The Fourth Rome (33 page)

Grainger paced Etkin, walking rapidly through the Metro-pole while telling him about today’s schedule. When Etkin stopped
for breath, Grainger said, “That was Mr. Orlov, wasn’t it? Nan was supposed to see him today. Do you know where he’s going?”

“Oh, yes. We will produce him later. We have a meeting he must attend.” Etkin showed those perfect teeth.

Orlov was on Nan’s list of candidates for 50K. Not having him available would be a real stumbling block in the path of Plan
A: he was Nan’s key to FILL Without him, she might not be able to get back in there peacefully.

They found Nan and Chun in the dining room. Etkin and Grainger pulled up chairs. Once pleasantries were exchanged, Etkin said,
“Mr. Orlov has been detained. He will meet us at FILI at approximately eleven o’clock, if it is satisfactory. I have his apologies
for you.”

Grainger couldn’t believe his ears. Etkin knew Grainger had seen what happened. And then, slowly, it all fell into place.
The perfect teeth. Even the best-looking, KGB-groomed, ready-for-export Russian didn’t have teeth like that. Gold fillings,
maybe. Caps, sure. But those teeth were the result of flawless nutrition over a lifetime. It all made sense to him: the calculated
Russian English, the KGB gloss. The preemptive move all of a sudden on Orlov, so soon after the Obninsk strike.

Etkin wasn’t after Orlov. Etkin was after the ARC Riders. He was getting a valuable asset, Orlov, out of his field of fire.

Etkin was the local agent from Up The Line. Grainger would have bet his life on that assessment. Probably was betting it right
now. Etkin had stones, Grainger had to give him that.

Grainger didn’t hear much of what Etkin was; telling the women. Instead, his attention was drawn again to the pale skin on
Etkin’s ring finger. Not a circle, as a wedding ring might have left. But an oversize oval—class ring. A KGB ring, he’d thought
when first he’d seen Etkin. Now he kept remembering the Citadel class ring that Dr. Bill had continually twisted back in Central.
The white skin on Etkin’s finger was that very size and shape.

Then he heard Etkin say, “Come with me to FILI, now. All of you,” and Grainger focused in on the moment at hand.

The ARC Riders had a standing hand sign for “fall back and regroup.”

Grainger gave that hand signal to his team. Maybe it looked to Etkin as if he was brushing away a fly. If there were flies
in here, they would have to be
nomenclatura
flies.

Chun saw the hand sign. Nan didn’t. Chun touched Nan under the table and shook her head. Nan’s eyes flicked across the faces
of her team. “Maybe we’d better pass. Tim has another meeting scheduled. We’re all tired. We could take this time to rest
up…”

“Oh; oh, no. I must insist,” Etkin said. “We would not want to offend our hosts who are busy arranging the sadar technology
meeting that Quo has so urgently requested. They must meet with all your team to set ground rules. I have gone to great trouble
to arrange this.”

“I bet you have,” Grainger said. Nan’s eyes widened. “Then let’s do this, Professor Etkin. You come with us upstairs while
we rearrange our schedule. Or wait for us here. Or in the lobby. Your choice.”

Etkin sat back in his seat. His pale shooter’s eyes appraised Grainger. Then he nodded. “All right. We will go to your rooms.”

Okay, buddy, if that’s the way you want it.

Chun and Roebeck were whispering together. Roebeck wanted to know what the hell was going on. Chun couldn’t tell her. But
they were going to back him. It was the best he could expect.

They paid the check, leaving a rouble tip written on the bill instead of dollars, since Etkin was watching. No use getting
the wait staff in trouble. They might never get the tip, but they wouldn’t get arrested for holding dollars, either.

Etkin moved in on Chun, deftly cutting her out of the group as the four made their way to the elevators. Nan whispered to
Grainger, “What is it?”

“UTL.” He indicated Etkin with a quick jab of his finger. “We’ve got to talk privately.”

“Maybe he’ll go with Chun and we can join them after we talk,” Nan murmured.

Etkin and Chun turned to wait for them to catch up. Chun said, “Viktor says we really need to meet this group he has convened
for us as soon as we can.”

“We are due at FILI right now,” Etkin said, scowling.

“Yeah, well. I can’t offend my visitor, either. And Nan needs to get her things.” Grainger crossed his arms.

Roebeck said, “You two go on. Go to Chun’s room. We’ll make a couple quick calls and meet you there in five minutes. I promise,
it won’t take longer than that.”

