The Atlantis Code

CHAPTER 8

You haven’t said where we’re going.”

Lourds looked at the young woman and tried to comprehend what she’d said. “What?”

“I said, you haven’t said where we’re going,” Leslie repeated. “I’ve tried to remain quiet, be the good little soldier, but that’s not working for me.”

“Me, neither,” Gary said from the backseat. He was the camcorder operator Leslie had enlisted for the jaunt into Moscow. Gary Connolly was in his mid-twenties. Long, curly hair hung to his narrow shoulders. He wore round-lensed glasses and a black U2 SHAKE, RATTLE, AND HUM concert T-shirt that showed its age.

As a rule, Lourds didn’t like revealing everything about his agenda or his thinking until he was ready. He wanted to give Leslie something, though. He felt he owed her that. “We’re going to M. V. Lomonosov Moscow State University.”

“What’s there?”

“As I said, Yuliya Hapaeve and I consulted on various work projects we introduced over the years.” Lourds’s voice tightened. “Yuliya sometimes worked on documents that contained state secrets. Some of her finds revealed things powerful people in Russia didn’t want known by other countries. In Russia, even modern Russia, that can be a death sentence.”

“I’m with you so far, but that doesn’t explain why we’re going to college.”

“Yuliya was a devoted craftsman in her chosen field,” Lourds said. “She hated to think that whatever great story she was working on would never see the light of day. She always wanted someone to be able to finish her projects in case something happened to her. So we—”

“—set up a drop at the Moscow State University,” Leslie finished. She grinned with both excitement at what lay before them and her own prowess at figuring out the reason for their trip.

“Exactly.”

“The trick is going to be getting out of the country with whatever she left you.”

Lourds didn’t say anything, but he felt certain escaping the country would be only one of the tricks involved.

“I didn’t know it would be this big,” Leslie admitted.

Lourds craned his neck and stared up at the imposing structure. Moscow State University’s main building’s central tower stood thirty-six stories tall. The university had been founded in 1755, but Joseph Stalin had ordered the construction of the main building. It had been one of seven projects the former General Secretary of the Soviet Party had conscripted during his term. In the 1950s, the university’s main building was the tallest structure in Europe.

Giant clocks, barometers and thermometers, statues and reliefs all decorated the building’s exterior. Inside, the building contained its own police station and post office, administrative offices, bank offices, a library and swimming pool, and several shops.

It was, Lourds had to admit, extremely impressive to someone seeing it for the first time. “I know,” he told Leslie. “I felt the same way the first time I saw it. I don’t think you ever truly get used to it.”

They left the car near the street rather than parking inside the university area. Leslie asked why they were walking so far, and Lourds told her he didn’t want to call any attention to themselves.

Reluctantly, Leslie agreed to the long walk. Gary, the cameraman, was less enthusiastic.

The grounds, despite the economic hardship the country faced, were well appointed and clean. Flowering shrubs and bushes, though modest, made their presence known.

Several students and teachers paraded across the sidewalks and gathered in front of the buildings. A pang passed through Lourds when he saw the groups. He thought of his classes. His graduate assistants were capable and passionate about their studies, but Lourds enjoyed the first few days of class because he got to meet the students before they immersed themselves in their studies.

A few professors greeted him as he strode purposefully. He returned the greetings without thought, in the speaker’s language and accent. Once, though, he noticed how pensive Leslie looked. Then he remembered she didn’t speak Russian, much less any of its dialects.

Lourds could barely remember how that felt, because it had been a long time since he’d been anywhere he couldn’t communicate. But he could remember how awkward and vulnerable he felt whenever he was out of place — like that time a girlfriend had taken him to a baby shower. Lourds imagined Leslie felt something like that — didn’t know the rules, the vocabulary, or the point of the exercise.

He led the way up a flight of stairs and took advantage of the fact that they were alone for a moment. “Just smile and nod,” he told Leslie and Gary. “I’ll handle the conversations.”

“I know,” Leslie said. “But this is strange. It’s not like going shopping in Chinatown. I can get by there, even though I don’t speak Chinese. I know I can talk to people because most of them know at least rudimentary English.”

“The people here,” Lourds cautioned, “know a lot more English than that. Most Americans don’t speak a foreign language. English schoolchildren are exposed to more languages than American children, so I’d imagine you’re bilingual at least. Here in Russia, they’ve taken pains to learn our language. In many cases, very well.”

