CHAPTER 36
Stephanie rode in the backseat of an unmarked palace car headed out of Stockholm for Uppsala.
It sat about fifty miles north, Sweden’s fourth largest city, long serving as the country’s ecclesiastical center and the seat of the archbishop of the Church of Sweden.
It also accommodated Scandinavia’s largest cathedral, where every Swedish monarch up until the nineteenth century was crowned.
She’d made some calls to people within the SVR, contacts she’d long cultivated.
Friends? Not really. More professional acquaintances.
Men and women who occasionally needed favors.
Nothing treasonous. Just things their superiors demanded, and others could help deliver.
And what she’d learned surprised her.
They sat at a table in the Café Norden, nestled close to an open second-story window. She, Cotton, and the Russian, Ivan. Outside, Copenhagen’s H?jbro Plads vibrated with people.
“The tomato bisque is great here,” Cotton told them both.
Ivan rubbed his belly. “Tomatoes give me gas.”
“Then by all means let’s avoid that,” she said.
She realized that, to Cotton, her presence here, on this beautiful day in Denmark, signaled nothing but trouble. Which was not far off the mark. Her association with Ivan definitely compounded the situation. She knew Cotton’s position on working with the Russians.
Nothing but trouble.
The café tables were crowded, people drifting up and down from a corner staircase, many toting shopping bags. Cotton had to be wondering why they were talking in public, but figured she knew what she was doing.
“What’s going on here?” Cotton asked.
“I learned of Cassiopeia’s involvement with Lev Sokolov a few days ago. I also learned about Russia’s interest too.”
“You killed those two men I was after so we’d have no choice but to deal with you,” Cotton said to Ivan. “Couldn’t let me learn anything from them, right?”
“They are bad people. Bad, bad people. They deserve what they get.”
“I didn’t know that would happen,” she said to him. “But I shouldn’t be surprised.”
“You two acquainted?” he asked her.
“Ivan and I have dealt with each other before.”
“I not ask you to help,” Ivan said. “This not concern America.”
“Cotton,” she said. “Cassiopeia has involved herself in something that is much bigger than she suspects. China is in the midst of an internal power struggle. Karl Tang, the first vice premier, and Ni Yong, the head of the Communist Party’s anti-corruption department, are about to square off for control.
We’ve been watching this battle, which is rapidly escalating into a war.
Like I said, I became aware of Cassiopeia’s entrance a few days ago.
When we dug further, we found Ivan was also interested—”
“So you hopped on a plane and flew to Denmark.”
“That’s my job, Cotton.”
“This isn’t my job. Not anymore.”
“None of us,” Ivan said, “want Tang to win. He is Mao again, only worse. You Americans nose into my business. Then want to tell how we do it.”
“The other side may try to contact me again,” Cotton said.
“I doubt that’s going to happen,” she said. “When Ivan decided to improvise, he may have sealed Cassiopeia’s fate.”
Cotton glared at Ivan. “You don’t seem concerned.”
“I am hungry.”
The Russian caught the attention of a server and pointed toward a plate of r?get in a glass-fronted case, displaying five fingers. The woman acknowledged that she understood how many of the smoked fish to bring.
“What do you want me to do?” Cotton pointed at Ivan. “Sergeant Schultz here knows nothing, sees nothing, hears nothing.”
“Who says this? I never say this. I know plenty. And I love Hogan’s Heroes.”
“You’re just a pain-in-the-ass dumb Russian.”
The stout man grinned. “Oh, I see. You want to anger me. Aggravate, yes? Big, stupid man will lose temper and say more than he should.” He waggled a stubby finger. “You watch too many CSI on television. Or NCIS. I love that show too. Mark Harmon is tough guy.”
The server brought the five fish, smelling as if they’d just been caught.
“Ah,” Ivan said. “Wonderful. You are sure you not want any?”
She and Cotton shook their heads.
Ivan chomped down on one of the fish. “I will say this concerns big things we do not want the Chinese to know.”
She glanced outside.
Cotton’s bookshop stood across the sunny square.
People streamed in and out the front door, more swarming about like bees around their honeycombs.
She knew he loved the store and his new career as a bookseller.
Over the past two years he’d gained a reputation as a man who could find whatever collectible you wanted.
Similar to the dozen years when he was one of her best agents. Always delivering.
“I’m going to Antwerp,” Cotton said. “To find Cassiopeia.”
Ivan was devouring another fish. “And what to do when you get there? You know where to look?”
“Do you?”
Ivan stopped chewing and smiled.
Bits of flesh had lodged between his brown teeth.
“Oh, yes. I know where Vitt is.”
So much happened in Antwerp and later in China.
The world changed. Enemies became friends and vice versa.
The Café Norden was now gone. Out of business.
She’d loved that place. Danny Daniels was no longer president.
The current administration was no friend.
Lots of hostility and mistrust. But all those years ago Cotton did his job.
So had Cassiopeia. Both survived. And Ivan?
Like Cotton had said, a royal pain in the ass. But he did his job too.
Now Ivan was here in Sweden.
“What is he doing here?” she’d asked her Russian contact on the phone.
“Under normal circumstances we would not even be talking. So I certainly would not answer a question such as that. But this is not a normal circumstance.”
Nothing about that had sounded good, and the next words that had come to her ear seemed worse.
“Listen carefully.”