Etkin seemed immediately mollified, almost jovial. “This is very acceptable. Quo and I have much to discuss, protocols for
this meeting.”

A big Russian in a raincoat joined them as they waited for an upward-traveling car. Maybe the guy in the raincoat was an innocent
stranger. Maybe he was Etkin’s boy. He acknowledged no one and pushed no floor indicator when he crowded into the small Russian
elevator with them. Nobody said a word until the door opened at their floor.

The stranger got out, and headed down one corridor. Chun and Etkin took another. Grainger and Roebeck followed Chun and Etkin,
then turned a corner, going toward Nan’s room, not Chun’s.

As soon as they heard Chun’s door opening and closing, Roebeck said, “UTL? How do you know?”

“I was waiting outside, remember. Orlov pulled up right behind Etkin. Etkin’s bodyguard just about arresfexi Orlov in front
of me, muscled him into Etkin’s car, and drove away with him. So Etkin’s making his move. Why? He knows about Obninsk. How?
Not from local channels. Not yet.”

“You can’t be sure, Tim. You’re overreacting. Reaching.”

“You want to talk about this
here,
in
this
hallway? You’re the boss. Okay. It’s those teeth. Too good for this century, let alone this culture. I should have realized
it before. And his ring finger’s missing a Citadel class ring like Dr. Bill’s.” If you were active-duty KGB and you had a
ring saying so, you wouldn’t be wearing it routinely enough to keep the skin under it from tanning.

“Sure, Tim. Fine. You call Matsak, cancel your appointment or postpone it. I want to see what Etkin’s got up his sleeve. You’ve
got your gearbag. What are you worried about?”

“Oh, nothing. Just ending up in a Fourth Rome, that’s all. But if you don’t mind returning to an altered future, who am I
to quibble?” He stalked off to his room, keyed the lock, and slammed the door. Then he called Matsak and asked a secretary
to make certain the Ministry of Science Deputy joined Grainger at the Metropole as soon as possible. He wasn’t going to Etkin’s
meeting. He’d say he’d come later. They shouldn’t all walk into the same trap.

When he was done, he half ran through the halls to join Roebeck and Etkin in Chun’s room.

Nan was standing outside in the hall waiting for him. The door to Chun’s room was open. He knew they’d fucked up by the look
on Roebeck’s face, before he saw any more than those basic situation parameters.

“What?” he called. “What is it?” He ran those last few steps flat out.

Roebeck, hands on hips, was standing in the doorway, shaking her head.

“They’re not here,” she said calmly and motioned him inside. “They’re gone. Chun would never leave without us. It’s against
every procedure—”

“He’s got her.”

Grainger let his gearbag slip to the floor. The room looked just like his. It was completely empty of personal effects. Chun
and her gearbag were gone as if they’d never been. The two remaining ARC Riders searched thoroughly, not saying a word where
surveillance was a certainty.

Soon it was clear Chun had been able to leave no sign, message, or clue behind. She’d either been taken by surprise or… Grainger
didn’t want to think about the alternate scenarios.

Roebeck phoned the desk to see if either Etkin or Chun had left a message there for them.

“Nothing from Chun or Etkin,” Roebeck told him in an emotionless voice. “Your Matsak’s down there waiting, though.”

Grainger ignored her last words. “Etkin’s not worried about maintaining any fiction of cooperation at this point. I should
have known,” he said. He couldn’t think what to do. He just stood there in the middle of the room, his own gearbag at his
feet. “Of course, Etkin would try this stunt.
I
would have. Same mission parameters. Remove the opposing force from play on this horizon. We’ve got the same game plan, don’t
you see? And now he’s got one of us…” If he went near any physical thing, a wall, a piece of furniture, he’d wreak havoc on
whatever came to hand. “How stupid can you get?”

“Stop this. You’ve got a Russian waiting for you. I’m going back to get the TC. I want Chun back. Everything else is on hold.”

“Bullshit. We’ll get her back. Everything gets done. Plan B.” He put a finger to his lips and grabbed a Metropole notepad.
He wrote quickly, under cover of his left hand:
We can track her if she’s still got her gear.
He tore the top three sheets from the pad, folded the notepaper, and handed the sheets to Roebeck.

Then he checked the pad to make sure there was no impression of the handwriting on the remaining papeir before he threw the
pad in the wastebasket.

She nodded. “All right. Plan B, with a little improvisation. But the TC’s location is at risk. I’ve got to move it staL” As
she talked, she walked out of Chun’s empty room.

