Siberian Treasure

Page 7

“Nora!” Roman burst into the lab she called her own.
Looking up from a flat-screened computer monitor, Stegnora removed black-rimmed glasses and made to rise. “Roman. What is it?”
Shooting his gaze onto the two other men in the room, Roman replied, speaking to them, “Leave us.”
Brilliant men they were, in more ways than one. They stood and hurried from the room, one pausing just long enough to snatch up a small, hand-held device so he could finish his work elsewhere.
Roman shut the door behind them to ensure privacy and stalked across the room, turned, and stalked back. “An incredible breach of security at one of the test sites. It’s put the whole operation in jeopardy; in fact, our whole existence.”
Stegnora remained silent, but she came from around the ovary-shaped table to stand closer to him.
“I just received communication from Varden, in which he reported that shortly after the detonation in Allentown, during the first wave of response to the destruction, a number of papers were found blowing about the site, all with the symbol of Gaia on them.”
“How—how could that be?” Well past fifty, Stegnora was still a beautiful woman. Although her figure was not as slender as it had been when they met at university three decades ago, she was still fit and in shape. Her unlined face and startling blue eyes made her look much younger than her years; her eyelashes were still thick and full and her mouth wide and sensual. She wore her wavy hair cropped short, and over the years it had faded from a chestnut brown to a silvery gold that, although natural, looked as though it had been created by a talented hair colorist.
“Hedron! I know he has somehow planned it to sabotage this operation. He will bring all of us down, destroy us all with his power-hungry machinations!”
“Were the papers found? Is there any indication that the authorities—“
“Varden handled it. He destroyed all of the ones he could find and believes there is no danger of connection between us and the detonation—at this time. The authorities believed the symbol belonged to a local group of trouble-makers. The Out-Worlders haven’t any indication that it was our prompting that caused the earthquake. Yet.”
“It was very prudent of you to send Varden to the test sites, then. As much as you needed him here.”
“He’s the only one I can trust completely. And Fridkov, of course. Hedron’s sons … .they must be involved in this at some level—I am certain of it.” He felt his brows drawing together much too tightly, and he took a deep breath to relax them. “The Out-Worlders could never make the connection of us to the symbol of Gaia. With the elimination of Medivir, there is no one who even knows of our existence.”
But even as he spoke those words, he knew them to be untrue. One look at Stegnora, their eyes locking in sudden understanding, and he felt another surge of tension settling at his temples.
“Marina is marked with the symbol. Surely Viktor has told her what it means. And she is not the only one who would know. Or who might remember.”
“Fridkov has been charged to bring her to us. He will.” Roman wheeled and stalked toward the shaded window on one of the few exterior walls in the compound. Yanking on the white cord, he pulled it open and looked out on the grey water tossing white caps and pointed waves in rhythm with the wind. Cold and furious was the sea today. “As for the other … no one can ever find us unless we choose to be found. And the time is not yet right for that, Nora.”
“I don’t disagree. Roman—“
“This is confidential information—regarding the breach. You will share it with no one. Varden has done what they call damage control, and I don’t expect any problems to come of it. But I will take no chances. We can’t undo the problem; if a connection is to be made, we must be prepared.”
“No one can find us, Roman, you’ve made certain of that.”
“That is true. It’s impossible. But a counterpoint must be made. I’ll not sit here and wait; we will move up the timeframe for Phase Two. Fifteen days, Nora. We will execute in fifteen days.”
“Fifteen days? Roman—“
“Fifteen days. If you can’t handle this, I’ll find someone who can. Varden.”
“I’ll manage it,” she said quickly.
“Of course you will. And by then, Marina Aleksandrov will be reunited with her father and there will be no one to stop us.”
-8-
July 5, 2007
Ann Arbor, Michigan
Marina Alexander stumbled through her front door, arms laden and aching. She was exhausted, dirty, and sore, but the trip had been a success.
Her team of dogs and their handlers had located and helped pull five live finds from the earthquake in Terre Haute. On the fifth day after the quake, when they were forced to shift the search and rescue effort into a search and find operation, only one person out of two hundred had remained unaccounted for.
Marina dropped her duffel, backpack, and cooler on the floor and bent to accept Boris’s ecstatic kisses. His tail beat wildly against the wall in the narrow entry-way, and though he was too well-trained to jump up on her, the German Shepherd’s wriggling dance made it clear it was only with the greatest of efforts that he curbed his enthusiasm.
