Mirror Image

CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT

Paul Hood, his wife, and their two children took a long walk in the park off the Nevsky Prospekt before separating— Sharon and the children to watch a group of schoolchildren play soccer, Hood to sit on a bench by an ancient tree, where a short man in a leather flight jacket was feeding breadcrumbs to the birds.

"It's odd to think," said the man in clear, comfortable English, "that creatures of the sky must come to earth to feed and build nests and raise families." He swept a hand across the sky. "You'd think there would be a place for them up there."

Hood smiled. "From up there, they get a special perspective on things down here. And that's quite a lot, I think." He looked at the man. "Don't you, General Orlov?"

The former cosmonaut scrunched up his lower lip and nodded. "It is, at that." He looked at the new arrival. "How are you, my friend?"

"Very well," said Hood.

Orlov pointed across the park with a half-torn piece of bread. "You brought your family, I see."

"Well," said Hood, "I sort of owed them the rest of a vacation. This seemed like a very good place to take it."

Orlov nodded. "There is no place like St. Petersburg. Even when it was Leningrad, it was the jewel of the Soviet Union."

Hood's smile warmed. "I'm glad you agreed to see me. That makes this doubly rich."

Orlov looked down at the bread and finished tearing it up. He scattered the pieces and brushed off his hands. "We have both had quite an extraordinary week. We thwarted a coup, stopped a war, and we have each had a funeral— yours of a friend, mine an enemy, but both of them ends that came too soon."

Hood looked away and sniffed down still-fresh sorrow. "At least your son is well," he said. "That's helped to make this endurable. Perhaps all of it will have been for something."

"With luck, that will be so," Orlov agreed. "My son is recovering at our apartment here in the city, and we'll have several weeks to talk and mend old hurts. I think he'll be more receptive to me than in the past, what with the wounding of his spetsnaz mentor and the courtmartial of Generals Kosigan and Mavik. I hope he'll see that it takes very little courage to run with vandals." Orlov reached into his jacket. "There's something else I hope," he said as he pulled out a slim, old book bound in leather and stamped on the cover and spine with gold lettering. He handed it to Hood.

"What is it?" Hood asked.

" 'Sadko,' " said Orlov. "It's an old copy— for your second-in-command. I've ordered fresh editions to be distributed among the troops here in St. Petersburg. I read it myself and found it quite stirring. It's odd that an American should be the one to point out to us the richness of our own culture."

"Perspective," Hood repeated. "Sometimes it's good to be a bird, sometimes it's good to be on the ground."

"Truly," said Orlov. "I've learned a great deal from all of this. When I accepted this post, I thought— perhaps you did the same— that I would spend my time the way a supply officer does, filling intelligence needs for others. But I realize now that it's our responsibility to put these resources to good use. Indeed, when my son returns to duty, I'm going to assign him to a special force whose job will be to hunt down that monster Shovich. I'm hoping, in fact, that our two operations centers can collaborate on that."

Hood said, "It will be an honor, General."

Orlov looked at his watch. "Speaking of my son, I'm joining him and my wife, Masha, for lunch. We haven't done that since I was still flying rockets, and I'm looking forward to it very much."

He rose, and Hood did likewise.

"Just keep your expectations on the ground," Hood said. "Nikita, Zhanin, you and I— we're all just people, no more, no less."

Orlov clasped his hands warmly. "My expectations will always be up there." Orlov pointed by raising his brow. Then he looked past Hood and smiled. "And despite what you may feel, teach your son and daughter to do likewise. You may be surprised at how things work out."

Hood watched as Orlov left, then turned and glanced toward the corner of the park where Alexander and Harleigh had been. He saw Sharon standing alone, and he had to search for a moment before he spotted his children. They were playing soccer with the Russian youths.

"I may be at that," Hood said aloud.

Pushing his hands in his pockets, he took a last look at Orlov, then walked with a light step and lighter heart to his wife's side.