Iris Johansen - Silent Thunder

"As you wish." Kirov nodded. "By the way, I could hear you in the pod even when you couldn't hear me."

"So?"

"You were on quite friendly terms with LISA down there. 'Give me some distance, baby.' 'Good girl.' Is that any way to speak to an inanimate object?"

"It's just… slang."

"It was more than that. LISA surprised you, didn't she?"

"Yes. She's- It's very well constructed."

"And well designed."

Hannah bowed her head with mock modesty. "Well, now that you mention it…"

"But there's more there, and you know it."

"You mean a soul."

"Yes, and when the chips were down, even you felt it. I guess there are no atheists in foxholes, eh? Had you ever called a vessel 'she' in your life?"

Hannah sighed. There was no use arguing with him. "I'm sure I've slipped once or twice."

He smiled. "There's hope for you yet, Hannah Bryson."

BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS

The call from Pavksi had finally come.

After days of trailing Congressman Preston, Dananka had received his instructions. It wasn't what he had expected, but in this business, he'd learned to expect the unexpected.

Preston was a full block ahead of him.

There was obviously more to Preston than met the eye, or Pavski's orders wouldn't have been so urgent. What had seemed to be a fool's errand suddenly became much more interesting.

Preston disappeared in the shadows. Shit. Where did he go?

Dananka walked faster, keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of the congressman.

Preston finally stepped from the shadows, walking back toward him.

"Preston?"

Preston stopped. "Yes?"

"I'm Dananka. I was told you were expecting me."

"Unfortunately."

"No time like the present." Dananka reached into his pocket and pulled out a velour-covered ring box.

Preston tensed. "What's that?"

"Well, I'm not asking you to marry me." He opened the ring box to display a tiny wireless microphone. "You know what to do with this?"

"Pavski explained it to me. There's an adhesive backing, and I'm to put it somewhere in Cathy Bryson's living room."

"Correct. Behind a picture frame, maybe on the underside of a lampshade. Just like in the movies."

Preston took the box and closed it.

Dananka handed him a disposable cell phone. "He'll call you tomorrow morning at 9:30 A.M. Be sure this is turned on." Dananka smiled maliciously. "Would you care to tell me what Pavski has on you?"

"I would not." Preston turned and strode away from him. "Good night, Mr. Dananka."

Device delivered," Dananka told Pavski when he picked up the phone. "And so was the message."

"Good," Pavski said absently, and hung up the phone. He spread the photos from the Danzyl delivery out on the desk in front of him. He had gone through these photos after Heiser's father's death, but he hadn't remembered there were so many of them. There were at least forty or fifty ranging from childhood to the professor's senior years. The GRU had taken them out of the family albums at Pavski's request after Heiser's death on the sub. He'd thought there might be a clue among them after he'd been cheated of interrogating the old man. He'd studied these photos for hours all those years ago, but he'd found nothing.

Or maybe he had found something and not realized it. That symbol on the plate had not been Samsovian but it had been damnably familiar. He had seen it somewhere…

He'd gone through over thirty photos when he found it. He froze in his chair.

A photo of Heiser smiling into the camera. He was outside in the sunlight and behind him…

Yes .

FAIRFIELD, CONNECTICUT

A yellow crime scene police tape now stretched in front of Petrenko's antiques store.

"Not an encouraging sign," Kirov said. "We may have difficulty getting answers to those questions."

"Pavski?"

"We'll have to see, won't we?"

Hannah peered through the front windows. "Nothing looks as though it's been disturbed."

"Let's check in back. Most of these shops have living quarters over the store."

In the rear of the store a wooden stairway led up to a second-floor apartment over the store.

"It seems this shop is no exception." Hannah climbed the steps and knocked on the weathered oak door.

No answer.

Kirov glanced around and produced his lockpick.

Hannah used her body to try to shield him from view. "This isn't a good idea. It's a crime scene. What if a policeman-"

"The store is a crime scene. Not the apartment."

"You're quibbling."

"Yes." He bent over the door. "And breaking and entering is small stuff compared to what Petrenko tried to help do to us. Get a little perspective."

A young female voice called from below. "You don't have to break in. I'll unlock it for you."

Anna, the teenager who had held the gun on them only two days earlier, stood at the bottom of the stairs. She carried a bag of groceries in one hand, a set of keys in the other.

"What happened, Anna?" Hannah asked.

Anna didn't speak as she trudged upstairs and unlocked the door. "Petrenko's dead, that's what happened." She threw open the door and walked inside.

"How?" Hannah said.

"Two bullets in the head. I found him behind the main counter yesterday afternoon when I came home. The police think it was a robbery."

"What do you think?" Kirov asked.

"It wasn't a fucking robbery." Anna deposited the contents of her grocery bag into an already-stuffed knapsack on the floor. "The cash register was emptied, but we never had much money in there. It's a check and credit card business. There were a pair of twenty-five hundred dollar vases right next to the register, and they were untouched."

"I'm sorry," Hannah said. "You said that he wasn't your father. How was he related to you?"

"He wasn't."

"Boyfriend?" Kirov said.

She made a face. "Please. He was my mother's boyfriend. Two years ago, my mom got a new guy, and she left us both. I didn't have any other family, so Petrenko let me stay with him."

"That was nice of him," Hannah said gently.

"Yeah." For the first time, Hannah saw genuine emotion creep from behind Anna's tough veneer. "He didn't have to do that. He was a nice guy. You know, until that time I never liked him. He was just another one of mom's guys."

"Do the police have any suspects?"

"I told the police about the two of you."

Kirov's lips twisted. "Of course."

"I had to do it. But I told them that I didn't think you were involved. Petrenko pretended to be afraid of you, but he wasn't really. I could tell." She shrugged. "I was always worried about something like this happening. He dealt with nasty people. He was into some bad stuff. Smuggling antiques, smuggling people."

"But not last weekend," Kirov said.

She shook her head. "No, but somebody paid him a lot of money to make sure you got that bag."

"We know that now," Hannah said. "Can you give us any idea who?"

"No. Petrenko didn't even tell me about it until after you left here. Here I was ready to blow your heads off, and he'd actually been waiting for you to show up. Someone must have made the arrangements with him after he got back from Paris on Monday." She frowned. "Are you detectives or something?"

"Or something." Hannah glanced at Anna's duffel bag. "Where are you going?"

"A long way from here."

"Where?"

"Don't know."

"Honey, you just can't-"

"Why not? I'm only four months away from my eighteenth birthday, and I'd rather not spend that time trying to break free of Protective Services," Anna said. She zipped the duffel closed. "I'll be fine. I've already been accepted at Cal Arts for the fall semester. If I'm careful, I'll be able to get by on student loans and tuition grants."