“Settle down, Boris,” she laughed as he finally succeeded in upsetting her balance, dumping her butt-first onto the tiled foyer. “You’re going to rip your stitches!” He would have accompanied her on the search and rescue operation if he hadn’t been recovering from minor surgery.
Marina pulled back to her feet and, grabbing the stack of mail that consisted of at least five catalogs, jabbed a finger onto the blinking light on her answering machine. Probably a solicitor. Everyone important knew to use her cell number, because she never knew when she might be called to a rescue.
She’d left for Terre Haute on Saturday morning, less than twenty-four hours after the quake had struck, demolishing the AvaChem plant. She had arrived on-site by early afternoon. From then on, it had been four days of climbing, clambering, shifting, and stumbling through the ruins of the plant, searching for anyone who might be alive. Her own technique was hampered by the absence of Boris, but she’d worked with another canine whose handler had been injured on the first day. Now, home at last, early Thursday morning, all she wanted was a hot bath, a glass of wine, and something substantial to eat … then sleep, on a real mattress.
Oh, please, sleep!
“Marina, this is Manjiri Prikash speaking.” The cultured, feminine voice blared through the answering machine, grabbing Marina’s attention from her half-baked perusal of the latest Pottery Barn catalog. Manjiri was a colleague who lived and worked in various locations of India, Pakistan, and Myanmar, and while they regularly communicated by email and instant messaging, they rarely spoke on the telephone. “I hope you are well, and I am sorry to call you on your home telephone, but I have some difficult news. The Royal Cambodian Government has issued a statement that the Lam Pao Archive must be returned to them by the 15th of July. This means we have less than two weeks to examine the manuscript and validate its historical accuracy before it is gone.”
“Ten days!” No way. Not now. She was teaching the summer half-term in two weeks. Blasted governments and their politics. This could only be a reaction to the little tussle between the University of Chicago and Yangon last year.
She and Manjiri had expected to have at least six months before Cambodia started making a fuss about wanting the ancient Buddhist manuscript—the one that had been missing for two centuries, the one that Marina and Manjiri had helped Myanmar archaeologists locate—back in their control.
Ten days to finalize the greatest achievement of her career? In the best of circumstances, it would take a month of study to complete the project.
And now she would have, at the most, barely a week.
Forgetting her exhaustion, she dropped the catalog and snatched up the phone, dialing the familiar number of her favorite airline. She’d just have to get herself to Mandalay as soon as possible and finish what she could.
Damn.
Just as she was making her selection—“For international travel, press three”—her cell phone rang. Marina tucked the landline phone between her ear and shoulder and grabbed the small one with the tinny ring.
“This is Marina.”
“It’s Bruce. Marina, we need you over here in PA. We’ve got a missing caver in the Allegheny North Coal Mine. Can you come?”
“I thought they closed it to cavers last summer,” she said, dropping the landline phone onto its cradle and launching to her feet. She could call the airline later … once she figured out how long this rescue was going to take. Adrenaline rushed through her as she grabbed up her still-packed gear and started for the door. She’d call Dawn later to come and take care of Boris.
“They did. But somehow these two guys got in here, and one of them’s been missing for five hours. How soon can you get up here?”
“Yep. Already on my way out the door—I just got back from that quake site in Indiana and still have my gear packed up. Boris can’t come, though. He’s still recovering.”
“Aw, shit, Marina, I didn’t know you were down there, though I should have expected it. But it’s a nine-hour drive over here—”
“And a ninety-minute flight in my P210 from Ann Arbor to State College. I’ll be there by lunch if all goes well.”
“Marina, you must be exhausted—”
“Maybe … .but at least I’m not lost or injured in some cold, dark cave. I’ll be there, Bruce, don’t you worry.”
-9-
July 5, 2007
Langley, Virginia
Colin Bergstrom didn’t consider himself a particularly lucky man.
In fact, he’d had enough unfortunate and downright bad things happen in his life that he figured Lady Luck wasn’t on his side in any way, shape or form.
But today, something beyond his comprehension of “coincidence” and “luck” occurred, and gave him an opportunity he’d never dreamed he’d have. A second chance.