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“Same thing.”
Ilya snarled as he flipped through Dr. Mendoza’s photos. He froze as he took in the bloody, horrifying remains. He brushed a thumb over the empty eye sockets and the pool of blood-soaked putrefaction beneath the corpses. “What does she suspect about this… outbreak, you said? It is only these two bodies?”
“Two that we know of. Dr. Mendoza suspects the villages that were destroyed had more cases but that someone is covering up the deaths. She called us to see if we could find out whether this was an accidental infection and isolated outbreak with possibly an… overzealous regional government response. Or—”
Ilya had let his cigarette burn to ash while he flipped through the photos. He pulled out another, lighting it and sucking down the smoke in a long, slow drag. Jack watched his hands.
They were trembling. He hid their shaking as he grasped the photos, as he turned pages, as he busied himself with smoking and reading Dr. Mendoza’s report. Ilya was a career FSB officer. He was Sergey’s best friend, but he also represented the full might of the Russian Federation, the machinery of the state, and the power of secrets.
If there was anyone who could know about what was happening—and who could keep it from Sergey—Ilya was at the top of that very short list.
“Or?” Ilya grunted. He looked up and met Jack’s stare. His dark eyes were locked down, like iron curtains had fallen behind their shine.
“Dr. Mendoza suspects possible human experimentation. Virus incubation. Testing. Crimes against humanity.”
He saw something, deep in Ilya’s gaze. A flicker of recognition followed by a spark of fear. It died as fast as it appeared, disappearing in the haze of cigarette smoke wafting between their faces.
“This does not explain why you are here in Tomsk,” Ilya growled, slapping the folder closed. “Or talking to Dr. Sevastyanov. Unless you’re here for her epidemiological expertise.” He eyed Jack as he finished his second cigarette.
“Our investigation led us to suspect there was a possible hidden Soviet biological weapons lab in Siberia. Something off the books and long closed down. We thought we might have found it in Uchami, an old settlement in the Evenkiysky District. It’s off the maps now. We only found it in records from the fifties.”
“And what did you find in this old Siberian settlement?” Ilya scoffed.
“Mass graves,” Ethan snapped, jumping into the back-and-forth. “About two dozen bodies, judging by the skulls.” He kept going, even as Ilya went moon-white. “And in a separate grave, the skeleton of a man with a Soviet military uniform andthis.” Ethan pushed the Soviet medal and General Sevastyanov’s name tag to Ilya. “Tell me, did General Sevastyanov ever receive this medal? He’s not listed in the thirteen public recipients.”
Ilya’s mouth moved, but nothing came out. He exhaled slowly, his breath a mixture of smoke and ash and old coffee, and the smell of traveling, a body constantly on the move, never resting. Of exhaustion and sleepless nights and endless days. His shoulders slumped as he fingered the medal. “There is a nonpublic list. And yes. General Sevastyanov is on it.Blyad. So, his body is in the earth,da?”
“Not according to his daughter. She says she saw him a month ago, and the bodies we found were older—much older. Didn’t you speak to her yesterday about him?” Jack asked
“Briefly. She was angry I didn’t know about her missing person’s report. I was looking it up when you called.” Ilya shifted, crossing his arms as he pursed his lips. “You seemed to get more out of her.”
“It may be an American expression, but you can often catch more flies with honey than vinegar.”
Ilya rolled his eyes so hard he might have sprained something. “Yet you know nothing of this missing person’s report either.”
“No. But we were able to work with what we had.”
“You mean you excel at American bullshit.”
Ethan opened his mouth, eyes slitted, shoulders hunched. Jack jammed his foot on top of Ethan’s and spoke first. “What did you find about this missing person’s report? She said she filed one.”
“There's no report. I think she’s full of shit.”
Jack frowned.
“There’s no report. Not filed in Poligus, not here in Tomsk, not in the Tomsk Oblast, not in the Siberian Federal District, not even with the FSB or the Russian armed forces. There’s nothing.”
“You think she made it up? She seems legitimately worried about her father. They were obviously very close—”
“When you’ve been in Russia long enough, you learn how fickle appearances are—and how earnestness may simply be a cover for a damning lie,” Ilya growled. He sighed, rubbing one hand down his exhausted face. “I don’t know what to think,” he finally admitted.
“Did she tell you anything?” Jack asked.
Ilya was quiet for a long moment. “She said one thing,” he said softly, leaning forward. “She said her father was a troubled man. That he lived with demons. She said he’d taken off his uniform decades ago when she was a little girl and had sworn to never put it on again.” Ilya fingered the Soviet medal on the rotten strip of fabric. “She said he knew he was ‘destined for Hell.’”
Jack frowned, but it was Ethan who jumped in. Ethan, with his long history of interrogations, his expertise in intelligence. He put together the pieces Jack couldn’t see. “How did that come up in conversation? That’s the kind of thing someone reveals after three shots, not on the doorstep to a stranger after three minutes.”
Ilya scowled.
