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Siddiqi gave Ethan a look like he’d just got away with murder and been crowned beauty queen, all in one go. He winked and reached for Jack’s thigh.
Jack grabbed his wrist and stopped him.
“Oh fine,” Siddiqi sighed. He glared at the ceiling. “There was a rumor,” he finally said. His voice was low. “About a program the Soviets had. A weapons program they were working on to unleash on the Americans. It would destroy your entire country, the rumors claimed. It was the usual doomsday excitement.” Siddiqi sniffed. “It got lost in all the other rumors and stories about Soviet weapons programs and war games. I only heard traces of it, and only after I bought a research journal from a Soviet bioengineer who was running away after the fall of the USSR. But in the margins, there were scratched-out notes referring to a lab that didn’t exist. Test results from reactors that weren’t on any records. To grow the kinds of viruses you’d need forthat,” he said, nodding to the photos, “you’d need the best bioreactors. Isolation. A safe zone on all sides. If you’re cooking death, you can’t spill it on your apron, or you’ll destroy your own nation in the process.”
“What else? Tell me everything.”
“There were stories about an incident right before the Soviet Union fell. Something terrible, something that made the anthrax spill in Sverdlovsk look like a bit of pollen in springtime. The rumors said the Soviets had unlocked the doors of Jahannam—Hell—and had taken something from Satan himself.
“I tried to chase these rumors, Jack.Once. I was following that journal from the Soviet scientist and trying to retrace his footsteps. Trying to find the lab that didn’t exist. Find this virus from the Devil’s own hand. Do you have any idea how much money I could have made with that?”
Jack said nothing. Ethan snorted, loudly.
Siddiqi started to unbutton his shirt, the shifting of silk the only sound in the room. Welby and Ethan moved together, Welby reaching for the weapon under his suit jacket as Ethan grabbed Siddiqi’s hand and pinned it back against the settee’s cushions.
“Down, boy,” Siddiqi snapped. His other hand pulled his shirt open.
A mangled, star-shaped scar ruined his skin, spread like rot above his heart. “This is what I have to show for my search, Jack. A 7.62 Russian sniper round through my chest. It missed my heart and my shoulder, or I would have lost my arm—or been killed instantly. But the bullet’s cavitation shredded a septum and threw off one of my valves. It’s my dirty little secret, and now you know, too. I’ve been outrunning heart failure ever since that day in Russia. I’ve been living on borrowed time for decades. Only MI6 knows. Not even your CIA was told.” He yanked his hand free from Ethan’s hold and buttoned up his shirt. He glared at Ethan. “You’ll get your wish soon, boy.”
Ethan couldn’t find it in him to weep. But he stepped back, no longer looming over Siddiqi or ready to grasp him by the throat and pin him down while Welby got Jack out in a hurry.
“What makes you think what killed this man—” Jack nodded to the photo again, “—is this rumored Soviet disease?”
“There’s nothing else it could be,” Siddiqi said softly. “Whatever killed that man crawled out of Hell.”
* * *
8
Johnson Space Center
Houston, Texas
“So… where is he?”Mark leaned into Sasha’s shoulder as they waited side by side, watching the families of the newly ascendent astronaut corps mingle in the reception tent set up at Rocket Park.
Sasha was going to fly apart. His muscles quivered like violin strings. A tuning fork would wail around him. He kept his hands locked behind his back, feet spread, shoulders drawn tight to stop himself from trembling. “Flight delay,” he grunted. “They were late coming out of Moscow.”
Blyad, they were actually going through with it.
Sergey had promised him everything would work out. He’d donned disguises before, changed his appearance for FSB operations. He knew how to lay false paper trails, disappear from the grid. Hepromisedit would be fine. “We managed an insurgency, Sasha,” Sergey had said. “I think I can slip off to Houston for a weekend and come out all right.”
President Puchkov, according to Kremlin press releases and his official published schedule, was in a weekend retreat at his dacha studying domestic policy issues and the recent wave of arrests of corrupt officials at midlevel positions within Sakha and the Far East. He was locked in with Ilya Ivchenko, his FSB chief, on strategic discussions.
And one Sergey Ivchenko had been registered for NASA’s Family Day, Sasha’s plus-one.
NASA promised to keep his partner out of the media. Sasha’s brother was coming, too, a surprise to everyone—including Sasha, who never knew he had a brother and had never mentioned him to anyone. He kept a straight face as Sergey told him Ilya insisted Mikhail and Yuri tag along, one of them pretending to be Sasha’s brother for the weekend. Sergey needed some form of bodyguard protection, even if he was deep undercover.
Sergey, Mikhail, and Yuri were flying one of Ilya’s private FSB jets to Houston. Not even the consulate knew about their visit. They would be there from Friday to Sunday and then jet back to Moscow on the red-eye.
Was it excitement or nerves that blitzed through Sasha? Was it exhilaration? Or was he going to puke again?
Would he hug Sergey when he arrived? Would they stand a little too close together? Would the others be able to tell who Sergey was to him? Mark and Dan knew, and Dr. Worrell. How far would he and Sergey go? Howoutwas he going to be in public? In front of his colleagues? His commanders?
Mark checked his watch. “We’re going to start the first part of the tour. We’re twenty minutes behind schedule already.”
Sasha nodded. “Yes, of course. Is fine.” Sergey had been delayed out of Moscow thanks to an urgent phone call from the Duma about trade negotiations with China and the bilateral science and technology agreement partnering their technical industries. China had pushed ahead into space technology as Russia had waned, and now Russia had an aging infrastructure that needed upkeep and China had the technical expertise after a decade of its own successes. It made sense to partner up for the future, though not everyone in the Kremlin agreed.
The last he’d heard from Sergey, their jet was coming in over Arkansas and almost ready to start its descent toward Houston.
