Prologue (18 page)

“Of course, sir.”
Igor leaned forward. “Couldn’t we just arrest the lot, sir?”

Petrovchenko tilted his head back and roared aloud. “Or have
them
all killed? We could use our Comrade Nikitin for that, I suppose.
Given her training at the academy and all.
No, Igor,” he continued returning his focus, “
we
can’t do that. This is why I’m in charge and you are not. First of all, who do we arrest or kill? Do we get them all? If we miss one he or she will become more secretive, recruit others, and eventually try again. If you have ants in your house you must get the nest. And do not kill any ants until you have followed them back and discovered where the nest is. Do you see?

“I suggest improving the quality of the reports you put on my desk, Igor. If that means putting your foot up this Natasha’s ass, be my guest.
If that means assuming personal supervision of the operation that wouldn’t be a bad choice either.”

“I understand,”
Rostov
said.

“Do you?” Petrovchenko asked, leaning back in his chair. “Tell me Comrade, do you think I have forgotten how a good operation should be run?”

“Of course not.”

“Do you take me for a fool?”

“Of course not,” Igor repeated, starting to squirm.

“Let me tell you something, Comrade Rostov,” Petrovchenko said, leaning forward again and jabbing with his finger. “I know very well how to run an operation of this type. In my younger days I ran many operations like this one. Your Comrade Nikitin is an insolent bitch. And I knew very well how to deal with problems like the one you are having here with her. Do you think me too old now to still do that?” Petrovchenko asked accusingly.

“But Comrade,”
Rostov
protested, “the Descendants, as they call themselves, are not like the older generation of resisters and anarchists. They are very careful.”

Petrovchenko snorted. “Yes, Comrade, but I am careful too.
Very careful.
You don’t get to my position without being careful and always having a back-up plan. One must know how to get around the Descendants, just as you should know how to get around this Comrade Nikitin if she is not doing her job, or doing it for someone else, no?”

“Of course, Comrade,” Igor agreed.

“As a matter of fact, I’ve been thinking, it might be good for your career, for your future with the agency, to get in a little more field work,” Petrovchenko said, suddenly becoming more friendly. “They say
Boston
’s lovely this time of year.”

“They do,” Igor agreed, relieved at the change in the conversation’s tone.

“I notice you were once posted in
Boston
.”

“That’s right,” Igor agreed again.

“I imagine you’d like to get back, it might make a more effective meeting with your Comrade Nikitin. Why don’t you go for a few days? I’ll personally see that you get rooms at the
Copley
Plaza
, it’s said to be the finest hotel in the city.”

“The Copley?”
Igor asked. “I’d appreciate that, sir.”

“Yes, well, we like to keep our best men happy. I think if we can pull together on this
Boston
operation we can give your career quite a boost,” Petrovchenko said.

“Yes sir, I agree sir.”

“Absolutely,” Petrovchenko beamed. He checked the paper calendar on his desk. “Why don’t we say in a couple of weeks after you finish up with that problem in
Chicago
? Would that be enough time to prepare?”

“That would be fine, sir,” Igor added, almost as an afterthought.

“Grand. I’ll have Stasha make the arrangements. Make sure that you leave a list of ongoing operations you’d like me to keep an eye on in your absence,” Petrovchenko said.

With pleasure, Igor thought as he smiled, shook the man’s hand, and left.

Wednesday July 22, 2026

“Natasha, Igor here, no doubt you’re out sampling the finest French restaurants in Boston while we gnaw on dried beets back here in Yeltsengrad. I’ll be in
Boston
at
noon
two weeks from this Saturday, so do please pick me up at the airport. And do pack your bags. I’ve decided to transfer you to the
Charles River
apartment. I think you should be closer to the action. I’m convinced something’s going to blow soon. Having you–”

“Igor!” Natasha picked up the phone. “Serious? I’m moving to the
Charles River
place? No strings attached?”

“You mentioned vodka?”

“All you want.”

“If that’s the best I can get.”

“You wouldn’t like me,” Natasha said. “I can’t cook.”

