In the Shadow of Mordor

Chapter 51

Vlad Illarionov was angry and impatient. His article on the Moscow apartment bombings was complete, the editorial board had approved its publication, but the Metro outrage knocked everything else out of the news. Several days passed with little or no official progress. There was a claim of responsibility that may well be specious. Homeland Security and the FBI were still studying the evidence, so press speculation ran the full spectrum.

Most of the stories by now concerned the victims and the families left behind. America was a strange place where mourning, sympathy, and pleas for unity came before rage and vows of revenge. Aside from a few publicity-seeking hotheads, no one was demanding the invasion of another country or “turning the desert to glass.” The public debate was all about determining the truth before leaping to conclusions.

The Kremlin immediately offered condolences and solidarity in the face of international Islamist terrorism and issued a statement about its own struggle with terrorism. Given what Vlad knew, he could only scoff at such cynical opportunism. Every emanation from the Kremlin was aimed at advancing only the Kremlin’s agenda.

The chance meeting with Olga Polyanskaya was a shock. His childhood fondness for her had curdled into sour loathing. He could not imagine what that lickspittle of Gleb Solntsev was doing in Washington. He was certain it was nothing good, and he vowed to look into it after his article was published.

Right now he hurried along the wet sidewalk toward the Washington Post building on ‘K’ Street for a meeting with Ethan Holmes. The reporter’s phone call a half’-hour earlier was the first contact with Vlad since his article had been postponed. Maybe the day had come.

Holmes greeted him with a hearty handshake and a slap on the back. “We’re going to publish your story in Sunday’s paper on the op-ed page with a photo of your father. We’ll have to compose a shorter version because of space allotments, but it’ll cover all the main points. The full version will appear on our webpage, and we’ll include excerpts from the recording of Tretyakov’s confession along with translation.”

He expected Vlad to be pleased.

“It will be published as an opinion piece rather than factual reporting?” Vlad didn’t hide his disappointment. In his mind, the piece should be on the front page with a screaming headline — GLEB SOLNTSEV IS A MASS MURDERER.

“Calm down, Vlad. This is a very influential newspaper. It’s read all over the world, and it’ll be picked up by other news outlets. Believe me, it’ll be big. I just hope you’re prepared for the blow-back. There’ll be a lot of that, even from Putin apologists here in the States.”

“At least no one here will beat me to death and throw me in a ditch,” replied Vlad, his voice embittered by the memory of discovering his father’s body in Bittevskiy Park. The horror of that night seemed at once long ago and only yesterday.

Holmes grasped the significance of Vlad’s rejoinder. It was almost physically painful to see such a young man so consumed by hatred. As gently as he could, he said, “No, Vlad. That’s not likely to happen here.

Vlad controlled the anger that scorched and darkened his soul. The inescapable guilt for betraying his father’s secret to Olga Polyanskaya was a cilice that pricked his conscience daily. It filled his thoughts with an oppressive blackness that colored even his joy at the impending revelation of one of the Kremlin’s darkest secrets. Maybe he was no longer capable of happiness.