Page 29 of What is Lost

“I see.” Though his tone suggested otherwise. “I am sorry we were…ehrm…delayed.” His English was good, but his Russian accent was so thick, he could’ve been an extra in a Sean Connery Bond movie. “The van had a few…mmm…what would you call them?Mechanicaldifficulties. But Parviz has repaired.”

At the sound of his name, the small guy’s thin lips peeled back in a smile that revealed a mouthful of what looked more like rotten tent pegs driven into a bog. “He does not speak English well, which is perhaps to your benefit,” the bluff guy confided then offered a hand as large as a bear’s paw. Even his huge knuckles and the back of his hand were furred. “I am Ustinov. Alas, no…mmm…how do you say, nofamily?”

“What?” Davila asked.

“You mean norelation?” John said. “To Peter?”

“So, youknow?Very good!” Ustinov beamed. In contrast to Parviz, his teeth were large, very white, and very even as if someone had implanted two boxes of Chiclets. “Yes,him, that is correct. We have a…mmm…how do you say? Aspiritualconnection.” Ustinov shrugged. “It’s a good name.”

“Yes, it is.” John would also bet good money that Ustinov was about as real a name for this man as Child was for him and King for Davila. A Russian now in the mix was also…interesting. On the one hand, the Russians were supposed to be gone. On the other, theyhadoccupied Tajikistan for a long time.

There was, of course, a third consideration. If this mission, whatever it turned out to be, was spook-driven, Ustinov might be KGB. Nothing was entirely secret, especially in these days of drone intercepts, AI, and deep fakes. So, anything waspossible. The real question was, why would the Russians help retrieve an American’s remains? Something did not add up. But what was it?

Interesting, too, that the guy figures I’ll get the joke.This implied that Ustinov knew of John’s fondness for old flicks andthatmeant someone, somewhere, had a pretty extensive file on him.

Andwhywas that?

Davila raised a hand. “Seeing as how I’m kind of in the dark here, is anyone going to tell me who this non-relative is?”

“Peter Ustinov was an actor. British. Famous but not Taylor Swift-famous. More like…” John searched for a comparison. “ABBA-famous.”

Davila frowned. “Who’s ABBA?”

“Exactly,” John said. “Anyway, Peter Ustinov died about twenty years ago.”

“Thisis what you do with your downtime? Watch old movies no one else in the universe knows?”

“I have seen only a very few of his movies,” Ustinov said. “They are, how do you say…” The Russian put a thick forefinger to his lips. The hairs on his knuckles were like tangles of copper wire. “Ah, yes,classics.” He gave Davila an expectant look. “You like classics?”

Davila shrugged. “Terminatorwas good.”

“Gotta agree,” John said.

“Yes, yes!” Ustinov laughed hard enough hisbelly jiggled. Throw in a little snow, change his clothes, dye the hair, add a beard...the man could be Jolly St. Nick. “Icompletelyagree. Though the sequel was far…mmm…superior. Did you know this was Schwarzenegger’s favorite?”

“Yeah? I don’t think that crossed my radar,” John said. “Which of Peter’s did you like?”

“Let me think.” Ustinov cocked a single eyebrow then offered John that dazzling smile. “His teeth are the best thing about him.”

He instantly recognized the line and the film. “That’s an old one all right. Good choice, though.”

“What?” Then Davila flapped a hand. “You know, forget it. You guys have fun.”

“We’re bonding.” To Ustinov: “Did you know that Kubrick disowned that film?”

“Really?” Ustinov’s bottle-brush eyebrows arched for his hair line. “ButSpartacusis a splendid film. Why was Kubrick unhappy?”

“The way I heard it, everybody on-set was fighting with everybody else. Laurence Olivier and Charles Laughton despised each other. Kubrick also didn’t like the screenplay or have total control over the shoot. Once it was released, John Wayne tried to have it banned from theaters.”

“Finally, an actor I know,” Davila said. “Why would Wayne do that?”

“Because of Dalton Trumbo.”

“Who was Trumbo?”

“Writer. Screenplays, mostly, and one really famous book.”

“Which one?”

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