“Okay.”

“So you could probably converse with anyone we meet here. But I’d rather not be mentioned to anyone just now as the bunch of foreigners trooping through the halls.”

“Point taken,” she said.

Lourds flashed the library identification Yuliya had arranged for him. He exchanged pleasantries with the older man who shepherded the collections contained within the large library. The man remembered Lourds from previous visits with Yuliya.

“Ah, Professor Lourds,” the man said. “Back with us again?”

“For a short time,” Lourds agreed as he handed his card over to be scanned.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” The man handed Lourds’s card back.

“No, thank you. I know the way.”

Lourds walked to the back of the large space filled with bookshelves. Out of sight of the librarian, he strode through the stacks, taking a meandering route to his ultimate goal. The library was wired with surveillance cameras. He didn’t want to look too purposeful.

Only a few students and teachers were in the stacks. None of them appeared more than casually interested.

Lourds went deeper into the stacks and found the section that held books on linguistics. He noted with satisfaction that books bearing his name had increased in quantity on the shelf. Of course, many of them were his translation of Bedroom Pursuits. The worn bindings indicated they’d seen serious circulation.

“I see that the reading tastes of college students don’t really change from nation to nation,” Leslie commented dryly.

“Not hardly. Still, whatever brings them to quest for knowledge is fine by me. Sex, or at least the promise of sex, garners more attention than anything else in the world, especially if you are a healthy nineteen-year-old.” Lourds glanced at Leslie. “And it isn’t just teens who like it. As I recall, it was that book that brought me to your attention. And doubtless it was that book that you used to win over your producers.”

Leslie’s cheeks flamed a bit. “Marketing loved the idea, of course.”

“Of course. And I expect that it will be touted on the advertisements for the television series.”

“Will that bother you?”

“Not at all. I get royalties from that book.” Lourds grinned. “As you can see, it’s been something of an international best-seller. It’s afforded me quite a different lifestyle than that of a simple academic.”

Lourds knelt in front of the books. He moved four of them out of the way. Reaching up, he ran his hand across the bottom of the next shelf up. He felt nothing.

Disappointment coursed through him. He hadn’t really expected to turn away empty-handed. He drew back.

“What’s wrong?” Leslie asked.

“Nothing’s there.”

Leslie knelt beside him and crouched to look under the shelf.

“Maybe she didn’t have time to leave anything.”

“Has it always been this shelf?”

“Yes.”

Glancing up, Leslie pointed at the books above the shelf they were investigating. “Some of your books are shelved here.”

Lourds looked and found that it was true. “Apparently the library has seen fit to acquire more copies of my works.” He ran his hand under the upper shelf and felt the straight edges of micro flash drive secured there. He pulled on it, but it didn’t come loose.

“What’s wrong?” Leslie asked.

“It’s stuck.” Lourds took a penflash from his pocket and looked up at the small protective plastic case. Light glistened on the dollops of dried liquid that showed around the edges.

“That looks like an adhesive,” Leslie said.

“I hadn’t expected that.” The shelf shivered under his attack. On a second attempt, the case tore away with a loud rip. Lourds pulled his hand away. He held the case between his fingers.

“Man,” Gary said, “I hope you didn’t break that micro flash drive.”

Lourds peered through the pale blue patina of the protective case but couldn’t clearly see the contents. He, too, hoped he hadn’t damaged it.

At that moment a figure moved into view at the end of the row.

“Professor Lourds?”

Looking up, Lourds saw the librarian standing there.

“Is something wrong?” the little man asked. “I thought I heard a noise.”

Lourds didn’t know what to say. There was no time to hide the micro flash drive. The librarian had to have seen it.

Gallardo felt exposed as he walked through the library at the Russian college. He wore street clothes — khakis, an oxford, and sweater — and covered it all with a long woolen coat.

But his wardrobe couldn’t do anything about the look in his eyes.

One glance, and anyone would know he was no student.

DiBenedetto and Cimino covered his flank. The younger man made small talk with passing women. He smiled often and looked as if he were a student himself off to work on a paper.

Miroshnikov, one of the men Gallardo had retained to help him inside Moscow, waited at the door to the library. He had been the one to follow Lourds and the television team into the building.

“He’s still inside?” Gallardo asked. He spoke in English because that was the only language he and Miroshnikov had in common.

“Yes.”

