The Warsaw Protocol: A Novel(80)

He found an image of the salt sculpture, created in 1874, still there in the mine. A little crude and eroded from time and water, it sat alone in a square-shaped niche. A caption indicated that the figure had once been colored white, red, and black, the same paint used for marking the mine’s work sites. It had been carved by a miner, in his spare time.

Located on Level IX.

He showed Stephanie the chunk of salt crystal.

“That was on Olivier’s person when he died,” he told her. “And he had that book, all ready to go in an envelope. It all adds up. 9 Bobola. That information is hidden in the mine, where that statue is located, on level nine.”

He thumbed through the oversized picture volume, finding a schematic of the mine’s various levels. Not a lot of detail, but enough to get the idea that it was a huge underground complex.

He placed a period on his line of thoughts. “I think that Eli Reinhardt knows this, too.”

“He’s going after it?”

“You tell me. Do you know him?”

She nodded. “He’s an information broker, just like Olivier, but his reputation is not the best. He and Olivier were active competitors, and that information on Czajkowski is still worth a lot of money. So yes, if he can, he will go after it.”

“He may already be on the way to that mine, trying to find a way in.”

They were inside the same office used yesterday, with the door closed. The afternoon sun, still hazy, slanted through the blinds.

“We ought to preempt him,” he said.

He could see she was intrigued by the possibility.

“And what do we do if the information is there?” she asked.

“Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it.”

Neither one of them was comfortable with any of this. Stephanie was defying her employer. He was offending Sonia. But the thought of allowing that information to fall into the hands of Reinhardt seemed repugnant. No telling what would happen then.

“You think Ivan knows?” she asked.

He shook his head. “He seemed genuinely pissed when Sonia killed Olivier.”

The phone on the desk rang.

Stephanie answered, listened, then pressed a button activating the speakerphone, hanging up the receiver.

“Mr. Malone, this is Warner Fox.”

Cotton sat up on the edge of his chair.

“What happened?” the president asked.

“Exactly what you should have anticipated. The Russians killed everyone.”

“Including Tom?”

“He’s not here, is he?”

“You’re telling me everyone, including Olivier, is dead? Except you?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. And before you ask, I’m only here because I got lucky. The Poles were working with the Russians, and both of them were one step ahead of you the entire way. Your lies only infuriated both Warsaw and Moscow.”

“I did what I thought necessary.”

“You have no idea what you’re doing, and a lot of people are dead now thanks to you.”

“You won’t be paid a dime for your work here,” Fox said.

He shook his head. “You know where you can stick that $150,000.”

“You have no respect for this office, do you?”

“Actually, I have a tremendous respect for the presidency. What I lack is any semblance of respect for you.”

“Stephanie, what about the information on Czajkowski?” Fox asked, ignoring the jab. “Any idea where it might be?”

She glanced his way and he shrugged, signifying it was her call.

“None at this time,” she lied.

“I’m about to speak with the president of Poland,” Fox said.

“Who knows you lied to him,” Cotton said.

“Can anything be salvaged?”

“Maybe some pride, if you apologize to Czajkowski,” Cotton said.

“Your impertinence knows no bounds,” Fox muttered.

“Did Tom Bunch have a family?”

“A wife and two children.”

“Give them the $150,000.”

And he meant it. Bunch had been a blind fool, but his wife and children were another matter.

“Stephanie, please answer my question,” Fox said.

“Nothing I’m aware of can be salvaged. This is over.”

“Then explain to me why the Russians think otherwise.”

Damn. Fox had practiced the old adage that every good trial lawyer knew. Never ask a question you don’t know the answer to, unless you don’t care what that answer may be.

And he clearly had not.

Truth or lie, he had her.

“The NSA detected a message from a Russian SVR agent named Ivan Fyodorov, currently in Kraków, confirming to the Kremlin that the information may still be in play.”

Neither of them said a word.

“I’m going to assume that you both know more than you’re willing to share,” Fox said. “That’s fine. Doesn’t matter. You’re both off this operation. It will be handled by others, who are on their way to Kraków now.”

Stephanie shook her head.

Cotton knew what was coming.

“Stephanie, you’re relieved of duty, pending termination. I’ll leave it to the attorney general to decide your fate.”