"And that you'd kill me if I got between you and Pavski."

"Then you'd better not get between us."

"I've no intention of preventing you from killing Pavski. I'd hand you the gun."

"That's kind of you, but I don't like guns." He leaned back against the rail. "But I take it that you're extending a helping hand?"

"I want Pavski. I'm not going to take a chance on Bradworth's letting him slip through his fingers." She stared him directly in the eye. "You told Bradworth I was yours. I know it was part of the tug-of-war game that you two are playing, but I'll make it true. Everything I know and everything I am are at your disposal. You can help me. I can help you."

"To get Pavski."

"To get Pavski. What else?"

"And you're not heeding Bradworth's dire warnings?"

"I'm heeding them. I'm just not acting on them. Why should I? I don't trust him. I don't trust either of you. I'm not even sure that there is a Pavski or that he's responsible for Conner's death. As soon as I get back to Boston, I'm going to call the congressman and ask him to check out all the information he can gather on Pavski."

"Very wise."

"And about Dimitri Ivanov."

"Even wiser. I'm sorry, but I can't afford to twiddle my thumbs here until you check us out. I'm sailing in twenty minutes."

"You're not going to rush me."

"I'm not trying to rush you. Unfortunately, last night you were probably followed here by Pavski's men, and I can't run the risk of staying here until you make up your mind. I want Pavski, not his errand boys. Bradworth is probably having you watched, but be careful all the same." He rose to his feet and headed for the bridge. "You have my cell phone number. Call me, and I'll come to you."

She frowned. "Why are you in such a hurry now? Before you didn't think the danger was too great to wait until this evening."

"Yes, I did." He started the engine. "But you were worth waiting for. You're very valuable. I told you, Bradworth was right. I do want to use you." He backed away from the pier. "Call me…"

RASTADT, RUSSIA

Dananka parked his motorcycle next to the market on the outskirts of town. Christ, how could people live in such a depressing little shit hole? He had yet to see anyone under the age of seventy, and the houses were crumbling under their own weight. Another decade, and this pathetic little village could be a beautiful resort, Dananka thought. It couldn't happen soon enough.

He knew he stuck out like a sore thumb in places like this. He'd turn thirty on his next birthday, and he took good care of himself. He was young and strong, and any thoughts that he might be getting old were erased by a few minutes in this place. The town represented the Russia he hated, the disintegrating country that proudly hung on to its old-fashioned ideals even as they plunged the country deeper and deeper into the abyss.

He found the house and pushed the door buzzer. It didn't work. Naturally. He knocked on the door.

After a minute, an elderly man with gigantic black-framed glasses answered. His entire face seemed to squint. "Yes?"

Dananka flashed his most boyish smile. "Frederick Samsova?"

"Who are you?"

"I'm an admirer of yours, sir. It's such an honor to meet you."

Samsova stared at him suspiciously. "It is?"

"Yes. My name is Ilya Dananka. I'm in the naval academy at St. Petersburg, and you have a lot of fans there. May I come in?"

Samsova shrugged and swung the door open wide. "The place is a mess. I don't have many visitors."

"It looks fine." Dananka glanced around the depressing little shack, which was cluttered with newspapers, magazines, and several ship models in various stages of completion. "Just wait until my friends at the academy hear that I was in Frederick Samsova's house."

"I'm surprised you've even heard of me." Samsova pulled open the window blinds. The late-morning sun highlighted the dust on every surface. "They don't like talking about the old guard anymore. They wish we didn't exist."

"That's not true, at least not in your case. Many of the students have discovered your navigational system."

Samsova raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

"Oh, yes. It's totally brilliant. I'm surprised it's not being used everywhere."

"That was my hope, but I'm afraid political realities took precedence." His eyes sparkled with sudden eagerness. "Your classmates really know my work?"

"We all do. It hasn't been easy to research, because your texts aren't in the library anymore."

Samsova sighed. "Of course they aren't. It's a world that shuns complexity and embraces mediocrity."

"But I found a box of acetates that you used on the overhead projector in your classes. We borrowed a projector, and some of us get together twice a week in the basement and study your lessons." He smiled. "We've taken your name for our group. I hope you don't mind. We call ourselves the Samsovians."

Color filled the old man's pasty face. He smiled and gestured to a narrow bookshelf in his living room. "These are my texts and lesson plans. I might have some extras around here for you."

"That would be wonderful. Thank you so much." Dananka reached into his backpack and pulled out three eleven-by-fourteen prints. "We found this in a box in the archive room. It looks like your system, but we can't read it. Do you have any idea what it means?"

Samsova took the prints and angled them toward the sunlight. "Hmmm. Yes, it's my system. It's difficult to make out…" He held up the first print. "Points of origin, one primary, and two alternates. These are in the Western Hemisphere, in the North Atlantic."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. We'll check the maps later." Samsova held up the second and third prints. "These go together. There are an unusual number of markers here. Far more than you'd need to get from Point A to Point B."

"What kind of markers?"

"All kinds. Physical, astronomical, compass readings. These are actually quite advanced. Only a very few of my students were taught to this extent."

"Tell me about the markers. To what do they correspond?"

He shrugged. "I've no idea. They don't appear to be complete."

"What about this mark at the bottom of the third photo? It's different, isn't it? What does it mean?"

Samsova frowned. "It's not Samsovian. I've never seen it before."

"Think. Make a guess." Dananka realized at once he'd made a mistake. His tone had been too harsh and demanding for the role he was playing.

Samsova's expression was suspicious again, closing him out. He could almost see him withdrawing. "I can't help you," Samsova said coldly. "This isn't a navigational map. It looks as if it was written on a wall or some other surface. It almost looks like…" He glanced up from the photo. "Who are you?"

"I told you. I'm a student at-"

"I heard you before. But who are you really? I may be a little past my prime, but I still have my wits about me, you condescending bastard." Samsova picked up the phone. "I believe I'll call the academy. I still know a few people there."

"There's no need to bother your friends." He smiled. "I confess. I'm not a student. Just one of your greatest fans."

"Lying pig." Samsova started to dial. "Get out of my house."

"Of course." He took a step closer. "I wouldn't think of abusing your hospitality. And you're right, you obviously can't help me. I'll have to see what I can glean from your books."

"You won't touch my books. Get out of-" Samsova stiffened, his eyes widening. "Wait, please. I-"

Dananka's palm drove upward under Samsova's nose and sent the broken bone fragments into his brain.

BOSTON

You called?" Kirov bowed as Hannah opened the door of her condo. "The message you left on my voice mail was less than polite, but I'm still at your service."