Gallardo nodded and dropped a hand into his coat pocket to touch the silencer-equipped pistol he carried there. “Where?”

“At the back.”

“Let’s go.”

Miroshnikov took the lead. Gallardo followed at his heels. A ripping noise sounded off to the left. The old man behind the library counter went on point immediately. He slipped from behind the counter and went in the direction of the noise.

Gallardo fell in behind the old librarian but motioned for DiBenedetto and Cimino to spread out. They disappeared into the stacks of books almost at once.

Miroshnikov stayed just ahead of Gallardo and to the left. Gallardo had a clear field of fire. His hand formed a fist around the pistol.

The librarian stopped so suddenly, Miroshnikov nearly ran up his back.

“Professor Lourds,” the librarian exclaimed quietly. There was a note of accusation in the address.

Gallardo stopped just out of sight and listened. Miroshnikov crossed the aisle and fell into position at the next stack.

When Lourds spoke, Gallardo recognized the professor’s voice but not what was said. Lourds evidently spoke fluent Russian.

Peering around the corner, Gallardo saw Lourds and the television crew standing like guilty children in front of the old librarian. The wizened man stepped into their midst. He was obviously concerned over what had happened.

Gallardo’s attention was riveted on the small plastic case in Lourds’s hands. As upset as the librarian was, Gallardo feared that security would be called. He knew he couldn’t allow that to happen.

He freed the pistol from his pocket, pulled his ski mask down to cover his face, and stepped around the stack. Miroshnikov mirrored his movements. The silencers screwed onto the barrels of the pistols made them look huge and menacing. Gallardo hoped their appearance would be enough to keep anyone from being foolish.

“I’ll take that,” Gallardo barked in English.

Showing obvious irritation, the librarian turned around. Gallardo guessed the man intended to deliver a scathing retort, but the initiative died on the man’s withered lips when he saw the pistol.

“Down on your knees,” Gallardo ordered. “Cross your ankles.”

The librarian dropped and barely managed the feat.

Lourds maintained enough presence of mind to start backing away. He caught the young woman with one hand and pulled her behind him.

“If I have to shoot you, Professor Lourds, I will.” Gallardo held the pistol level. “I’m beginning to think you’d be far less trouble to me dead.”

DiBenedetto stepped out from cover at the other end of the aisle.

With his escape route closed off, Lourds froze.

Gallardo grinned. He knew the expression would show through the ski mask — menacingly, of course. He advanced slowly. Miroshnikov trailed him.

“I say we just kill them here,” DiBenedetto said. “We don’t need them alive.”

A meaty smack sounded behind Gallardo before he could make a reply. Ahead, DiBenedetto stepped to the side and leveled his pistol in both hands, taking deliberate aim at Gallardo.

“Look out,” DiBenedetto warned.

Gallardo tried to turn. He heard the movement behind him. His head swiveled and he saw Miroshnikov lying unconscious on the library floor. At the same moment a pistol barrel screwed into the side of Gallardo’s neck.

“If you move,” a cold female voice warned, “I’m going to shoot you.”

Standing behind the big man, Natasha Safarov kept her pistol barrel tight against his neck. If she squeezed the trigger, the round would tear his throat out.

Adrenaline surged through her as she tried to figure out where the other man was. She’d arrived at the university after Lourds and the men trailing him. They hadn’t noticed her, as she’d parked farther up then doubled back to the library only a short distance behind them.

“Tell your friends to put their weapons down,” Natasha advised. “Otherwise I’ll kill you and take my chances with them. Personally, I like my chances. How do you feel?”

Before the man could answer, Lourds charged into action. Natasha wanted to scream in frustration. The professor was going to get himself killed.

Lourds caught the young gunman’s hand and shoved it into the air. The pistol made a slight coughing noise. The bullet thudded into the ceiling high overhead. Only a thin stream of plaster dust trickled down. Before the younger man could recover, Lourds raked a thick book from the shelf and slammed the gunman in the face with it.

Blood spattered from the man’s broken nose, and he sagged backwards. Lourds took a moment to kick the pistol from the dazed man’s hand. Turning, Lourds seized the young woman’s wrist and pulled her into motion.

Incredibly, the big man Natasha had hold of started to surge forward. She reached forward and grabbed his chin, pushing the gun barrel hard into his flesh.

“Bad idea,” she said.

The man froze.

