10

New Orleans: Saturday 24 October 7:30 P.M. local time


Tobie was at home, curled up on the sofa with her laptop and an orange alley cat named Beauregard when the call came through from McClintock.

“It’s a go, Tobie. The DCI was dead set against it, but you’ve got Beckham solidly behind you.”

“Yes!” She leaped up, unsettling the disgruntled cat and nearly sending her Apple flying.

At the other end of the line, the Colonel sighed. “I just hope I’m not making a mistake on this.”

She sank back down on the sofa, her hand tightening around the phone. “I won’t let you down, sir.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about, Tobie. How much do you know about Kaliningrad?”

“Not much. I was just Googling it.”

McClintock huffed a soft laugh. “The province-Kaliningrad Oblast-used to be part of Germany. East Prussia. The Russians took it over at the end of World War II and split it with Poland. Just to confuse things, they renamed the main city Kaliningrad, too.”

“What did it used to be called?”

“Königsberg.”

“Königsberg? As in, Immanuel Kant?”

“That’s right. Although there’s not much of the old German city left anymore. Back in the days of the Cold War, the province was considered very important, militarily. But it’s been hit pretty hard by the breakup of the Soviet Union.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because now that Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania are independent, Kaliningrad is an exclave, cut off from the rest of Russia. The economy is worse than dead. This place doesn’t have much in common with the rest of the New Russia. Life there basically hasn’t changed in the last fifty years.”

It was a description that fit in well with what she’d seen in her viewing. She said, “When do I leave, sir?”

“First thing in the morning, flying through Copenhagen. We’d like to have gotten you out of here tonight, but you know what connections are like out of New Orleans since Katrina. You won’t actually be landing in Russia until Monday morning.”

“When’s the CIA guy getting there?”

“Tomorrow afternoon.”

“That’s not good. Any idea yet who they’re sending?”

“Yeah. Jax Alexander.”

“Jax? But…Jax doesn’t believe in remote viewing.”

“He saw it work last summer, right here in New Orleans.”

“And he still thinks it’s a bunch of New Age nonsense.”

“Everyone at the CIA thinks it’s a bunch of New Age nonsense. You knew when you asked for this that it wasn’t going to be easy.”

“You won’t be sorry, Colonel.”

McClintock made an incoherent noise. “Just…be careful, Tobie.”

Later that evening, after she’d packed a bag and talked to Ambrose next door about taking care of Beauregard, she stood in her darkened living room and gazed out at the ancient live oaks casting their gnarled shadows across the narrow moonlit street.

She could feel the tendrils of anxiety coiling tightly within her. She believed in remote viewing, and she knew what she’d seen. But she also knew that her viewings weren’t always accurate. What if this was one of those misses? Or what if the viewing was accurate, but they’d misinterpreted what she’d seen? Looking at the full moon riding above the branches of the old oaks, she imagined she could already hear the clock ticking toward Halloween.

She felt Beauregard rub against her leg. Reaching down, she scooped the cat up into her arms. “Wish me luck, Beau,” she whispered, and held him close.

Загрузка...