.
marbletop desk and greeted her with a warm embrace and a kiss on the cheek.
Zoshchenko returned the embrace, and then allowed her hands to slide down Orlov’s back until they reached his buttocks. She pulled his body close and kissed him with deliberate intensity. Several minutes seemed to pass before either surfaced for air.
‘I missed you, Victor,’ Zoshchenko declared softly.
‘I noticed,’ Orlov replied, a flush on his face.
At fifty-three, Victor Ivanovich Orlov was arguably one of the most powerful men in Russia. In the years since the collapse of communism, the former government trade analyst had amassed a fortune conservatively estimated at nearly fifteen billion dollars. He leveraged several of his highly placed connections in the international finance community and established the first privately held bank in Russia. With the backing of his own bank, he then stormed the Russian industrial landscape, acquiring controlling interests in more than twenty formerly state-owned enterprises. His businesses now included banking, mining, oil and gas, aircraft, shipping, telecommunications, real estate, and mass media. The ongoing crises in the Russian economy had only served to bolster his position by weeding out the lesser oligarchs.
‘I still fantasize about that desk of yours, Victor.’
Orlov eyed the pristine marble surface, indulging himself in a little mental imagery. ‘Ah, but sadly not today. Let’s sit and have some tea while you tell me what has brought you here so urgently. Irena said you mentioned a business matter that we needed to discuss.’
They sat down on a couch near the windows overlooking Leninskiy Prospekt and the park beyond. A silver tea service rested on a low table in front of them. Orlov poured two cups while Zoshchenko composed her thoughts.
‘Victor, over the past ten years I have provided you with valuable information regarding state industries and natural resources. For my part, I have been paid very well and I have no complaints about our business arrangement.’
Orlov sipped his tea, quietly studying Zoshchenko as she spoke. From her position within the Academy of Sciences, Zoshchenko had identified a number of opportunities that Orlov had exploited in building his vast business empire. He had made Zoshchenko a millionaire several times over in compensation for her efforts.
‘During my visit to the United States, I uncovered something, an opportunity unlike anything I have ever brought you before. I learned of a physicist who is about to change the world. His name is Ted Sandstrom.’
Orlov said nothing as Zoshchenko described Sandstrom’s work and the quantum energy device. The gift of an eidetic memory allowed her to accurately describe even the most minute details of what she had seen at the MARC board meeting. The pace of her narrative quickened with her excitement, and after twenty almost breathless minutes, she reached the end of her story.
‘So, at some point during the next month, the consortia from Michigan and Notre Dame will join forces to manage this technology?’ Orlov asked.
‘Yes.’
‘And, as yet, no scientific papers have been published and no patents have been applied for?’
‘Again, yes. Lawyers are to begin work on the patent applications later this summer. The patent filing for the original device will occur this fall, well within the timeframe in which Sandstrom will put his idea into use. Sandstrom and the consortia are maintaining a very low profile regarding this project. And with good reason.’
‘So, very few people know about Sandstrom’s work?’
‘I would say no more than thirty, but only Sandstrom and his associate Paramo actually know how to construct one of these quantum energy devices.’
‘What value would you place on Sandstrom’s work? What is it worth?’
‘This isn’t an oil field or a diamond mine, Victor. What we’re looking at is an entirely new industry in the moments just before its birth, an industry with a multibillion-dollar potential. These consortia are planning to serve as midwife and guardian of this nascent technology, but as the Americans are so fond of saying: Possession is nine-tenths of the law. If a scientist working for one of your companies announced this discovery first, then you would own this technology. I believe there is an opportunity here, if you act quickly.’
Orlov sat silent for several minutes, digesting everything Zoshchenko had said and extrapolating possible scenarios.
‘This could work,’ Orlov said objectively, ‘but I’ll need a good physicist, someone capable of understanding this quantum technology. I have a building on the outskirts of Moscow that should suit our needs for this endeavor.’
Reaching over the arm of the couch, Orlov pressed the intercom button on the phone that sat on the end table.
‘Irena, I need you to cancel the rest of my appointments for the week.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Cherny replied.
‘I also need you to contact Dmitri Leskov. Tell him to come here immediately. Have my cook prepare dinner for three and have it brought to my office; I’ll be working late tonight.’
South Bend, Indiana
‘What the fuck?’ the driver of the semi growled when he noticed the flashing blue lights in the mirror cluster on his door.
‘Problem, Jimbo?’ the skinny young man seated next to him asked.
‘Yeah, a cop.’
‘Shit, were ya speeding?’ the third man on the bench seat asked.
‘I don’t think so. Potholes are so bad ’round here, I’d jar my teeth loose if I went more than five over the limit. Must be down on his ticket quota and I’m the only thing on the road right now.’
The driver carefully took the semi off to the side of the two-lane county road, put the rig in neutral, and switched on the hazard lights. A white, unmarked Chevy Blazer pulled up behind the truck. A moment later a uniformed Indiana state trooper stepped out from behind the wheel. In the mirror, the driver watched as the trooper slowly approached.
‘Looks like a real hard-ass, Jimbo,’ the skinny man said, craning his neck to get a view in the mirror.
‘Yeah, a real tough guy,’ the driver replied anxiously, his heart racing.
‘His partner’s coming up on my side,’ the third man announced. ‘Looks just like the other one. I guess they’re cloning cops now.’
‘License and registration, please,’ the trooper said in a tone of bored superiority as he reached the driver’s door.
‘What’s the problem, Officer?’ the driver asked as he handed over the requested paperwork.
‘Just a routine check. Would the three of you mind stepping out of the cab?’
The troopers stood back from the doors, carefully keeping one hand on their holstered pistols. As the driver shut the engine off and slid out from behind the wheel, the two other men stepped down on the passenger side.
‘Let’s go around to the other side,’ the trooper said, indicating that the driver should lead the way.
‘Open up the trailer, please,’ the trooper demanded as they reached where the second officer stood with the other men.
‘Sure,’ the driver replied as he unlocked the trailer’s side door. ‘There’s nothing inside ’cept our dollies and some padding. We were just on our way to a pickup.’
The driver swung the door wide open.
‘See, just like I told ya.’