Jake’s pulse began to pound as he read the note.
In 1960 I defected to the United States of America, believing it a land of freedom and opportunity. Over the years, I have discovered the United States is a land of decadence and privilege for the few.
I betrayed my homeland. Now, I wish the world to know the truth. Events of this day will not be forgotten. My Soviet countrymen, remember what I’ve done as a lesson to you all.
The letter was signed Janus Straka, then Jake Sullivan. The writing looked identical to Jake’s.
At the sound of the door creaking open, he dropped the paper on the table with a trembling hand.
“Good afternoon,Tovarich.” The gravelly voice betrayed nothing, the tone so mild they might have been passing on the street.
“My handwriting...how did you...?” But he didn’t finish. They had ways, he knew. Forged passports, documents. It was no trick at all once a sample of the person’s writing had been obtained.
The more important question was, “What have you done?”
“I see your impatience has returned. I’m afraid it is a characteristic you will carry to your grave.”
Jake stiffened.
“You disobeyed your instructions.” Popov smiled thinly. “Which came as no surprise. You, my friend, are far too predictable.”
“I intended to comply, but fate intervened.”
Popov grunted. “Fate takes second place when events are well-planned, well-executed. You, for example. Your actions in this mattered little. There was nothing you could have done except divulge our involvement to the authorities. To avoid that, we counted on your unwavering loyalty to your family and friends.”
Jake said nothing.He doesn’t know about Daniel.
“As to your compliance—it was merely a diversion. Of course, each incident will ultimately be connected to you. Revenge will be sweet, my friend.
Popov pulled a package of cigarettes from his inside coat pocket. A match flared as he lit up and the acrid smell of sulfur filled the tack room.
“I presume you are here to plead for the lives of your family and friends,” the Russian said.
Jake seized on the words. “They’re innocent in this. I’m the one who didn’t comply with your wishes.”
Popov released a raspy chuckle. “You may ease your mind. None of them will be harmed. You were the pawn, they merely the device to obtain your cooperation.”
Popov’s smug, satisfied expression sent a chill down Jake’s spine.
“I see by your look,” the Russian continued, “you wish to know why we have gone to so much trouble. It is simple really.Glasnost. Among those of us loyal to our cause, it is a vile word. A filthy word that corrupts the people of our country.
“New freedoms,” he said sarcastically. “A new Westernism. Bah! Adopting bourgeois capitalist beliefs! Turning us into a nation of drug users, despoilers, and decadents. Already it has caused unrest among the people. Surely you have read what is happening in Armenia—the rioting and protests? If it should continue, there is no telling where it might end. The very walls of Communism could be felled.”
Wouldn’t that be something, Jake thought.
“What is happening today,” Popov continued. “What we are doing in Dublin, is just one incident among many we have engineered to weaken the bonds between East and West. The missile thataccidentallydestroyed the Korean jet liner, for example...or that airbus over the Persian Gulf your own Navy shot down. Each event is designed to breech those ties, cause rifts and descent. In layman’s terms, we do not want peace with you. We are committed to doing whatever it takes to enforce and spread our beliefs.”
“Whatever it takes,” Jake repeated, the room feeling suddenly airless. “What are you planning to do in Dublin?”
“Since you will not live to see it, I suppose telling you can do no harm.” He blew a thick stream of smoke into the air. “You remember the inconvenience your people suffered here on Wednesday evening?”
Jake searched his memory. “Sorry, I don’t recall.”
“Nothing much, nothing to be concerned about. A broken waterline. It could happen anywhere. Except in this case...ourpeople made the repairs. While they were working, they installed an interesting little device. A pressure valve set with a timer.”
Jake’s pulse began to hammer as Popov slid back the sleeve of his dark brown overcoat and checked his watch.
“It started working some time ago. The valve was set to begin release at four o’clock this afternoon and continue, intermittently releasing small quantities of strychnine into the waterline that leads to your barn. With each subsequent watering, your horses, along with those of the British and Canadian teams, will be ingesting lethal amounts of poison. By midnight they will be dead—along with any persons unlucky enough to be thirsty. With the Olympic Games just a few weeks away, the impact should be extremely far-reaching. In fact—”
