A Raging Storm

“Vyshaya mer,” Lebedev said, which translated to “the highest measure of punishment.” It was when a condemned man was taken into a room, made to kneel, then shot in the back of the head so that his face was blown away and made unrecognizable. It was part of the Stalinist tradition.

“You have not even told me where the gold is located,” Lebedev said, “and we are like brothers, closer than brothers. Why would you share your secret with some stranger just because he arrives with a letter?”

“Do you take me for an ass?” Petrov asked.

“No, my friend.”

“Then don’t treat me like one,” Petrov said. “I will talk to this Mr. Mason tomorrow, but I will tell him little, or nothing, until I learn what he has come to offer us.”

“I say we screw the Americans. Nad is loyal to you. Let her get the gold. Do this on your own.”

Petrov patted Lebedev on his shoulder. “And what happens when her loyal hired guards see mountains of gold before their eyes? Billions within reach. Can they overcome the temptation? Only men who believe in a greater cause can be trusted to recover the gold. You can’t buy honor or loyalty. That’s why I need the Americans. They will not betray their own country.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Novo-Ogaryovo (President’s Residence)

Moscow, Russia

resident Barkovsky generally ate after nine o’clock Moscow time, in the company of his closest friends and young female playthings. But tonight he was dining alone and watching two men slugging and kicking each other in an Ultimate Fighting Championship event on cable television, in a private dining room adjacent to his bedroom. He’d just finished a pirozhki stuffed with boiled meat and sautéed onions when his chief of staff entered.

“We’ve just heard from our friend,” Mikhail Sokolov said.

Barkovsky motioned Sokolov to sit, which he did, as the president refilled his wineglass and poured one for his guest.

“These American fighters are nothing,” Barkovsky said, pointing to the television screen. “One of our Vympel soldiers could kill any of them with one quick blow. If I were not a president, I would fight in the ring myself and show these American bastards what real men are made of.”

He took a large gulp of wine and asked, “What does our friend have to tell us?”

“Petrov had visitors in England today. An FBI agent and a man posing as a U.S. State Department employee.”

“CIA?”

“Probably. But we have not been able to identify him.”

“And what was the purpose of this visit?”

“The FBI suspects Petrov of assassinating Senator Windslow.”

Barkovsky gave his aide a toothy grin. “This is excellent.”

“The CIA man, however, asked to speak privately with Petrov.”

The president put down his fork and wiped his fingers on a satin napkin. “And what did this stranger tell Petrov?”

“Our source did not know specifics. But it was about finding the gold.”

Without warning, Barkovsky slammed both fists onto the dining room table and uttered an expletive. “Do the Americans understand what this means?”

“I’m certain the CIA will cover its tracks if it helps him. There will be no evidence that we can use.”

“How is that possible? Aren’t our officers as clever as Langley’s drones? Tell London that we must identify this stranger. Now!”

Barkovsky let out a loud sigh. “Why do we still not know where the gold is hidden?”

“Petrov refuses to tell anyone, even Lebedev, his closest friend and advisor. And no one knows how he found where the treasure is hidden. Our friend says that Petrov is going to meet with the FBI agent and stranger tomorrow after he speaks in Oxford at a rally.”

“What rally?”

“About the journalist killing.”

Barkovsky waved his hand threw the air, dismissing it. “Let them demonstrate — in Oxford. Who cares about the goddamn British?”

For a moment, he didn’t speak. He was considering his options. “No one knows how Petrov found the location of the gold. He has refused to tell anyone where it is hidden. But now it appears that the Americans might be about to help him find it. This changes everything. We cannot risk having it fall into Petrov’s hands.”

He was pensive for a few more moments and then added, “If we kill the Americans, they will simply send someone else. That leaves me only one other option. If Petrov will not talk, then he must be killed. Better that his secret dies with him than to have the Americans learn where the gold is hidden.”

“There have been attempts on his life already and all have failed.”

A smug look appeared on Barkovsky’s face. “Do you think I am that inept? If I wanted him dead, he would be dead. Those attempts were meant to make him share his secret with someone else in case he was killed. But I underestimated his ego. Petrov is willing to go to his grave with his secret. So now it is time to let him!”

“If Petrov dies,” Sokolov said, “you will never know where the bullion is hidden.”

“That’s not true,” Barkovsky replied. “If he discovered it, there must be a way for us to learn it, too. It will simply take more time.”