Both of them watched helplessly as Lourds and his two companions disappeared into the stacks. Natasha cursed silently.

She looked up and spotted the security camera mounted on the ceiling. She ordered the man forward to the end of the aisle. The younger man attempted to crawl to his weapon. Natasha kicked him in the temple, and he rolled over unconscious.

Then she ripped the ski mask from the big man’s features. She threw the mask away and turned him to face the camera.

“Tell your friend to come out of hiding,” Natasha ordered. “Do it now!”

“Cimino,” the big man called. “Step out where she can see you.”

A moment later, the other man moved into the open. He carried a silenced pistol hanging from its trigger guard by one finger.

“Throw the pistol over here,” Natasha ordered.

The man obeyed.

“Lie down,” Natasha told him. “On your stomach. Hands clasped behind your head. I’m sure you know the drill.”

The man hesitated, but the big man Natasha had hold of growled at him. The man got down on the floor.

Natasha was torn. She wanted to radio for backup and take the men into custody, but she knew Lourds might well manage to escape Russia if she lost him now. Then she spotted the wireless earwig in the big man’s ear.

“How many men do you have outside?” Natasha asked.

He didn’t answer.

Natasha decided it didn’t matter. There were certainly enough to kill or capture Lourds. “Stick your hand out.” When the big man didn’t comply, she slapped her pistol against his jaw.

He shoved his hand out.

With practiced ease, Natasha slapped a handcuff around his wrist. “On your face.”

The big man sank slowly. Natasha knew he was merely waiting for an opening to present itself so that he could reverse the roles of captor and captive. He was in for a surprise. When he was on the ground, she cuffed him to the unconscious man on the floor.

Natasha whirled and ran. She hoped she could help Lourds keep from getting killed or captured by the big man’s waiting goons. She had questions she wanted answered.

Lourds’s heart beat like a trip-hammer. He pressed a hand against his jacket to feel the hard edges of the protective case inside his pocket. Still there. Thank God. He just hoped it was worth risking his life for.

He held on to Leslie’s hand as he ran. He didn’t want the young woman to freeze up. He doubted the big man in the library had come alone.

Outside, Lourds streaked across the grounds. His breath burned the back of his throat. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Gary only a couple of steps back. The young man lugged the camera easily and moved at a surprisingly fast gait.

Lourds got his bearings and altered his course toward the parked rental car. He didn’t bother trying to stay with the sidewalks. College students and personnel glanced at them in concern and puzzlement. But all of them got out of their way.

“Hey,” Gary called out. “Hey, move it, guys. We got company.”

Anxiety soured Lourds’s stomach. He glanced around and spotted the three men speeding down the street on an interception course with them. Not students — not even Russian, by the looks of them. Hard men with hard eyes. He should have known that the big man would have had other compatriots lurking nearby.

Overuse of force seemed to be his trademark.

So far they didn’t have guns out — but they were far enough away and moving fast enough through the crowds of students to make a clean shot almost impossible. That situation wouldn’t last long.

They were gaining on Lourds and his crew.

Lourds cursed. He was so frenzied, he didn’t even note what language he used. He veered from the street where they’d left the rental car parked. Things definitely didn’t look good, and he doubted things could get any—

“Professor Lourds!”

— worse. He was wrong.

That demanding shout caught Lourds’s attention — and he recognized the voice. When he glanced over his shoulder, he saw Natasha Safarov swiftly gaining on him.

The woman was evidently a runner, among her other talents. Her arms and legs worked in tandem as she sprinted. She caught up to them as if the feat were child’s play. Her pistol was naked in her fist and caused immediate consternation in all who saw the weapon.

Lourdes counted himself among the concerned.

“You’re under arrest,” Natasha said as she pursued him. She took aim at him with her pistol.

He kept running. “If we stop,” Lourds protested, pointing back at the running hit men, “those men will kill us.”

Natasha darted a look at the men he indicated. Behind her, the men she’d left inside the library were just emerging through the entrance, the two who were conscious carrying the unconscious man handcuffed to one of them. They did not look happy. But it was unlikely that group of thugs could catch them.

“I have a car,” she told him. “Follow me.” Almost effortlessly, she sprinted past Lourds, Leslie, and Gary. “If you stop following me, I will shoot you.”

“What?” Leslie’s breath came in ragged gasps. She stumbled and nearly fell. “Stop following her? With those men behind us? She’s mad.”