“Neither can my wife,” Igor said. “Two weeks. Write it down.” He hung up.

The
Charles River
apartment.
Natasha punched the pillow as she sank back on the bed. Hot damn!

In his Yeltsengrad office
Rostov
tapped his pen on the desk. His ears were still ringing from the blistering Petrovchenko’s superior, a man he knew only as Vanya, had given him when he learned Natasha was in
Dorchester
. Whoever her patron is up in the hierarchy he’s sure watching out for her, he thought.
Must remember that.

Chapter 11

Friday, July 24, 2026

“All right.
What happened with the chronometer?” Lewis asked.

Paul looked around the Friday night crowd at The Marbury, an off campus nightclub, and put his hand over his mouth to start talking.

“Hold your glass up,” Amanda said.
“Looks less suspicious.”

Paul held his glass up–and stared past Amanda at the crowd. Out on the dance floor the college crowd was jamming the too small parquet floor while the older patrons–and Paul ruefully put himself in that category–kept to the surrounding tables.

“That’s one way to keep them from listening in, don’t say anything,” Lewis said. “Come on Paul, it’s clean.”

“Natasha,” he announced, putting his glass back down.

Lewis turned to look. Natasha came by the table with Nigel.

“Rather a surprise seeing you here, didn’t know this was your cup of tea,” Nigel said as he shook Lewis and Paul’s hands. Natasha smiled at them and at Amanda. Lewis and Paul smiled back. On the giant video monitors The Rolling Stones Experience kicked off a 65
^th
Anniversary tribute tour from
Phoenix
.

“Professor Hutch’s birthday, so we thought we’d surprise her,” Lewis said.

“Surprised?” Nigel asked her.

“Quite.”

“Cheers, and happy birthday,” Nigel said to Amanda as he led his date back out on the dance floor.

“Cheers,” Amanda said, wiggling her fingers at them. The three watched as the pair boogied to the far side of the dance floor.

“Well, fancy that,” Lewis said. “Think she’s on to us?”

Paul shrugged. “This is the hep spot, if they’re going out they’d probably come here.”

“I don’t know,” Lewis said, drumming his fingers on the table along with the Stones. “It’s strange. I’m convinced she’s probably Agency.”

“How do you become convinced that something is probably the case?” Amanda asked mischievously.

“Well, she’s Russian. She lands in our department just when we start up on this for real. But on the other hand she does live in some hellish part of
Dorchester
.” Lewis kept his eyes on the pair as they began dancing on the floor.

“
Dorchester
?”
Paul asked.

“Would the Agency ever put anyone there?” Amanda asked.
“Especially a number like that.
Plus, her educational background’s legit.”

Lewis stared momentarily at Amanda and appeared about to speak when Paul interrupted him.

“Anyway.”
Paul held up his glass to his lips as he told them that the day before he’d sent the chronometer back to 1923, kept it there until 1933, and brought it back. “It worked perfectly.”

“Hot diggety dog,” Lewis said. “This calls for a drink.” He hoisted his whiskey and took a long hit. When he was done he exhaled approvingly, momentarily studied his raised glass, and then put it down. He turned to Amanda.

“Paul tells me you have something for us.”

Amanda nodded. “It’s the Cuban Missile Crisis,” she said. “That is the pressure point. That changed everything.”

Paul finished his drink. “The event we need to undo?”

“If you’re looking for a one-shot strike, something that can be accomplished by two or three people, I can’t think of a better place to intervene,” Amanda said.

“Why?” Paul asked.

Amanda sighed. “In 1962 the
United States
had, hands down, the best military in the world. The Soviets didn’t even have a navy. Not one to speak of anyway. They had a Communist government in
Cuba
that Eisenhower approved being overthrown in early 1961 with an invasion by a ragtag group of Cuban expatriates trained by the CIA. But Kennedy got elected and wouldn’t commit American air power to support the invasion. Without air support the whole campaign fell apart at the invasion point known as the
Bay of Pigs
.”