The Kremlin Phoenix (7 page)

Craig waved him off. “That’s OK,”
he said, then hurried to the booth where he found a man sitting upright with
his head slumped forward. “I’m Balard . . .” He began, then realized the man
was staring blankly at the table.

Craig slid into the booth beside the
dead SK officer. He felt for a pulse and discovered the welling red smear on
the man’s shirt. Craig glanced around quickly, ensuring he wasn’t being watched,
then searched the dead man’s pockets. He found a wallet and a cell phone, both
of which he slipped into his own pocket without looking at them.

“Craig Balard, don’t leave by the
front door,” Mariena said from behind him.

He spun around startled. She
stood with her back to him, facing an empty table. Craig stood and took a step
towards her, staring at the side of her face, more curious now than surprised
that she couldn’t see him.

“Who are you?” he asked, but she
showed no sign of hearing him.

“I know you were there when Yegor
Demidoff was killed. If you can hear me, do not go out the front door, or you’ll
be killed too. Go out the back and turn left. Remember what I said, turn left. It’s
the only way I can help you!” She turned her head and stared straight through him
– at someone else. “What was his time of death?” She listened for a moment,
then spoke to the empty table again. “You’ll be killed in less than one minute!
Get out of there now!”

“What the hell are you talking
about?” Craig asked, then he looked to the front of the cafe and locked eyes
with Nogorev, who was peering in through the window, staring straight at him.

Craig turned and ran towards the
back of the restaurant. Nogorev charged in through the front door, pushing
Giorgio Romano aside and knocking a waiter to the ground as he raced towards
the rear of the restaurant. He saw a woman standing beside the booth, facing an
empty table, and swept his arm at her, intending to knock her aside. Instead, his
arm passed right through her as if she wasn’t there. He stumbled off balance, confused
for a moment, then the woman vanished.

Only a few meters away, Craig
burst out into the alley behind the restaurant. The sound of traffic drew his
attention to the right, towards the main road, then he remembered Mariena’s instruction
to go left. He hesitated then ran left, down the alley towards a narrow side
street.

Behind him, a holographic wall
appeared across the alley, too high to climb, perfect in every detail: graffiti,
grime, shadows, chipped concrete and flaking paint. The wall created the
illusion that the alley came to an end, and the only direction Craig could have
gone was right. When Nogorev charged into the alley, he sprinted to the right
without a second thought, towards the main street where he was certain he would
find Craig.

A block away, Craig ran through
back streets, thinking the assassin was close behind him. Soon he reached a
road, waved down a cab and climbed in. When the cab drove off, his heart sank
as he remembered the table had been reserved in his name, linking him to the
murder.

“Where to, buddy?” the driver
asked.

“Just drive around Central Park
for a while.”

“What?” The driver gave him a confused
look.

“Central Park,” Craig said
sharply.

The driver shrugged. “OK, it’s
your money.”

The cab pulled into traffic and
began doing the long circuit around Central Park as Craig examined the dead man’s
wallet. It contained a few hundred dollars and a small identity card with a
picture of the dead SK officer wearing a light grey business suit. The writing on
the identify card was in an unintelligible foreign script. He turned his
attention to the cell phone. It was a cheap prepaid device with only two
numbers in its call history, one of which was his work number. He was tempted
to call the other number, but the taxi driver would have heard every word.

He gave the driver his office
address and pocketed the cell phone until he could call in private.

* * * *

Nogorev used a burner cell phone to
call the offices of Goldstein, McCormack & Powell. He was furious with
himself for losing contact with Craig Balard, unable to understand how his
quarry had disappeared so fast.

When the receptionist answered, Nogorev
said, “Hello. I have a letter to send to Mr Balard, but I don’t know his full
name. Could you tell me what it is, please?”

“Yes of course, sir. It’s Craig
J. Balard. He’s not in right now, but if you’d like to leave a message, I’ll
have him return your call.”

Nogorev hung up, then dialed a
number in the Russian Embassy. He read out a recognition code, then said, “I
want the address of Craig J Balard, New York City.

“I have a C. J. Balard sir,” The
operator said, then read out Craig’s number and home address.

“Put a trace on that phone. I
want to know every call made from that number.”

“Yes, sir.”

* * * *

Captain Ridley had a ruddy complexion
and a nose for politics. When Harriman and Woods entered his office, he
introduced them to a well dressed man in his early forties. “This is Bill
Corman. He’ll be working with us on the Goldstein McCormack case as a civilian advisor.”

Corman acknowledged the two
detectives with a short, businesslike nod as he shook hands.

Ridley motioned them to seats in
front of his desk, then turned to Harriman. “When will your report be ready,
Rick?”

“I can give you an update this
afternoon.”

“I’d like to tell the press we
have a solid lead, and are expecting to make an arrest shortly.”

Harriman shook his head. “I
wouldn’t do that, Captain. We don’t have much to go on, and we’re not planning arrests
anytime soon.”

“I’m getting heat from the
Commissioner. Those murdered lawyers had powerful friends who want answers. We
need to wrap this up.”

“I can’t promise anything yet,”
Harriman replied carefully.

“What about the warehouse you
raided this morning?” Corman asked. “Did that produce any results?”

Harriman raised his eyebrows
curiously, wondering how this civilian knew about the warehouse. “Not yet, but
we’re working on it.”

Ridley looked puzzled. “What’s
this about a warehouse?”

“We’re following a lead. It might
be a dead end.” Harriman turned to Corman. “So, what’s your interest in this
case?”

