Boucher switched on the wall-mounted TV and sat down on one of the couches. The press conference was just getting under way. The crowds from the recent rallies were all there cheering. And at first they were as fervent as ever. Even more so when Marrs launched into his claims. But when he offered his proof in the form of authentic documents and the future testimony of Dominick Boucher, the crowd fell silent. The reality of Duncan failing so miserably set in hard and took the wind out of their sails. Even Marrs looked sad.

“He doesn’t deserve it,” Boucher said. “He’s a sham. You know that, right?”

Duncan nodded. “But he served a purpose, albeit unknowingly.”

“A pawn?”

Duncan smiled. “Exactly.”

Chapter Seventy-Six

SEVENTY-FIVE

Severodvinsk, Russia

THE DOCKS WERE quiet. For that, Rook was thankful. His host seemed far less excited. Burdened by the weight of his sister’s death, Maksim Dashkov was not in a cooperative mood. The old, red-nosed fisherman was built like the great Siberian brown bear, but he had a heart similar to his sister’s. He had openly wept for her in front of Rook, and had asked about the state of her cabin, how she survived the winters, and if she was happy. He expressed regret over having not seen her since the death of her husband, and told of hard winters and small hauls.

The pair stood on the old wooden fisherman’s dock. The sub yard sat about a mile away. Rook could see a docked Borei class submarine, probably rotating crews and getting resupplied. A patrol boat with a large mounted machine gun cruised back and forth, ever watchful.

Dashkov breathed into his hands. “Hard times have forced me to take on less than noble jobs in the past. And I assume that’s why Galya sent you to me.” He made a point of looking back at the security boat. Rook had been watching it a little too keenly.

“I’d like to avoid conflicts if possible, yes.”

“As would I,” Dashkov said. “Which is why I cannot do what you ask.”

Rook had explained, without going into detail, that he needed a quick and quiet trip out of Russia, destination Norway.

Rook frowned. “Why not?”

The large man sighed. “My ship has already been chartered.”

Rook knew he was asking a lot. It was clear that Dashkov and much of the city were hurting for money. He could promise to have money sent, but that’s all it was, a promise. Without money up front he was asking for a free ride.

Dashkov turned away and looked out at the gray ocean. “You seem like a good man, I’m sorry.”

“Put me to work, then,” Rook said. “Pass me off as a member of the crew.”

“I can’t afford a crew.”

“Does your charter know this?”

“No, but—”

Rook stood in front of Dashkov. “What are you afraid of?”