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Authors: Peter Abrahams

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“That's right.”

“Where?”

“It was an art study program. Arranged by the Art Appreciation Club.”

“But where?”

“Various museums. The Uffizi, the Tate, the Louvre.”

“Did you squeeze the Hermitage in there too?”

Keith nodded.

“That must have been a nice year,” Zyzmchuk said. “Meeting all kinds of people, and things. We'll have to talk about it someday. Or someone will. Anyway, an imaginative fellow walks into the Russian embassy and tells them about the Woodstock deal. Sells them the information, I'm sure, although it will be hard to prove. The Russians appreciate imagination. They decide this imaginative fellow might be useful. They send him back to the senator. He tells the senator about the switch, explains how the senator's career would be over unless he cooperates. Perhaps the senator never even knew the Russians were involved. Maybe he didn't want to know. Was that it, Keith?”

Keith opened his mouth to speak, then closed it without uttering a word.

“What I like,” Zyzmchuk said, “is that you were running him. I thought it was the other way around for a while. That confused me. You were much better than I thought. Not just a desk man, Keith. A real pro. It'll take years to figure out all the stuff the Russians got, if we—if they—ever do.”

A police car followed the plow up the hill, parked in front of the cabin. Grace got out and came toward them, carrying a shopping bag.

“But Major Tsarenko was running you. It must have been a bad day when he told you Pat Rodney was on the loose.”

Keith's brow wrinkled. “Are you talking about the Russian, Zyz? The one I saved you from last night?”

“That proved what a pro you were,” Zyzmchuk said. “But the timing was a little off. Not your fault, but the major wasn't a factor by the time you fired. I was the one you wanted of course, but you realized it was too late, once you heard the sirens. So you shot your master, keeping him out of the hands of the interrogation boys.”

“This is quite a theory, Zyz. But utterly unprovable.”

“We have a witness.”

“A witness?”

“She saw you outside the house in Venice. You just missed catching Pat Rodney there, didn't you? The real Pat Rodney, I mean. That was unlucky.” Zyzmchuk smiled. “It meant having to deal with Jessie Shapiro.”

Keith didn't reply.

“She saw you again at the barn in Vermont. Said you looked like one of those commentators on TV. Couldn't remember which one at first. I don't think she watches much TV. But it finally came to her: George Will.”

“Is this a joke, Zyz? I've been in the same room with him on several occasions, and I assure you I don't look at all like him.”

“I've always thought you do, Keith. So will the jury.”

Grace came up to them. She didn't look at Keith. “I went to his house as you said, Mr. Z. I found this.” She opened the shopping bag. Inside were a gray wig, a polka dot dress and a pair of wraparound sunglasses.

“‘The Role of Disguise,'” Zyzmchuk said, “‘in the Modern Intelligence Matrix.'”

“You had no right to enter my house,” Keith said. Grace didn't answer. He turned to Zyzmchuk. “Dahlin will bounce you the moment I tell him.”

“Dahlin was bounced himself an hour ago,” Zyzmchuk said. “You should have run last night, Keith. You might have caught the Aeroflot out of Montreal.”

Keith was silent for a moment. Then he said, “Not with the roads the way they were.”

“Probably not.”

They looked at each other. Keith turned away.

“I'll do what I can for you, Keith, if you tell me where to find the Picasso.”

“The Picasso?”

“The Rose Period one. Alice Frame reported it stolen about ten years ago, and I'm sure she thought it was. You and the senator knew differently, of course. I'd kind of like it to go to her granddaughter.”

Keith didn't reply.

Zyzmchuk took Grace's arm, started to turn, then stopped. “What role did you play in
The Wind in the Willows?

There was another silence. It went on and on. Then a very small smile crossed Keith's face. “Ratty. The review was very favorable, if I recall, even if it was just the college paper.”

Zyzmchuk led Grace away. The mountain stayed where it was, but the troopers began moving toward Keith.

“A Lieutenant DeMarco called from Los Angeles,” Grace said. “He left his number.”

“Throw it away.”

Zyzmchuk said good-bye to Grace and got into the Blazer. He drove down the mountain, came to Route 7. It hadn't been plowed. He stopped. South meant Washington, north meant back into town. Zyzmchuk stayed where he was for a few minutes, unmoving in a world of dazzling blue and glaring white. He thought, I'm too old; I know nothing about being a father; it wasn't real, but only because of the danger she was in.

He thought those thoughts, but he turned north anyway. It couldn't hurt to say good-bye.

He drove to the 1826 House, parked in the lot. Rooms 19 and 20 were sealed. A policeman stood at the door of number 1. He stepped aside to let Zyzmchuk go by.

Ivan Zyzmchuk opened the door. It was warm inside. A fire burned in the grate. Jessie Shapiro lay sleeping in the bed, her broken arm in a cast, her other arm around her sleeping daughter. Piles of quilts covered them. Their dark, frizzy hair mingled on the pillow.

He closed the door. He thought, I'm too old; I know nothing about being a father; it was only because of the danger. But he wanted to lie down, if just for a moment. How could that hurt? He wouldn't fall asleep—he wasn't much of a sleeper anymore—but just lie down for a while, not disturbing anyone, then get up when the first plow went by and follow it out of town.

He lay on the bed.

Not long after, the first plow did go by the 1826 House. But by that time, inside room 1, Ivan Zyzmchuk was sleeping a deep sleep, his arm resting across Jessie and her little girl.

About the Author

Peter Abrahams is the author of thirty-three novels. Among his acclaimed crime thrillers are
Hard Rain
,
Pressure Drop
,
The Fury of Rachel Monette
,
Tongues of Fire
, Edgar Award finalist
Lights Out
,
Oblivion
,
End of Story
, and
The Fan
, which was adapted into a film starring Robert De Niro and Wesley Snipes. Under the name Spencer Quinn, he writes the
New York Times
–bestselling Chet and Bernie Mystery series, which debuted with
Dog on It
. Abrahams's young adult novel
Reality Check
won the Edgar Award for Best Young Adult Mystery in 2010, and
Down the Rabbit Hole
, the first novel in his Echo Falls Mystery series, won the Agatha Award for Best Children's/Young Adult Novel in 2005.

Abrahams lives on Cape Cod with his family. Visit his website:
www.spencequinn.com

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 1988 by Peter Abrahams

Cover design by Barbara Brown

ISBN: 978-1-5040-1629-2

This edition published in 2015 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

345 Hudson Street

New York, NY 10014

www.openroadmedia.com

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