Black Harvest (The PROJECT) (4 page)

SVR was Russia's equivalent of the CIA, but operated with none of the restrictions that hampered Langley's operations. It carried on the old KGB tradition of espionage and assassination abroad. Not much ever changed about state security in Russia except names and technology. It had been that way in the days of the Czars. It would be that way tomorrow.

There were eight departments in the SVR. Deputy Director Alexei Ivanovich Vysotsky ran Department S, which included an Operations Department. The Operations Department in turn included an elite Special Operations Group known as Zaslon. Zaslon did not officially exist.

All Zaslon personnel were Spetsnaz, the best fighting men in Russia. Every member of Zaslon was trained for specialized foreign assignment and spoke at least three languages. Every member had demonstrated superior performance in a variety of secret military units. All had proved their courage under fire. They were fiercely loyal to the Rodina, the Motherland.

Zaslon was the sword of the Motherland. No enemies of Russia survived when Zaslon went looking for them.

Internal security within the Federation was handled by the FSB, the
Federal'naya Sluzhba Bezopasnosti,
headquartered at the old KGB headquarters in the Lubyanka east of Red Square. One area of friction between SVR and FSB concerned the growing power of the criminal gangs. The gang bosses controlled too much of Russia's wealth. Their wealth was manipulated from within the country, which made it FSB's problem. But gang operations extended far out into the world. As far as Eastern and Western Europe. As far as America. That made it Alexei's concern.

Sometimes carefully planned operations against the gangs went wrong, especially when operations concerned Zviad Gelashvili. General Vysotsky suspected a leak in the Lubyanka. Gelashvili was getting too powerful. He had become a danger to the Motherland. Alexei was determined to take him down.

Vysotsky was a genuine patriot. With the new administration things were changing. Alexei had high hopes. Hopes for a Russia reborn, without corrupt criminals shaping the future. A Russia respected and feared by the world.

Alexei was a handsome man in an elegant and menacing way, but he hadn't gotten where he was on good looks. Nor was it his ruthlessness. That went with his job. What had carried him to his position of power was instinct, a real sense for feeling out danger to the Motherland.

In his hands he held a report from an agent embedded deep in the American NSA. The report concerned the deaths of three scientists in America. As he read, the top of his skull tingled.

On the surface it didn't appear to be a security threat. Yet it was odd that all three were top researchers in the study of viruses. The report provided a translation of the cuneiform tablets and noted the possible connection to Alexander's treasure. It speculated that the killings might have been motivated by greed.

Not obviously a threat. Yet he had that tingle, that buzz of warning on the top of his head. Alexei always paid attention to that tingle. He decided to follow up on the report.

CHAPTER SIX

Afternoon sun poured over a set of glossy pictures spread out on the L-shaped kitchen countertop in Nick's apartment. The pictures were of a new luxury condo for sale near Du Pont Circle and the Convention Center in downtown D.C. A glass of Cabernet stood close by Selena's hand. Nick poured a fresh Irish whiskey. It was his third. He had a good buzz going. 

Selena pointed at a photo. "The building has a great workout center. There's a pool on the roof. The price is good, too."

Nick read the price, discreetly printed near the bottom of the page. Seven figures, financing available. Three bedrooms, three baths, "well appointed kitchen", pantry and an enormous living room. The condo had a view that almost reached to the Rockies.

If Selena decided to buy it, she could write a check. It reminded Nick of the unbridgeable money gap between them. It hadn't come up much until now. The beautiful polished floors and sweeping views in the pictures made him feel his middle class roots to the bone.

"A bargain. Must be the lousy economy."

If Selena caught the irony in his tone she didn't show it.

"Now that I'm in D.C. all the time I thought I should get something permanent. Those rooms at the Mayflower are nice, but it's always been a temporary thing."

"What about your place in San Francisco?"

"Oh, I'll keep that. I love it. I'll pull a few of the art pieces and lease it out. I know someone who can handle that for me. I'm not using it now, but I don't want to let it go."

Some of the art pieces she referred to were priceless. One was a Paul Klee original. Nick supposed it would look as good in Washington as in San Francisco. He liked Paul Klee. He glanced at the reproduction Klee hanging over his couch. That one had cost ninety-nine dollars, ninety-five cents. Plus shipping.

"I think it's nice. I like the pool on the roof thing."

Selena picked up her glass, sipped. She watched him over the rim. "We could live there together."

"What's wrong with the way it is now?"

"We spend a lot of time running back and forth to each other's places. Why not make it simple? This is a beautiful place. It's near everything, it's got good security and it has a private garage. I get two parking spots."

Nick studied the view from the window. "It is nice. You should buy it if it's what you want."

"You don't want to live there with me." It wasn't a question. He heard the disappointment in her voice.

"It's not that."

"Then what is it?"

He turned to her. "It will change things between us. And it would always be your place."

"It would be our place. We can make it our place."

With two cats in the yard
, he thought. A ghost of Megan. But Megan was gone. Why was he fighting the idea?

"I've got my habits. You have yours. You really think we can live together without messing it up?"

