“If you say so.”
“Where is he now?”
“In the backseat of my SUV, having a staring contest with Kane. I had to get some air. Listen, Harper, if Anya is the brideprice to get Bukolov out of the country, that’s fine, but let’s make sure she’s real before I head to Kazan. That’s a good seven-hour drive from here.”
“Agreed. Give me her full name.”
“Hang on.” Tucker opened his door. “Doctor, what is Anya’s last name?”
“Bukolov, of course! She’s my daughter. What kind of question—?”
Tucker straightened and spoke to Harper. “You heard?”
“I did.”
The professor added, “She works at the Kazan Institute of Biochemistry and Biophysics. She’s quite brilliant, you know—”
Tucker slammed the door, muffling Bukolov’s ramblings.
On the phone, Harper said, “I’m on it.”
Bukolov rolled down the window a few inches. “Apologies. How forgetful of me. Anya took her mother’s surname—Malinov. Anya Malinov.”
Harper heard that, too. “Got it. Name’s Malinov. What’s your plan, Tucker?”
“In the short term, to check into a motel. It’s almost midnight here.”
Tucker waited until Bukolov had rerolled up his window. He took a few additional steps away before broaching a touchier matter.
“Harper, what about Utkin?”
The lab tech continued to remain on the short list of potential leaks—but were such breaches accidental or done on purpose? Tucker trusted his gut, along with his ability to read people. He found nothing that struck a wrong nerve with the young man, beyond simple naïveté.
It seemed Harper had come to the same conclusion. “Our intelligence can find nothing untoward about Utkin. He seems as honest as they come.”
“Then maybe it was a slip of the tongue. Something said to the wrong person. By Utkin . . . or maybe even by Bukolov. That guy seems a few fries short of a Happy Meal.”
“I’ll keep looking into it. In the meantime, I’ll dig into this Anya business overnight and get back to you by morning.”
With the call done, he led everyone to the hotel for the night, booking a single room with two beds. Tucker parked Kane at the door, knowing the shepherd would keep guard for the night.
He half dozed in a chair, while Bukolov puttered around the room, muttering and complaining before eventually unwinding. Around one in the morning, he sat down on the edge of the bed. Utkin was already asleep in the other.
“I’m sorry,” Bukolov said. “I’ve forgotten your name.”
“Tucker.” He nodded to his partner. “That’s Kane.”
“I must say your dog seems well mannered enough. Thank you for coming to get me.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Did they tell you about my discovery?” Before he could answer, Bukolov shook his head dismissively. “No, of course not. Even I didn’t tell them, so how could they know?”
“Tell me about it.”
Bukolov wagged a finger. “In good time. But I will say this. It is monumental. It will change the world of medicine—among other things. That’s why they’re after me.”
“The Arzamas generals.”
“Yes.”
“Who are they?”
“Specifically? I don’t know. They’re too crafty for that.”
Tucker stared across, sizing the other up. Was this guy suffering from a paranoid delusion? A persecution complex? Tucker fingered the healing bullet graze in his neck. That certainly was real enough.
“Then tell me about Anya,” he said.
“Ah . . .” Bukolov’s face softened, holding back a ghost of a smile. “She’s wonderful. She’s means everything to me. We’ve been working in tandem, the two of us—at a distance of course, and in secret.”
“I thought Stanimir was your chief assistant.”
“Him? Hah! He’s adequate, I suppose, but he doesn’t have the mind for it. Not for what I’m doing. Few people do really. That’s why I must do this myself.”
With that, Bukolov kicked off his shoes, sprawled back on the bed, and closed his eyes.
Tucker shook his head and settled into the chair for the night.
Bukolov whispered, his eyes still shut. “I’m not crazy, you know.”
“If you say so.”
“Just so you know.”
Tucker crossed his arms, beginning to realize how little he actually knew about any of this.
March 13, 6:15 A.M.
Kungur, Russia
Despite the discomfort of the chair, Tucker slept for a solid five hours. He woke to find both of his charges still sleeping.
Taking advantage of the quiet moment, he took Kane out for a walk, let the dog stretch his legs and relieve himself. While they were still outside, Harper called.
“Anya’s real,” she said as introduction.
“I don’t know if that’s good news or bad.”
If Anya were a figment of the good doctor’s imagination, they could get out of Dodge immediately.
Harper continued. “We were able to confirm there’s an Anya Malinov working at the Kazan Institute of Biochemistry and Biophysics, but not much else. A good portion of her file is redacted. Kazan’s not as bad as the old Soviet-era naukograds, their closed science cities, but large swaths of the place do fall under the jurisdiction of the Ministry of Defense.”
“So not only do we need to go to Kazan, but I have to extract this woman out from under the military’s nose.”
“Is that a problem?”
“I’ll have to make it work. Not like I have a whole lot of choice. You asked me to get him out of Russia, and that’s what I intend to do—him and now his daughter apparently. Which presents a problem. I’ve only got new passports for Bukolov. Not for Anya. And what about Utkin, for that matter? He wouldn’t survive a day after we’re gone. I won’t leave him behind.”
He flashed to Abel, panting, tongue lolling, tail wagging.
He wasn’t about to abandon another teammate behind enemy lines.
Harper was silent for a few seconds. Even from halfway around the world, Tucker imagined he could hear the gears in the woman’s head turning, recalibrating to accommodate the change in the situation.
“Okay. Like you, I’ll make it happen. When do you plan to go for Anya?”
“Within twenty-four hours. More than that and we’re pushing our luck.”