the roar of wind and rain. “The U-boat, I mean.”

They were standing beneath a short overhang at the rear of the terminal, waiting for Andrei to bring up his car. Jax squinted at the angry gray clouds roiling overhead. “Stop gloating.”

“Why? Gloating is fun.” She cast a quick glance around and lowered her voice. “Can we talk here?”

“Carefully.”

“I’ll be careful. Can you tell me why in God’s name the Russians are being so nice and cooperative?”

“It has nothing to do with being nice, and everything to do with the fact they think we know something they don’t, and they want to find out what that something is.”