CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“Are we certain they didn’t track the call?” he asked Peter.
“The men handling our technology assure me there is no possibility of tracking, sir.” Vasily nodded at him. “We can’t find the girl anywhere. There’s no sign that she took a commercial flight anywhere, no trains or buses. It’s as if she vanished.”
“She didn’t vanish but she won’t be found,” said Vasily. “We’ll find other students, other brilliant young minds that we can mold. My brother was helpful but he should have sent me young people willing to do this work for us. I didn’t need those who didn’t see the wisdom in what we’re doing.”
“Shall I prepare your bags?” asked the man.
“You can do that later,” said Vasily. “We’ll leave tomorrow evening. I have a few things I want to get done here before we go home.”
“Home,” smirked Peter. “It seems such a long time since we were home.”
“Yes, it does my friend,” nodded the older man.
Peter had been his son’s best friend, following him anywhere.
On the day he was killed, he’d been told to go to a different house by one of the men in charge.
If he’d been there, he would have saved his son, he just knew it.
With Peter’s father gone, he saw him as a step-son and the most trusted man in his organization. He would do anything for him.
In fact, he’d done just about everything for him. Killed two wives that had served their usefulness. Killed men in his organization that no longer served a purpose or could be trusted. Found him women willing to do anything for one night for a tidy sum of money.
Yes, Peter had been there for him and was now overseeing almost his entire operation.
It occurred to Vasily that when he died, Peter would be the man he left everything to. There was no one else.
As he had that thought, another floated into his mind. The Jordan man. He looked like a young man but was not. How? How was it possible that a man in his sixties or seventies could look so very young. Perhaps this man, Jordan, had a secret better than his brilliant granddaughter.
Peter came back into the room with a tray of food, two Russian newspapers, and a carafe of vodka. Vasily laughed at the younger man.
“You know me well, old friend,” he chuckled.
“It’s my honor to know you well, sir.”
“Peter? When we go home, is there someone waiting there for you? A wife, girlfriend? Do you have children?” he asked. He should have known these things but as long as his men were devoted to him, he didn’t really care.
“No, sir. I had a wife. A very long time ago.”
“You’re divorced?” he asked.
“No. I killed her.” Vasily froze for a moment. Killing his own wives because it was ordered was one thing. Killing your own wife without order was something different.
“What did she do?” he asked, assuming it was the woman’s fault.
“She threatened to expose you to the government and to a man she met at the U.S. embassy in Stockholm. She said she could not live with a criminal and a killer. I told her that was unacceptable and I killed her. I disposed of the body and that was that.”
“Peter, were you not upset by this?”
“I was upset because when I killed her, I killed my daughter. That’s all.” He turned, leaving Vasily to stew on his words. As he stared at the plate of cabbage, carrots, beets, and corned beef, he was reminiscing about home as well.
First he would kill the Jordan man, or have Peter kill him. Then he would make arrangements to return home and find others who would willingly follow his dream. Russia was full of brilliant minds. He would just find those young minds and ensure that his dreams were fulfilled.
Staring out at the icy cold water of the bay, he knew that just a short flight would take him over the Pacific Ocean, then the Beiring Sea, and finally, home.
“I will avenge you, my son. You will feel the satisfaction from where you stand in heaven.”