Sands of Time Read Online Free PDF Page B

five time zones away.
    “Sir, Irkutsk has three known decommissioned reactors. I just want to sniff around—”
    “Not with Irkutsk in flames.” Malenkov gestured past Roman, through his open door to the office area where Channel 13 played gruesome pictures of the chaos in Irkutsk. Roman felt oddly nauseated as the reporter listed off the casualties. Seven. And a missing Governor Kazlov.
    Please don’t let one of those casualties be Sarai.
    “Novik, you’ve torn so many holes in our reputation out here, Moscow has me filing reports every time anyone even breathes. Which means that if you so much as sneeze wrong, I’m up to my armpits in whys. It’ll take me a year to unravel the snafu you made in America, and it’s been suggested you might do some sitting time in Bekin. And I don’t mean as a prison guard.” He shook his head. “If you show up on the wrong radar, I’m going to be cleaning toilets with my toothbrush. So, not only are you not going to Irkutsk, I want you in this office, every morning, with a smile on your clean-shaven face.” He leaned forward on his desk, years of experience in the KGB in his say-so expression. “And don’t think I won’t know if you jump the next plane for Irkutsk—I’m not that stupid.”
    Roman coiled his response into a small, tight voice. “And, just what am I going to do from here? I thought we were about nabbing these guys. And don’t tell me Moscow wouldn’t smile at that.”
    “Last time I looked, we had most of the gadgets they do back in America—a telephone, a fax machine, even e-mail. Amazing, no?” Malenkov sat, picked up the telephone. “Dig up everything you can find on where this guy has been, and why. Then, when you come back to me withsubstantial leads, in written form, I might consider a trip to Irkutsk, with a babysitter. ”
    He turned his attention to the victim at the other end of the telephone, dismissing Roman with a nod. Roman rose, frustration biting at the back of his neck. Probably, David was just jumping to conclusions about Sarai.
    Right?
    I can’t get her on her satellite phone. And it’s only going to get tighter over there. Roman, I’m asking you as a friend…
    Roman strode out of the office, leaned against the wall, arms akimbo, watching the fires crackle behind the news reporter on screen. “Governor-elect Bednov, while still mourning the death of his son, Sasha, has initiated martial law procedures for the region…”
    Martial law? And, more importantly, how did David Curtiss know about it before the FSB did?
    Roman didn’t want an answer to that question. Not really. He was just happy that David was speaking to him.
    Sorta.
    Staring at the images on the screen, Roman felt his chest tighten. Please, God, don’t let Sarai be in the middle of that mess.
    “He’s in the morgue,” a voice said behind him. Roman turned to see Vicktor striding up. “Utuzh has scheduled him for a mandatory autopsy in the morning. He has no next of kin, and his emergency contact was listed at Alexander Oil. They’re sending a man over later to ID him.” Vicktor had his hands shoved into his leather jacket, and fatigue weighed on his face.
    “Who?” Roman asked, trying to get a fix on something other than the image of Sarai in one of those burning buildings. Last he heard, she was in the Irkutsk region, but he thought she was serving in some remote village. There was no good reason she’d be in the city. None.
    Except, of course, for her propensity to not listen to good advice and charge ahead into the danger spots in the world. They—her family, her friends—had all breathed a sigh of relief when she’d accepted the assignment in Siberia.
    As if freezing to death might be a better alternative to being shot in Somalia. Or kidnapped in Chechnya. Or tracked by the MSS in Beijing.
    Yeah, loving Sarai was a real picnic.
    It might be easier if she loved him back, just a little. But she’d dumped him. A smart man might remember that. Still,