Lourds held on to the Leslie’s hand to help her keep her balance. “Save your breath,” he advised. “Run.” Mad or not, Natasha Safarov was their only chance.

Following their armed leader, they sprinted across the side street to a midsize sedan in the parking lot.

Natasha used her electronic keypad to unlock the doors.

“Get in.”

She skidded to a halt on the driver’s side and opened the door. Instead of sliding inside the car, she levered her arms across the hood and took aim at the three men closing on them.

The three men scattered with obviously practiced efficiency. Weapons filled their hands.

Conviction that he was about to be blasted to smithereens filled Lourds. He froze for an instant.

“Get in!” Natasha ordered. “Keep down. The mass of the car’s engine should absorb any bullets.”

Lourds fumbled with the passenger-side back door and got it opened. Panic hammered him. He forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand and not to look back at their pursuers.

“Be careful! If you shoot in their direction, you could hit a college student,” Lourds cautioned in Russian so there would be no misunderstanding. Natasha spoke English well, but that didn’t mean she would have that skill in the heat of combat. He pushed Leslie into the opened door, then sheltered her with his body.

“I know,” Natasha replied, also in Russian. “I’m not going to do that, but they don’t know it. Get in before they figure it out.”

Leslie crawled inside the vehicle. Gary threw himself in after her before Lourds could get in. The two sprawled across the seat and left Lourds no room to get in. He slammed the back door shut and opened the front passenger door. He dropped inside and shut the door behind him. He kept his head low, below the dashboard.

Back across the street, the three men had dropped to the ground. One of them aimed a pistol and fired. The bullet smashed through the passenger-side window. So much for the engine block stopping the bullets. Glass splinters spilled across Lourds’s back. He twitched and covered his head with his arms.

Natasha flung her door open and dropped into the seat. She keyed the ignition, and the motor rumbled smoothly to life.

Lourds looked over at her.

She shifted hands with the pistol. When it was once more in her right hand, she pointed it at Lourds. “Stay down.”

He was convinced she wasn’t offering advice regarding enemy fire. She shot the pistol over his head at their pursuers. More bullets from them struck the car. The impacts sounded excruciatingly loud inside the vehicle.

“Damn!” Gary howled from the backseat. “Move, woman! Are you waiting on a sign from God or something?”

Natasha hit the accelerator. The engine snarled like a cornered beast as the tires gripped the pavement and hurled them forward.

Lourds kept his hands on the dash, but he couldn’t resist looking up. Natasha pulled into the lane of oncoming traffic. For a moment he thought they were going to get hit by a cargo truck. The driver’s eyes widened on the other side of the windshield. He hit the brakes and slewed the truck around. The bumper missed striking them by inches.

“Oh, crap!” Gary screamed.

Natasha pulled hard on the steering wheel and directed them up onto the street’s shoulder. The car bucked in protest. A moment later, she cut the wheels again to put them back on the street. Rubber burned and shrieked as the tires protested, then shot them forward through the roadway.

Lourds had the distinct impression that his life was just as much at risk now as it had been back at the college with the three armed killers trapping him in the stacks. He pressed his hands hard against the dash and wished he’d taken the time to put a seat belt on.

“All right, Professor Lourds,” Natasha said calmly, “we’re going to talk now.”

“Talk about what?” he asked, his words rough as he panted from the run and the adrenaline overload.

“What you were doing at the library. What you took from there.” Natasha cut the wheels and flew around a slower-moving sedan. She barely cut back in time to keep from crossing fenders with an oncoming car. “And what you know about my sister’s death.” She floored the accelerator, and the car shot forward into the traffic.

“This might not be the best time,” Lourds spat, eyes closed and body braced against the certain crash. It didn’t come. Natasha swerved out of danger like Jeff Gordon in the final lap for the Nextel Cup Series Championship.

“We may not have a better one. Talk now.” The Russian risked taking her eyes off the road long enough to shoot him a hard look.

“Uh, guys,” Gary called from the back. “We’re being followed.”

Lourds twisted in the seat and looked back over his shoulder. Two cars threaded through the traffic after them. He reached for the seat belt and managed to snap it around himself as Natasha started taking evasive action again. The forces of the evasion slammed his chest into the seat belt. He took a deep breath in preparation for his next words.

The lady had a point.

Space to talk was starting to look like a luxury.