Grainger hefted his gearbag and followed her. They had to move fast. Or Chun would be irretrievably lost to them. You couldn’t
step twice into the same venue. Matsak was waiting downstairs. Roebeck had to relocate the TC or they’d all be lost—here or
in a changed future Up The Line didn’t matter.

“Hey, boss. Wait up.” Roebeck was moving so fast Grainger had to run to keep up. Same war, different day.

When they got downstairs, not only Matsak but Zotov were waiting for them.

Matsak strode right up to Grainger, Zotov in tow. The Ministry official said, “The Tim! Oh, this is well! We have
bolshoi problema
.”

“Bolshoi problema!”
Zotov echoed, his face working so that every fleshy growth on it wriggled.

Grainger said, “
Yop t’voyu problema.” Fuck your big problem.
“I’ve got a
bolshoi problema
of my own, Sasha.”

“So sorry, Tim,” said Matsak, stroking his beard. “In my opinion, these problems may be one and the same. Or at least connected.”

Grainger was aware of Roebeck brushing by them, rushing off to secure the TC. Plan B was under way.

“Da, da, da,”
agreed Zotov. “The one and the same.”

“Okay, I’ll accept that hypothesis—for now,” Grainger said. “Then we’d all better pile into that Science Ministry car of yours
or go somewhere we can talk openly. I don’t have much time.”
Ball in your court, Matsak.
It was time to find out where Matsak stood. With Grainger, against Matsak’s local enemies. On the fence. Or in Etkin’s pocket.
“Chun’s gone. Your KGB buddy’s got her. And I want her back. Now.”

It was a risk, here in the lobby. But less in the open space than elsewhere, including Matsak’s car.
Put your cards on the table, Matsak. Are you a player or what?

Matsak was all fire and ice, a smithy gauging the temper of a blade in the forge. “You know where they have gone?”

Grainger nodded. “I think so. FILL”

“In my opinion,” the Ministry of Science general said with an almost sensual slowness, “it will be
ahb-so-lute-ly
my pleasure to help you with this problem. My
bolshoi
pleasure.” He squinted out the door through which Roebeck had gone. “To be successful, we must avoid awaking the entire sleeping
US Embassy bureaucracy to this situation,
da
?”

Matsak didn’t miss a trick. He was more interested in what Roebeck, who was out of his sight, might do than what Grainger,
who was offering to cooperate, might do.

“It’s your country,
tovarisch.
But I accept your condition. We’ll keep the US out of it—not a problem.” Calling a Russian “comrade” wasn’t quite the same
as calling him “friend.” Not here. Not now. Not ever.

S
orry, soldier,” Pauli Weigand heard the wardsr say. “Nobody sees this prisoner without authorization.”

Pauli’s cell had sidewalls of concrete, the material at the core of most Roman building projects. The bars at either end were
placed too close together for him to get his head through the gap, so he couldn’t see anything but the empty cell directly
across the corridor.

“So I got authorization,” a familiar voice replied. Coins clinked.

“Look, buddy,” the warder said in obvious distress. “I’d like to take your money, but this guy’s special. Why don’t we just
forget you came down here, all right?”

“Look, I’ll tell you how it is,” the other voice explained. “I was with Varus in the 17th, you see? I hear this jçuy was one
of the Fritzes who planned us getting the chop. I want to talk to him.”

“You want to kill him, you mean?” the warder said. “Buddy, I sympathize, I really do, but he’s going to be the star turn in
the games tomorrow. If anything goes wrong with him, I’ll be his replacement.”

“Nothing like that,” the soldier said. “I just want to talk. Anyway, he’ll be on the other side of the bars, right?”

“I don’t get it,” the warder said.

“You don’t have to get it,” the soldier said. Coins clinked again. He went on, “Look, if your buddy gets killed, you get mad
about it. If everybody in Vetera but you got killed tomorrow—you wouldn’t get mad. It’s too big. But you’d want to understand
what the fuck happened. Trust me. And drink a better grade of wine for the next week on me, right?”

“You got a few minutes,” the warder muttered. Sandals shuffled away. “But for Hermes’ sake, don’t let anything happen to him
or my ghost’ll ride your shoulder till you die!”

Pauli stood up carefully as hobnails clashed in his direction. The cells beneath the amphitheater weren’t meant for men his
height. They weren’t meant for men at all, really: they were beast cages that could double as holding cells for humans when
necessary. The animals were more valuable than human prisoners; and in neither case was the stay going to be longer than a
day or two.