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But here he was again, working against the main adversary, defending the motherland. Fulfilling his oath. So many had dedicated their lives to that endeavor. Tens of millions more had given their lives for the same reason.
It couldn’t all be for nothing.
He heard again his wife’s plea.
“Don’t waste your life.”
“We shall do this together,” he said to Kelly.
“That we will, comrade.”
* * *
Cassiopeia thought she was an independent person. Her parents raised her to be strong. But a part of her liked the fact that she felt safe and comfortable with Cotton.
Was that weakness?
Not to her.
She’d saved Cotton in Canada, as he’d done for her many times before. There was something to be said for trust, an element sorely lacking in her previous relationships. She assumed Cotton had experienced a similar lack with his ex-wife, whom she’d come to learn was once quite difficult but now much more manageable. She’d like to meet that woman one day. They had lots to talk about, and she’d love to know more about Cotton’s past, a topic he discussed only in tiny doses.
Seeing Stephanie Nelle at the White House had, at first, been difficult, but they, too, made their peace. She was relieved that the rift between them had not yawned into a chasm. Too much was happening here to allow events that could not be changed to interfere with clear thinking.
What’s done was done. Now was what mattered.
She liked to think she was a pro. Definitely, she possessed experience. And as she and Cotton drove deeper into the dark Virginia countryside she wondered what awaited them.
Success?
Or disaster?
That was the trouble with cheating fate.
The best odds on the table were only fifty-fifty.
* * *
Zorin felt the snow as it hit his face then tingled away. Everything was so much wetter on this side of the Atlantic Ocean. He was more accustomed to the dry, Siberian variety that fell in abundance from mid-September to early May. Not much of a summer graced Lake Baikal, but he’d always enjoyed the few weeks of fleeting warmth.
He hated the feeling of getting old, but he could not escape or disguise the impressions his body was beginning to force upon him. The jump from the plane had taxed him to the max. Thankfully, he would never have to do that again. For so long the lights upon which his ambition seemed founded gleamed in isolation. Over the past few days they’d changed to definable bright bulbs, strung together, himself the cord that would prevent them from extinguishing.
But he could not escape the doubts.
That was another thing age had brought, which youth ignored.
Reflection.
He kept pace with Kelly as they walked across a drift of loose shingle, boots digging in, legs laboring. He wore his coat and gloves and held the shovel they’d bought earlier. He was careful with his steps, aware of the fragility of ankles and the price of stumbling. Kelly toted a shopping bag with some of the items they’d bought. The sledgehammer, bolt cutters, and hasp lock had been left in the car. Apparently, they were not needed here. They each carried a flashlight.
“I took control of this property long ago,” Kelly said. “It was fairly isolated then, nothing around for miles. Still is, but in the 1980s there was even less out here.”
He’d seen only a few farmhouses and even fewer lights on the drive.
“It’s titled in a different name, of course. But I pay the taxes and the power bill.”
The last part caught his attention.
“All this time?” he asked, as they kept walking.
“It was my duty, Aleksandr. We’re not talking about a lot of money. The power is barely used.”
Kelly stopped.
Ahead he saw where the trees gave way to a darkened clearing, where the hulks of what appeared to be a farmhouse and barn could be seen.
“It’s not in the best repair,” Kelly said. “But it’s livable. What attracted me was a hidden extra the previous owner installed. He was a veteran of the last world war, a bit eccentric. Quite a character.”
The air chilled him, but he took in the draft and allowed the cold to cleanse his lungs.
“He was terrified of nuclear war,” Kelly said. “So he built a bomb shelter.”
Now he realized why they needed a shovel.
“That old man died years ago. The KGB covertly took ownership from him and planned to use this as a standard cache. But once I saw it, I knew it was perfect for Fool’s Mate. So I was given control.”
Alarm bells rang in his head. “Then there could be a record of this place.”
Kelly considered the inquiry a moment. “I suppose there could.”
Memories of what happened on Prince Edward Island filled his brain. He came to full alert and found his weapon.
Kelly nodded, understanding the implications, and gripped his gun, too. “It was so long ago, Aleksandr. Maybe it’s been forgotten. And even if they know of the property, they’ll not find the hidden shelter.”
He wasn’t comforted. They’d found Kelly, so why couldn’t they find this place, too?
“And don’t forget the booby trap,” Kelly said.
Zorin motioned for them to advance, checking his watch, the luminous figures swimming as his eyes focused on the glowing circle of numbers.
10:40 P.M.
They should hurry.
Only 13 hours to go.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
Stephanie entered the Justice Department, the night doors staffed by the usual security teams. She’d come and gone a thousand times at all hours and the personnel there knew her on sight. She’d wondered about Litchfield. The SOB had sat smug during the presidential summit, speaking only when spoken to, but demonstrating exactly where his allegiance lay. Danny, though a lame duck, had clearly established who was still in charge. After Cotton and Cassiopeia had left she’d asked him why he did not just fire Litchfield and be done with it.
His answer was trademark Danny Daniels.
“It’s always better to have your enemy in the tent pissin’ out, than outside pissin’ in.”
Two hours later when a call came from Litchfield, asking her to meet with him, she’d begun to understand that wisdom. What could he possibly want? But Danny had insisted she go, saying “Don’t argue with an idiot, he’ll only beat you with experience.” Little was happening at the moment anyway. Cotton and Cassiopeia were off to Virginia to deal with Zorin, and Luke was somewhere, she wasn’t sure where, as he hadn’t reported in. She tried once to contact him but the call had been immediately directed to voice mail. She was curious about what the president general of the Society of Cincinnati had to say. Danny’s question about the group’s interest to the former Soviet Union was a good one.
She found Litchfield in his office, alone, working before an assemblage of books and paper. Interestingly, here he wore rimless spectacles that gave his eyes a more singular, intense look.
“Please, have a seat,” he said to her, his tone noticeably different.
She accepted his offer.
“I want to apologize,” he said. “I’ve been an ass. I realize that. The president slammed me in my place back at the White House, and rightly so.”
She checked her watch. “At 10:00 P.M. on a Saturday night, on the last day of the administration, you’ve finally realized who’s in charge?”
“President Fox climbed my ass, too. He said to either work with the team or get out. And the team still includes Daniels.”
“So contrition has been forced upon you.”
“Okay, Stephanie, I deserve that, too. I get it. I’ve been rough on you. But we have a serious problem here, one that I think I can help with. We are, after all, on the same side.”
You could’ve fooled her. But Danny had also told her, “Turn on the vacuum cleaner, sucking in far more information than you let out.”
“I’ve been reading about the 20th Amendment and the 1947
