“Have they brought in the police?”
“No.”
“Good. I do not think Comrade Straka will allow it, but if it happens...” Popov shrugged absently. “So much the better. If we need you again, we will contact you in the usual manner.”
The line went dead, and Popov hung up the phone. Only the soft ticking of the walnut clock on the mantle above the small electric fireplace disturbed the silence in his sparsely furnished, one-bedroom Washington apartment.
With a sigh, Nikolai leaned back in his chair. How he missed the old days, missed Tasha’s big feet padding around the house, the smell of sausage and boiled potatoes coming from her kitchen. He missed the children’s laughter, the questions about their schoolwork they asked before they toddled off to bed.
Those had been happy years. Now his family was scattered across Russia like seeds in the wind. Tasha was now buried alongside his son, Orloff. Irina and Aksandr, had families of their own.
Getting up from his chair, Popov turned on the portable television in the living room. American TV bored him, except for the educational channel.
Capitalism was disgustingly hedonistic. Unlike the hard work required in the Communist system, the lazy, indulgent lives the Americans lived brought out the worst in a man.
He believed in the Marxist ideal. Nikolai would do everything in his power to help the country he loved attain the greatness it was meant for.
No matter the cost.
Jake paced the floor of his hotel room. It was almost midnight. For the first time in twenty years, he wished he had a cigarette. If the sonofabitch didn’t contact him soon, he was going to track him down through the Russian Embassy. He wanted these attacks on his people stopped and stopped now!
Jake paused. Who the hell was he kidding? Aside from telling Daniel about the incidents, there was nothing he could do. If he did, Daniel would be forced to take whatever action he felt necessary to protect the team. Jake’s mother and sister would suffer as surely as he breathed.
If he didn’t tell Daniel, someone on his team might get killed. Either way, Jake would lose. Unless he could convince Popov to stop.
What did the Russian want? Why the attacks against the team? It was a miracle the police weren’t already involved. Popov must have known the risk, yet he didn’t seem to care. Why not? Was he that confident of his scheme?
Frustrated and needing a breath of air, Jake grabbed his coat and headed out the door, careful to leave by the stairs instead of the elevator, checking to be sure he wasn’t followed. It was seven o’clock in Washington, time to call Daniel. From a pay phone several blocks away, Jake placed the call to his friend. It rang four times before Daniel answered.
“Jake. I was in the shower.”
“Hot date?”
“Hardly. I’m going over to see my mother. Not exactly the old me, is it?”
“No girlfriend?”
“To tell you the truth, I haven’t been with a woman since Marie died. I’m way overdue.”
Jake smiled sadly. “I know the feeling.”
“Any news?” Daniel said.
“That’s what I called to ask.”
“Nothing much. Our people have your sister and mother under surveillance. Your family looks fine. We don’t think they’re aware of what’s going on. Our man in the Kremlin should be checking in sometime tomorrow. Call me this time tomorrow night.”
“Will do. Say hello to your mom for me, I always liked her.”
“She’s still as feisty as ever. Take care, Jake.”
Jake rang off wondering about his own mother. Was she old and stooped, or as full of life and vigor as Daniel’s mother had always been? And his sister? What of Dana? How had she survived the years?
He returned to his room heavy hearted. The phone rang just seconds after he walked in.
“Ah, Comrade, a man of the evening, I see.”
At the sound of the rough voice, Jake steeled himself. “Just out for a late-night snack,” he lied.
