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by the time she made her escape, but she hoped her attempt to avoid eliminating him didn’t wind up getting her killed instead.

Morozov turned right. As they walked, Tracie could see that all the offices on both sides of the corridor were now occupied; the commander’s was the only one fitted with frosted glass for privacy.

At the end of the hallway, Morozov stopped in front of a closed door that appeared to be constructed of reinforced steel. He removed a set of keys from his pocket and picked through them until finding the one he wanted, then he unlocked the door and swung it open.

They descended a set of metal stairs constructed inside a metallic shaft. The sound of their footsteps boomed, echoing around the enclosure, and the air felt warm and humid. At the bottom they paused again, Morozov repeating his previous exercise, unlocking another reinforced metal door with a different key.

Tracie knew if Objekt 825’s commanding officer were willing to sacrifice himself and begin shouting at this point, there was simply no way she would ever escape. Armed soldiers would appear and take her down long before she could kill Morozov, steal his keys, and then determine which ones opened which doors through the process of trial and error.

She wouldn’t make it through the first door, never mind out of the facility.

She tried to swallow and realized her mouth was bone-dry.

After Morozov had found the proper key—it took longer than the first time and Tracie began to wonder whether he might be stalling—they stepped through the door and entered what looked to Tracie like the world’s largest laboratory. Submarine components lined the massive room on shelves, some as large as an automobile and others so tiny she could barely make them out.

She wondered how much of the material inside this lab might be classified, wishing she could have a couple of hours in here, alone and with a camera.

But it was not to be, and after that first quick glance around the periphery of the room, her attention was drawn to an angry-looking older man standing just inside the doorway. In his arms was the package she’d seen The Weasel deliver yesterday, the box containing the Marine Technix underwater communications decoder. The man’s right foot tapped the floor incessantly, and the look he gave Tracie when he caught sight of her would curdle milk.

“Here,” he said, shoving the box at Morozov. “Here is the device.”

Then he looked at Tracie and said, “Please do me a favor and thank your superiors for wasting my time.”

She hardened her expression and leaned forward, making a show of examining the man’s ID, which was hanging around his neck on a lanyard. “Do not worry, Comrade Taraschenko, I will do exactly that. I will let Lubyanka know precisely and in no uncertain terms how displeased you were about the events of this morning.”

To his credit, the man held her gaze, although his face seemed to turn a shade paler than it had been previously.

She said, “Is there anything you would like to add, or does that complete your message, Comrade?”

He opened his mouth to speak, then slammed it closed. He turned and walked away without another word.

When he’d gotten out of earshot, she told Morozov, “Get us back up to your office. You’re doing well, don’t get yourself killed now.”

27

 

June 25, 1988

8:10 a.m.

Objekt 825 administration building

 

Once back inside Morozov’s office, the commander moved immediately to his desk as Tracie closed the door behind them. He took a long belt from the vodka bottle and then slumped down into his desk chair. He grimaced as the alcohol burned its way down his gullet and then closed his eyes and sighed in satisfaction.

“What now?” he asked without opening his eyes.

“Now you stand up.”

“And?”

“And we leave the facility.”

He looked up at her, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Why did we reenter my office if we were only going to continue out of Objekt 825 anyway?”

Tracie smiled. “I wanted to give you a moment to collect yourself. You looked as though you were about to pass out while we were inside your research laboratory.”

He sighed but didn’t argue. “I have never been forced to commit treason at gunpoint before.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “In fact, if it makes you feel any better, you’re not committing treason at all.”

“I do not follow.”

“It would only be treason if you handed over the communications decoder of your own free will. Since, as you mentioned, I’m holding you a gunpoint, you’re not actually committing treason, you’re being robbed. It’s a small but significant distinction.”

“Try telling that to the KGB. The real KGB,” he added dryly, “not your fantasy version.”

“Would you like me to call Lubyanka following my escape and convince them you did everything possible to prevent me from reacquiring this device?”

A flicker of hope lit up in his eyes for the briefest of moments, before disappearing as a drunken scowl creased his face. “Very funny.”

“I would just like to remind you,” Tracie said, “that while my KGB credentials may be a fantasy, the gun I’m threatening you with is very real, as is the magazine filled with 9mm slugs inside it.”

“Do not worry, I remember.”

“Good. Then stand up like I already asked once, and let us get out of here.”

He climbed immediately to his feet but then lifted the vodka bottle to his lips one more time and took another massive swig. “Just in case I do not survive beyond the next few minutes,” he said after swallowing.

“I told you, while I will not hesitate to kill you if necessary, I have no intention of doing so unless you leave me no choice.”

“I do not find that as comforting as you seem to believe.”

“And I don’t

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