“There are a number of agencies
involved,” Corman replied carefully, “with overlapping interests, and I
represent them all.”

“Agencies? Which ones?”

“Take your pick,” Corman said
evasively. “The important thing is to find those MLI documents.”

Harriman hid his surprise that
Corman knew about MLI. “Don’t you mean, catch the murderer.”

Corman smiled. “Finding both is
not incompatible.”

Ridley sensed the tension rising
in the room. “I’ve been requested by the Commissioner to ensure Mr Corman is
rendered every possible assistance by our department,” Ridley said, ensuring
Harriman understood there was a political dimension to Corman’s arrival.

“I understand your Dr Chaing has
a microchip he wants analyzed?” Corman said. “Possibly a foreign sourced
device?”

This time Harriman couldn’t hide
his surprise. “That’s right.”

“He doesn’t need to use back
doors or personal connections. I’ll make sure his request for assistance is
given the highest priority.”

Harriman realized Corman was not
just helping, he was making sure Harriman understood he wielded a power that
could open any door they needed. “Thanks, I’ll let him know.”

“I’m here to help,” Corman said.
“Also, if you recover the MLI files, you’re to hand them all to me.”

Harriman frowned. “This is a
murder investigation, and those files are evidence. I can’t just hand them over
to you.”

Corman glanced at Ridley, “Tell
him Captain, what he can do.”

Ridley swallowed. “Rick, Mr
Corman has full authority. If he wants a box of files, that’s what he gets.”

Harriman’s surprise now turned to
open irritation. “The hell it is!”

Ridley raised his hand, silencing
Harriman’s protest. “There’s nothing I can do about it. This comes from . . .
very high up.”

“OK, let’s talk to the
commissioner–

“He has no more power over this
than I do.”

“Am I still in charge of the
case?” Harriman demanded.

“You’re in charge of the murder investigation,”
Ridley said carefully. “However, if your interests and Mr Corman’s conflict,
his interests prevail.”

 “What the Captain is trying to
say,” Corman said, “Is that your investigation is of interest to the Federal
Government. I’m here to make sure you get every possible assistance, and we get
. . . the outcome we’re looking for.”

“What outcome are you looking
for?” Woods asked.

“All I can say is this case has
national security implications, and that is not something you can discuss
outside this office.”

“I see,” Harriman glanced at
Ridley. “Is that all, Captain?”

“For now. Send your report through
as soon as it’s ready.”

“I will.” Harriman walked out,
closely followed by Woods.

Once out of earshot of Ridley’s
office, Woods whispered, “Weird how Corman knows everything we’re doing.”

“Not so weird. That son of a
bitch has got us bugged. Our office, forensics, probably Ridley’s office.”

“No way,” Woods said, looking
around uncomfortably. “Really? Is he allowed to do that?”

“You heard him, it’s national
security. That means he can do anything he damn well wants.”

“Are we going to help him?”

“We have no choice,” Harriman
said, cooling off. “Who knows, he might actually be doing something important.
But, if you’ve ever got anything confidential to tell me, ask me if I want
coffee and doughnuts, and we’ll go for a walk. Then we’ll decide what to tell
him.”

Woods grinned. “I like doughnuts!”

* * * *

Craig locked his office door, pulled
the dead SK officer’s cell phone from his pocket and called the unknown number.

“Hello, Yegor?” A woman answered
anxiously. “I was getting worried.”

Craig waited, unsure what to say.

“Yegor, are you there?” she
asked.

“Yegor is dead.”

There was a stunned silence, then
the woman said, “Who is this?”

“Craig Balard.”

“You killed him?”

“No, he was dead when I got there,
but I saw the man who did it. He was a big guy, well built, really short hair.
Kind of tough looking.”

“I’m surprised you escaped.”

“I can still make the trade.”

“It will have to be tomorrow.”

“I just need to know one thing,”
Craig said, “did you murder Goldstein and McCormack?”

“No!” she snapped. “We are not
killers.”

“Who did?”

“Probably the same man who killed
Yegor. And now that he knows about you, you’re in danger. You need to disappear
for a while.”

“That’s a little inconvenient
right now.”

“I will contact you with an
address where we can meet.”

“OK. What’s your name?”

“Valentina.”

“Valentina Petrovna?” he asked,
surprised.

“How do you know my name?” she
demanded suspiciously.

Craig sighed, shaking his head in
confusion. “It’s a long story. All I can say is, I think I’m supposed to give
you this file, but only if you tell me what happened to my father.”

“I’ll tell you what I know,” she
said, and hung up.

* * * *

August 10, 2276

“You found another death certificate?”
Wilkins asked.

“Sort of,” Mariena said. “It’s the
same day, just a different time and location.”

“So you failed?”

“Not quite. I delayed his murder.
This is a new event, in a different timeline. That’s why I have to try again.”

“But if you go to these new temporal
coordinates, you’ll only be giving him a few minutes.”

“We have no choice,” Zikky said.
“It’s the only location we can identify, where we know he’ll be. We have to
time it close, or we’ll miss him.”

“Suppose he ignores what you tell
him?” Wilkins asked.

“Then he’ll be dead,” Mariena
said.

“He’s clearly listening to her,”
Zikky said emphatically. “The last reset proves it. We know he wasn’t killed in
the restaurant.”

“Let’s hope he keeps on listening
to you,” Captain Wilkins said, “For our sake, as much as his.”