Sometime toward dawn, the sound of a dog barking in the neighbor’s backyard woke him.
“Damn dog,” he grumbled as he shuffled along into the kitchen to make some coffee, and then walked into the bathroom to wash his face. The dog had stopped barking. With the towel draped around his neck, he looked out the tiny bathroom window into the backyard of his neighbor. He heard a small tinkle of glass breaking.
It was the last thing he ever heard.
Something brushed Anna Kinova’s face as she turned over in bed. Then the pressure of a hand over her mouth brought her out of her light sleep. The man grabbed her forcefully, shoved a rag into her mouth, put a pillowcase over her head, and then tied her hands behind her. She tried to talk, tried to beg, but she couldn’t. Her mind raced with everything she’d ever learned about how to protect yourself in a situation like this—just give in, give them what they want, stay alive as long as possible.
He shoved her into the trunk of a waiting car. Terrified, she couldn’t keep her mind off what she’d heard about the sex slave trade, she had heard about that from a few of her girlfriends. It was a growing problem in Russia, and more importantly it was run by the Russian Mob, and they were ruthless in their treatment of women.
Then she overheard the two men talking, and they were speaking perfect English. What was going on here?
The car pulled away. She shivered from more than fear. It was in the middle of winter and freezing cold outside, all she had on was her bedclothes, and the trunk of the car was not heated.
Presently, the terrain became rough; she could tell by the bumps and gravel hitting the wheel wells. She hoped they would stop soon, so she could ask for some warm clothes. She got her wish; the car made a sharp left turn, and came to a stop. She could hear what sounded like rushing water. Nothing happened for a few minutes, then she heard a car door open, it was the passenger door. The trunk lid opened, and a man picked her up, slung her over his shoulder, and carried her to the edge of the dam walkway. And then—
She was falling. The last thing she thought before her body crashed into the concrete wall of the dam was, they had never said a word to her.
Sergeant Andrade Kolna arrived at the scene and took charge from the uniforms who had answered the call about a dog shot in the head. One of the uniforms had noticed a heat plume coming out of the window of the house next door and was able to see the occupant lying on the floor in a pool of blood.
One of the uniforms finished working the jimmy and the door swung open. Andrade went in first. Somewhere deeper in the house he could hear the distinctive whistle of escaping steam He found his way to the kitchen to turn off the burner under the pot. Now there was complete silence.
“No one touch anything,” he said to the uniforms who had followed him. “We don’t know if this was a suicide or a homicide yet.” That was purely pro forma. Suicides rarely shot the neighbor’s dog first.
He entered the bathroom, stepped around the pool of blood that had formed on the floor, and checked Borosky’s neck for a pulse. There was none. It had not been long since he died; his body still had a little heat in it. After taking pictures of the position of the body, Kolna rolled Borosky’s body over on to its back, and saw the bullet wound just above the right eyebrow. He then looked at the hole in the bathroom window, very neat, little breakage. A very precise shot… with a high powered weapon.
“This man was murdered, there is no suicide here,” he said. “You there, you talked to the neighbor, did he hear any shots this morning?”
“No sergeant and his dog was definitely shot.”
“Two known shots fired in a very short time period, in the same vicinity, and no one heard any shots fired. Does that include the people across the street, and on the other side of this house?”
“Yes sergeant, I have talked to both households, no one in those homes heard a shot either.”
“A high velocity bullet like that would have to come from a specially made gun with a silencer. This man was assassinated by a professional.” Mob or someone else?
“Do we know who he is yet?”
“Yes, his identification papers say he is Ivan Borosky. He also has a badge over here on his desk that indicates he works at the Russian Academy of Sciences. According to this article in the paper that he saved, he is a professor of astrophysics at the institute.”
So why would the Mob be shooting astrophysicists? Why would anyone?
“Okay, get on the line to the institute, see if he has any colleagues that are there and can give us some background. Also ask if any of his coworkers are absent from work today.”
Kolna continued to walk around Borosky’s house looking for any clues to aid in the investigation. There were no signs of a lavish lifestyle. Gambling? A drug habit? He was interrupted by one of his investigators with news that the institute had reported Borosky’s assistant Anna Kinova was not at work as usual, and did not answer her home or cell phone. Kolna took down her address and announced that he was going to this address to follow-up on a lead. He ordered two of the uniforms and one of the investigators to stay on scene and recover evidence, while he and the other investigator went to Kinova’s house, hopefully for some answers.
When Andrade found Kinova’s front door slightly ajar, he feared the worst. The small house was only a one bedroom; she had done a decent job of making it seem comfortable. When he walked into the bedroom, he could see signs of a struggle… the bed sheet still had her fingernail trails in it from being dragged out of bed. But no body.
Still he was sure there was a body. He asked for the major crime lab people to come on board on this one. They needed to turn both houses upside down for any clues and to contact him as soon as they found something of importance. Kolna had a suspicion this might be a major case in the making, something just didn’t fit.
Don Cray grabbed Ted Jeffers when he was on his way out the door, and pulled him aside into the courtyard.
“Ted, one of your boys went off the reservation yesterday.”
“Oh yeah who?”
“Huart.”
“How?”
“One of our listening posts picked up a call into Huart’s office from a Russian named Ivan Borosky. This Borosky guy is a Professor of astrophysics in St. Petersburg, Russia, he and his assistant stumbled onto our little problem, and he called Huart to have him verify his findings and Huart agreed.”
“Damn!”
“No, Huart did all right. He got Borosky to admit no one knew about it but him and his assistant. Problem is, he gave the Russian access codes to the Cal Tech main frame, so he could send the data directly to the system.”
“Oh, Jesus Christ!”
“Look, we wiped the trail clean today, even washed the incoming call out of the trunk system so the road ends at the British Isles Atlantic cable. You need to get a hold of your boy Huart, and do some major counseling.”
“What about Borosky and his assistant?”
“I said the trail is clean Ted.”
“Thanks, I’ll take it from here.”
There was a faint knock at his door and his secretary peaked in and said, “Professor Huart there’s a man here to see you, and he showed me an FBI badge.”
Huart swallowed hard and told her to show him in.
The agent waited until his secretary had left and closed the door. “Professor Huart did you have a conversation with an Ivan Borosky yesterday?”
“Uh, yes I did.” Huart felt a hot flash come across his face.
“Did you provide him with access codes to the