together.”
“Something like…”
“Like SVR crap.”
“SVR? As in Russian foreign intelligence?”
Ivan ran a hand through his black hair, nodding. “As in the FSB’s Foreign Intelligence Service, yes.”
“The FSB being—”
“The new KGB.”
Jack looked confused. “I thought…”
“The KGB was disbanded in 1991 with the collapse of the Soviet Union. In 1995, it was restructured into Ministry of Security, Federal Service of Counter-Intelligence, and the Federal Security Service—or FSB. But in 1998, Yeltsin appointed Putin, who of course was KGB, to head up the FSB. When Putin became president in 2000, he began siphoning power back into the Intelligence Services, the FSB drawing all kinds of other departments beneath the umbrella of its own directive, many of them just old KGB departments renamed. They said the KGB was a state within a state, but the FSB, in many ways, has become the state. Ruthless and more powerful than the KGB ever was.”
Slowly removing the lid from his cup, Jack began swirling its contents, staring into the blackness as if the key to understanding everything was resting on the bottom of the paper cup and he needed only to catch a glimpse of it in order to set everything in its proper place. When no shining sword rose from the coffee depths to choruses of revelation, however, he looked up to his Russian friend. “Is it possible that you could be overreacting?”
Ivan’s slightly rounded face brightened into a smile, but the conviction in his brown eyes did not change. “It’s possible that your story tainted my objectivity. But masked men, missing family, guns and intrigue…” He shrugged. “It’s hard not to make the leap. A guy tried to burn down your house, Jack, and he had these books with him. I think it’s safe to say you’re in the middle of something.”
“You think the guy in the photo is Vadim?”
“I don’t know. I guess.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, Ivan letting Jack wrestle with the information.
“So,” Jack finally began, “the man in my house was taking those…” he indicated the pile of letters and books on the table.
“Or he was planting them.”
“No. There wasn’t any evidence to suggest that the hole in the ceiling was recent. No drywall dust—”
“Did you check your vacuum?”
Jack snorted under his breath and leaned back in his chair, lifting the cup to his lips again while setting his gaze on the rain.
Ivan leaned forward. “You have no idea what’s going on. What these letters are. Where they came from. Who they’re to. What the books mean. Why you were thrown overboard. What happened to Stacey. Why Viktoriya would take Joseph somewhere…” He trailed off, sitting back himself. “And if I can be honest, you didn’t really know who Stacey was before you married her.”
Jack squinted. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means that those letters, regardless of who they’re from and for, suggest something… big .”
“You think Stacey is—”
“Not who you think she is,” he stated bluntly. “Or maybe was.”
Jack was so shocked by the statement that he couldn’t respond.
“You don’t know what she used to be involved in, who her old friends were. We’ve talked about this before, Jack. When it comes to Stacey’s past, you know next to nothing.”
“What are you saying?”
“That for now you concentrate on finding Joseph. If these letters belong to Stacey, then she has them for a reason. Maybe she’s involved somehow, at least in that she’s aware of what’s going on. Maybe whatever Vadim was involved in has run its course, and now he’s cleaning up.”
“You mean…”
“I don’t know what I mean. Just…find your son.”
But before Jack could think of another response, his phone rang. He fished it out of his pocket and accepted the call, irritated at the untimely interruption. He knew that Ivan wasn’t telling him everything, that his Russian friend had a theory he
“Something like…”
“Like SVR crap.”
“SVR? As in Russian foreign intelligence?”
Ivan ran a hand through his black hair, nodding. “As in the FSB’s Foreign Intelligence Service, yes.”
“The FSB being—”
“The new KGB.”
Jack looked confused. “I thought…”
“The KGB was disbanded in 1991 with the collapse of the Soviet Union. In 1995, it was restructured into Ministry of Security, Federal Service of Counter-Intelligence, and the Federal Security Service—or FSB. But in 1998, Yeltsin appointed Putin, who of course was KGB, to head up the FSB. When Putin became president in 2000, he began siphoning power back into the Intelligence Services, the FSB drawing all kinds of other departments beneath the umbrella of its own directive, many of them just old KGB departments renamed. They said the KGB was a state within a state, but the FSB, in many ways, has become the state. Ruthless and more powerful than the KGB ever was.”
Slowly removing the lid from his cup, Jack began swirling its contents, staring into the blackness as if the key to understanding everything was resting on the bottom of the paper cup and he needed only to catch a glimpse of it in order to set everything in its proper place. When no shining sword rose from the coffee depths to choruses of revelation, however, he looked up to his Russian friend. “Is it possible that you could be overreacting?”
Ivan’s slightly rounded face brightened into a smile, but the conviction in his brown eyes did not change. “It’s possible that your story tainted my objectivity. But masked men, missing family, guns and intrigue…” He shrugged. “It’s hard not to make the leap. A guy tried to burn down your house, Jack, and he had these books with him. I think it’s safe to say you’re in the middle of something.”
“You think the guy in the photo is Vadim?”
“I don’t know. I guess.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, Ivan letting Jack wrestle with the information.
“So,” Jack finally began, “the man in my house was taking those…” he indicated the pile of letters and books on the table.
“Or he was planting them.”
“No. There wasn’t any evidence to suggest that the hole in the ceiling was recent. No drywall dust—”
“Did you check your vacuum?”
Jack snorted under his breath and leaned back in his chair, lifting the cup to his lips again while setting his gaze on the rain.
Ivan leaned forward. “You have no idea what’s going on. What these letters are. Where they came from. Who they’re to. What the books mean. Why you were thrown overboard. What happened to Stacey. Why Viktoriya would take Joseph somewhere…” He trailed off, sitting back himself. “And if I can be honest, you didn’t really know who Stacey was before you married her.”
Jack squinted. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means that those letters, regardless of who they’re from and for, suggest something… big .”
“You think Stacey is—”
“Not who you think she is,” he stated bluntly. “Or maybe was.”
Jack was so shocked by the statement that he couldn’t respond.
“You don’t know what she used to be involved in, who her old friends were. We’ve talked about this before, Jack. When it comes to Stacey’s past, you know next to nothing.”
“What are you saying?”
“That for now you concentrate on finding Joseph. If these letters belong to Stacey, then she has them for a reason. Maybe she’s involved somehow, at least in that she’s aware of what’s going on. Maybe whatever Vadim was involved in has run its course, and now he’s cleaning up.”
“You mean…”
“I don’t know what I mean. Just…find your son.”
But before Jack could think of another response, his phone rang. He fished it out of his pocket and accepted the call, irritated at the untimely interruption. He knew that Ivan wasn’t telling him everything, that his Russian friend had a theory he
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