Allison appreciated the pep talk. It helped her erase any feelings of loyalty that still lingered. In her mind, she was no longer violating her boss’s privacy. No longer going through a dead man’s things. Instead, she was doing the job that she had been hired to do. She was a researcher. A damn good one. This was the one part of her life where she felt totally at ease. Whereas Payne and Jones excelled in the field, this was her comfort zone. She felt at home.
“Please hand me that book,” she said, pointing toward the far end of the table. “That’s where Richard wrote his appointments. Maybe we can figure out what he’s been up to.”
“Good idea,” said Jones as he passed her the journal.
It was bound in black leather. Byrd’s initials were embossed in fancy script on the front cover. A gold ribbon, glued to the binding of the book, marked the current week. Allison flipped to that page and studied the schedule for Sunday, May 18-the day that Byrd was killed.
“One entry,” she said. “There’s a man’s name and a phone number. Nothing else.”
“What’s the name?”
She tried to read Byrd’s handwriting. It was barely legible. “Ivan Borodin.”
“Ring any bells?”
“Nope. Never heard of him.”
“Local number?”
She nodded. “Should we call it?”
“Not yet. First, look back a day or two. See if anything else stands out.”
Allison flipped back a page. “That’s strange. The same name and number. Only it’s been scratched out.”
Jones walked behind her for a better view. “Go back one more page.”
The same name appeared, also crossed off. “Ivan Borodin.”
“You’re sure you’ve never heard of him?”
“Positive. Richard never told me anything.”
“Flip back some more. Find the first time Ivan is mentioned.”
Allison turned the pages slowly, trying to decipher Byrd’s scribbles. Some of his entries made sense, particularly the appointments that involved her in some way-a lunch meeting, a trip to the library, and so on. But most of his notes were nonsense. They were either written in code or simply illegible. “As far as I can tell, Ivan’s name first appeared on the eighth. There’s even a star written next to it.”
“The eighth? I thought you were in Germany on the eighth?”
She nodded. “We were. We flew to Russia on the tenth.”
Jones considered this information. “Okay. Now we’re getting somewhere. See if this makes sense. He calls Ivan on the eighth. They talk about whatever and set up a meeting in Saint Petersburg. The only problem is that Richard can’t get into Russia without a fake visa. So he takes a day or two to get the phony paperwork and arrange a flight. Bing, bang, boom. Next thing you know, your plans to Greece get canceled because he needs to meet with Ivan.”
She smiled. “Bing, bang, boom?”
“What? You’ve never heard that expression?”
“Of course I have. I simply prefer, ‘yada yada yada.’ It’s classier.”
“Oh my goodness! You made a joke. I can’t wait to tell Jon.”
Allison blushed slightly. “Just so you know, I do have a personality.”
“I know you do. I’m just glad to see you finally using it.”
“Ouch.”
“Anyway,” Jones said, feeling guilty about teasing her, “if my theory is correct, that means Ivan has something that Richard needed. Any ideas on what it was?”
She shook her head. “No clue. But the answer might be among his paperwork.”
“I was thinking the same thing.” He wrote Ivan’s number down on a piece of hotel stationery. “Why don’t you start looking through this stuff? Meanwhile, I’ll make a few calls and see what I can come up with.”
Jones walked into the guest bedroom and partially closed the door. He didn’t want to disturb her or leave her unattended. For the time being, she was his responsibility. Using the cell phone that Payne had bought for him, Jones dialed a number that he knew by heart. A few seconds passed before the phone started ringing at the Pentagon.
Randy Raskin answered. “Research.”
Jones glanced at his watch. It was still early in America. “Damn! Do you ever sleep?”
“There’s no need. That’s why God invented caffeine.”
“Good point.”
“By the way, I have to commend you on your trickiness.”
“My trickiness? What are you talking about?”
“You called me from a different number. You’re lucky, too. If I had known it was you, I probably wouldn’t have answered.”
Jones smiled. He peered into the other room, just to make sure Allison wasn’t listening. “And if you hadn’t picked up, I wouldn’t have been able to tell you about your future girlfriend.”
“My future girlfriend?” It took a moment for the comment to register, but when it finally did, Raskin’s voice went up an octave. “Hold up! You mean that blonde from California? You actually found her?”
“Not only that, she wants you to do her a favor.”
Drool practically dripped from Raskin’s mouth. He and his computer lived a lonely life in the Pentagon basement. “Anything she wants. And I mean anything. With a touch of a button, I can name a battleship after her.”
“Ahhhhhh! How romantic! What a sweet and totally inappropriate gesture.”
“Hey, it’s the thought that counts.”
“Thankfully, her idea of a favor is a little smaller than that. She needs information on a man named Ivan Borodin. I have a phone number, if that will help.”
“Of course it will help.”
Jones read it to him. “I’m pretty sure it’s in Saint Petersburg.”