Orlov slumped forward slightly, his body relaxing with the good news. But there was something in the American's eyes, a hollowness in his voice, that suggested something else was wrong.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" Orlov asked.

"Yes," said Hood, "there is. I want you to tell your son something."

Orlov rose attentively on his elbows.

"Your son did his best to resist extraction. I'm sure he thought it was his duty to go down with the ship, or perhaps it was a point of honor not to leave on an enemy craft. But in so doing, he caused the death of my team commander."

"I'm deeply sorry," Orlov said. "Is there anything I can do to--"

"General," Hood interrupted, "I'm not selling guilt or asking for anything. We'll reclaim the remains through diplomatic channels. But my second-in-command was very close to the team leader, and he wanted you to relay something to your son."

"Of course," said Orlov.

"He says that in the Russian folktale 'Sadko,' the Czar of the Sea tells the hero that any warrior can take lives, but a truly great warrior struggles to spare them. Make sure your son understands that. Help him to be a great warrior."

"I've not had great success convincing my son of anything," Orlov said, "but I give you my word, great warriors will grow from the seeds that have been sown here."

Orlov thanked Hood again, and then the General signed off and thought in respectful silence about the nameless, faceless man but for whom his own life and the life of his wife would now be a shambles.

And then he got up from his desk and took his hat from the rack and went outside. Except for the dwindling crowd of protesting workers, the day looked exactly like it had when he arrived, and he was startled to realize that exactly twenty-four hours had passed since he'd arrived for the showdown with Rossky.

Twenty-four hours since the world nearly changed.

And twenty-four hours since he had hugged his wife.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX

Tuesday, 10:00 P.M., Helsinki

It was easy for Peggy to get out of the Hermitage.

When the shots were fired on the staircase, rumors erupted among the striking workers that the Army was coming and the gathering was going to be broken up. The crowd quickly began to disperse, then rejoined almost as fast, like mercury, when police began to rush inside and leaders realized that the gunplay had nothing to do with them. The mass of workers then sloshed toward the Hermitage, clogging the main entrance where there were no longer any guards, walking and tripping inside, causing panic among tourists trying to get out, and drawing the guards back again. They used nightsticks and rigid forearms, hands pressed knuckle-to-knuckle, to protect the art and drive the strikers back.

Peggy left as a panicked tourist.