Devil's Gate (NUMA Files 9)

“We are from the State,” the Bald Man said ominously.

That was never a good thing to hear.

Reluctantly, Katarina sat across from him, finding it odd to be on this side of her own desk.

“You are Katarina Luskaya,” the Bald Man said, and then pointed to the flat-nosed man standing by the wall. “He is Major Sergei Komarov.”

Katarina waited, but the Bald Man didn’t give his own name. A disconnected fear began to grow inside her. Even in today’s Russia, a visit from the State could go very badly.

And yet, try as she might, Katarina could think of no reason for the government to be offended with her. She wasn’t political in any real way. She wasn’t a criminal. She did her job and paid her taxes. Years prior, she had even waved the Russian banner as a skater at the Winter Olympics. And while she hadn’t won, she had performed admirably, finishing fourth, even with a partially torn ligament in her knee.

“What do you want?” she said. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Your brother was a paratrooper,” the Bald Man said, ignoring her question.

“Yes,” she said. “He died two years ago.”

“Unfortunate,” she was told. “He was a loyal soldier. He did what his country asked him to do.”

She noticed the words came respectfully.

The man leaned forward, steepling his fingers together and looking into her eyes. “We know that you are loyal also,” he said. “And we want you to do something for your country.”

His first statement eased her fears a little while the second raised them back up. “I’m just a scientist, and I’m junior here. What can I possibly do besides my work?”

“Something that your background, athleticism, and small amount of fame will be an asset in performing.”

The Bald Man slid a folder across the desk. It rested in front of her, but Katarina kept her hands to the side.

“You are a scuba diver,” the Bald Man said. “In the Black Sea, every summer.”

This was true. It was a hobby. “Yes,” she said.

“Then you will do fine,” he said. He nodded toward the folder. “Open it.”

She looked inside. She saw photos of a group of islands, some ships, and a few news clippings. She realized she was looking at a collection of information on the strange discovery in the Azores. Her group had already been talking about it.

“We want you to go there,” the Bald Man said.

She pictured the beaches, the sun, the simple pleasures of an island vacation. Suddenly, working for the State didn’t sound so bad.

“You want me to investigate this discovery?”

“Yes,” he said unconvincingly. “At least, you should appear to be doing that.”

Her nerves returned. “What am I really to be doing?”

“Look at the final page.”

Katarina leafed through the loose papers and found the last one. On it, she saw several black-and-white photos. One was of a weather-beaten older man. The photo itself looked ancient, like one she had of her grandmother, the color slightly off, the clothing poorly constructed and course. A second photo showed two stainless steel trunks. The third showed a propeller-driven aircraft. She noticed the distinctive triple tail.

“The man is Vladimir Tarasov,” the Bald Man said. “He was once a soldier in the Red Army. He fought against the Tsar and in the Great Struggle, but he betrayed us in 1951.”

“What did he do?” she asked. In the photo, he looked like a broken-down farmer who’d spent too many years in the field. He seemed harmless.

“He tried to defect, taking with him property that belonged to the peoples of the Soviet Union. Properties that now rightly belong to Russia.”

“What kind of property?” she asked, and then, based on the cold stares she received, immediately wished she hadn’t.