“You’re wasting your three minutes.”

He ignored me and said, “I was happy to hear she got a promotion. But I was puzzled by your… taking a position with lesser responsibilities.”

“Buck, fuck you.”

He continued, “You’re a remarkable man, John, but I don’t think they appreciated you on the Anti-Terrorist Task Force.”

Buck was fluent in Russian, so I tried that. “Yob vas.”

He smiled, then went on, “Your supervisor, Tom Walsh, was undermining you. Which is strange, since he is so fond of Kate.”

“Are you trying to get me to shoot you?”

“I’m just making an observation.” He also let me know, “Tess has become perhaps overly fond of you.” He confided, “We almost took her off the case.”

“I already did that, and I also took her gun. That’s how much I believe her bullshit and your bullshit.”

“Even within a masquerade, some things are real.”

I strongly advised him, “Get to Vasily Petrov.”

“All right. Colonel Vasily Petrov is the son of Vladimir Petrov, a KGB general who once headed SMERSH.”

“I know that.”

“Then you also know that Junior is in a similar line of work.”

“I thought he was a U.N. delegate for human rights.”

“Well, he is, but he doesn’t know much about that.” He thought a moment, then said, “Tess tells me that Petrov and his two companions were acting a bit odd at Tamorov’s party.”

“Right.”

He smiled. “When a Russian isn’t drinking at a party, something is not right.” He thought again, then said, “And then Petrov, Fradkov, and Gorsky got into an amphibious craft and sailed off.”

“Correct.”

“I understand you’ve gotten the county police to mount a sea-and-air search for that amphibious craft.”

“Also correct.”

“What do you think their chances are of finding that craft, or discovering where Petrov was taken?”

“Chances were good two hours ago. Not so good now.”

He thought about that, then replied, “It is my understanding that your only interest in this is to find the surveillance target you lost.”

“Right.”

“But I think I know you, John. And I believe you’ve thought about Vasily Petrov and why he may be in America.”

I didn’t reply.

“Colonel Petrov,” he went on, “has as little knowledge of espionage as he does of human rights. He is a killer.”

“We all know that, Buck.”

“And Viktor Gorsky is also a killer.”

“And Fradkov?”

“That’s another matter. I will return to Pavel Fradkov later. But for now, I’d like you to continue your efforts with this Captain Kalish to locate our missing Russians.”

My next stop was probably Tamorov’s house, so I asked, “What is the relationship between Petrov and Georgi Tamorov?”

“Good question. And the answer is, we don’t know. But if I had to guess, I’d say it is as it seems—a relationship of mutual convenience. Tamorov wants the friendship of a powerful SVR colonel, and Colonel Petrov enjoys the hospitality of a rich oligarch.”

“Petrov wasn’t enjoying himself tonight. He didn’t even get laid.”

Buck forced a smile. “But he did take a dozen young ladies with him. So it appears that Petrov was using Tamorov’s beach house tonight as a place where he was to meet this amphibious craft, which was presumably taking him and his friends to another party.”

And maybe, I thought, Petrov collected some tools of his and Gorsky’s trade at Tamorov’s house that they couldn’t carry in their car. But that supposed Petrov was up to something. I mean, did he take off out the back door in a boat to give his DSG followers the slip because he was up to something? Or did he take off in a boat because he had another party to go to? That was the question.

Buck closed his eyes and I thought the old guy had nodded off, but he said, “I tried to convince my colleagues that the Russian threat was not being taken seriously. The intelligence establishment and the military and diplomatic community are funneling vast resources into the war on Islamic terrorism because of 9/11. And they are ignoring the awakening bear.”

I’d expect that from Buck, whose glory days were behind him. But I agreed with him that the Cold War was back and no one was paying attention.

Meanwhile, he wasn’t giving me the promised briefing, so I asked, “Is Petrov going to whack someone tonight?”

“I’ll get to that later.” He changed the subject and said, “I’ve also had the Coast Guard alerted, and they’ve agreed to send some boats and a helicopter to conduct a search. But as I discovered, their resources are limited compared to what the police have at their disposal.”

I nodded. Even in this age of counterterrorism and drug smuggling, the United States Coast Guard was being scaled back. The Suffolk County Police Marine Bureau, on the other hand, had about twenty watercraft of various sizes and capabilities and four helicopters for search, rescue, and law enforcement. Plus there were local harbor constables who also had watercraft that could be deployed at sea. Bottom line here, Scott Kalish had more air and sea resources at his disposal than the U.S. Coast Guard. Which was why I called him.

Buck said, “Tess told me that Petrov and his friends carried three overnight bags onboard the amphibious craft.”

“Correct.”

“Nothing larger? Like a suitcase?”

Before I could ask why he asked, I heard footsteps and saw Tess coming toward us.

She looked at me, then at Buck sitting under the tree.

Buck said to her, “I believe we’re almost finished here.” He smiled. “John has decided not to kill me.”

“Today,” I explained.

Tess looked at me. “Do you understand how important this is?”

“Not really.”

She looked at Buck, who said, “I haven’t yet gotten to Pavel Fradkov.”

“Then,” I suggested, “let’s get to Pavel Fradkov.”

Buck stood, looked at me, and said, “I understand that all your surveillance vehicles are equipped with portable radiation detectors.”

That is not what I wanted to hear.

He continued, “And Ms. Faraday tells me she heard no beeping, even when you were very close to Petrov’s vehicle. So I suppose it’s already on the ship that Petrov rendezvoused with.”

“What is on what ship?”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

Indeed I did.

There is little that spooks me, but atomic bombs are at the top of my very short list. I cleared my throat and said, “I assume you mean a nuke.”

“Correct.” He added, “Probably a suitcase nuke.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because Vasily Petrov is a psychotic mass murderer. And he, like his father, and like his megalomaniacal president, yearns for the glory days of the Soviet Empire. And all that stands in his and his president’s way is us.”

Buck saw I wasn’t buying all of this, so he tempered his concerns a bit and said, “We’re not sure this is what’s happening tonight, but if you put it all together, then what you saw today at Tamorov’s party doesn’t make sense except in that context.”

I thought back to all that had happened since Petrov went mobile, and I couldn’t come to any conclusion that involved a nuke. I said to Buck, “There’s a piece missing. Fradkov.”

“Correct. Pavel Fradkov, whose real name is Arkady Urmanov, is a nuclear physicist.” Buck informed me, “He once worked on the Soviet nuclear weapons miniaturization program. Suitcase nukes.”

Holy shit.

“Miniaturized nukes,” Buck informed me, “are temperamental and need periodic… well, tune-ups.” He continued, “The fear that they could get into the hands of terrorists is real. But no one knows if they’d actually detonate if they hadn’t been regularly maintained over the thirty years since most of them were made.” He concluded, “To be sure of that, and to properly arm the device, it’s good to have a knowledgeable nuclear weapons scientist on hand.”

Tess added, “Especially one who hasn’t had a drink all night.”

The evidence, as we say in criminal investigations, was mounting—and pointing in one direction.