"We're never going to find out if we don't try."

Nick stared out the window. His own view wasn't bad. "It's not the habits, or whatever."

She waited.

"Look at what we do. God damn it, Selena, I'm afraid you'll get killed. Like Megan. I can't do that again."

"I'm not Megan."

"No, you're not." He stopped and started again. "When that bomb was going to go off, I thought how I hadn't told you how I felt."

She didn't have to ask which bomb. She wanted to ask him what he meant. She kept quiet.

God damn it, why was it so hard to say? What was he afraid of? If he said the words, things would change.
He clenched the glass. Pain stabbed him behind his left eye.
The hell with it
.

"I love you, Selena. I haven't said that to anyone since Megan." 

She froze, the wine glass half way to her lips. The words were an electric wave through her body. She realized she'd thought he'd never say it. Now he had.

"It took a bomb to make you say that? You haven't told me because you think I'll get killed?"

"Yes."

Selena set her glass down on the counter. "That's about the dumbest thing I've ever heard you say. What if you get killed? How do you think I'd feel about that?" She  took a breath. "If we love each other, we should live together."

"So you love me."

"Nick. You are so fucking dense, sometimes."

She reached up and kissed him, a long, deep kiss. "Do you get it, now? Yes, I love you."

After a minute she backed away, her thoughts running into each other. One step at a time.

"What about this place?" She gestured at the pictures spread out on the counter.

Nick glanced at the pictures. Too many thoughts. "It's expensive."

Her uncle had been a very wealthy man and he'd left a lot of it to her. Nick never asked her about it. She never talked about it. She did now.

"I can afford it. Some of the money my uncle had went south with the economy. Some of it is tied up in the courts. The Chinese are being difficult about his investments over there. The rest is invested here. Half the interest goes to charity and I live on the other half. It's enough."

"It doesn't feel right. I'd have to pay my share."

"Does that mean you want to do this? Move in together?"

Nick felt a headache coming on. Maybe he ought to find out if it would work or it wouldn't.

"I'm not sure. Let me think about it."

"You don't have to be so enthusiastic."

He set his glass down and put his arms around her waist. "I can be enthusiastic."

The kiss tasted like wine. A few minutes later they were in the bedroom.  The clothes came off and they fell on the bed. He kissed her, held her to him, felt the warmth of her, the beat of her heart, her breasts under his chest. He ran his fingers through her hair, over her body. She grasped his buttocks, squeezed.

"Nice," she whispered, her breath warm in his ear. He entered her.

They took a long time together. Somehow making love to her felt different. Maybe it had been the words.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Elizabeth Harker considered the implications of the murders. The killings were coordinated within 24 hours of each other. Only an organized group could pull off something like that.

The full team except for Lamont Cameron was assembled in her office. Lamont was at Bethesda undergoing a final check on his arm, shattered by a bullet in Khartoum months before.

Ronnie Peete was back from a week on the Navajo Reservation. He had on one of the
H
awaiian shirts from his collection. This one was black, with white plumeria blossoms all over it. Subdued, for Ronnie.

Ronnie's skin was light brown with a hint of red. He had dark brown eyes that could spot a rabbit in the desert glare where others saw only rock and cactus. His tracking skills were legendary in Marine Recon. His large nose could have graced a bust from ancient Rome. Ronnie was broad shouldered, narrow hipped, 180 pounds of rock hard sinew and muscle.

Elizabeth picked up her pen.

"Selena, how are you coming with the translation?"

Selena wore a sleek tailored outfit of some green material that shimmered when she moved. The clothes looked comfortable. Harker wondered how she did it. Sometimes she felt a twinge of jealousy.
No one should look that good. I bet she can't cook
, she thought.

"It's done."

"And?"

"One part is a partial accounting of the treasury of Darius III. It mentions gold and silver coins, gold statues and the golden urn. The urn is supposed to contain the curse of the Greek goddess Demeter in her wrathful aspect. Alexander told someone called Aetolikos to escort the treasure back to Greece and return the urn to Demeter's temple. He gave him part of the treasure as a reward."

"Nice pay, if you can get it. A piece of the greatest treasure in history. What's the curse of Demeter?"

"That's spelled out in the other part. It's a fragment from a long epic of the period, a variation on the story of Persephone's descent to the underworld."

"Wait a minute." Nick interrupted. "Who's Persephone?"

Nick wore a light sport jacket of gray, a dark blue shirt and black slacks. No tie. Casual. He didn't look either casual or relaxed. He looked like he was wound tighter than spring steel, but he always looked like that. Elizabeth could tell by the way he moved that his back was hurting again. It had been that way on and off since the jump into Tibet.

"Persephone is Queen of the Dead, the daughter of Demeter. She was kidnapped and raped by Hades, king of the underworld. Sometimes she's linked with sexuality and war. The black horse on the urn was one of her symbols. It's where the word nightmare comes from."

"Sex and war, that figures. They kind of go together."

"You're hopeless." Selena shook her head. "There were a lot of bad consequences from the rape."