Gone Tomorrow - Lee Child [108]
“OK.”
“So the Hoths were not Ukrainian. Everything they told us was a lie.”
We all chewed on that for twenty long seconds, in silence. I went through all the stuff Lila had told us and deleted it, item by item. Like pulling files from a drawer, and leafing through them, and then pitching them in the trash.
I said, “We saw their passports at the Four Seasons. They looked Ukrainian to me.”
Lee said, “They were phony. Or they would have used them at immigration.”
I said, “Lila had blue eyes.”
Lee said, “I noticed.”
“Where exactly is Turkmenistan?”
“Also next to Afghanistan. A longer border. Afghanistan is surrounded by Iran, Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, and Pakistan, clockwise from the Gulf.”
“Easier when it was all the Soviet Union.”
“Unless you lived there.”
“Are Turkmenistan and Afghanistan ethnically similar?”
“Probably. All those borders are completely arbitrary. They’re accidents of history. What matters are the tribal divisions. Lines on a map have got nothing to do with it.”
“Are you an expert?”
“The NYPD knows more about that region than the CIA. We have to. We’ve got people over there. We’ve got better intelligence than anyone.”
“Could a person from Afghanistan get a passport from Turkmenistan?”
“By relocating?”
“By asking for help and getting it.”
“From an ethnic sympathizer?”
I nodded. “Maybe under the counter.”
“Why do you ask?”
“Some Afghan people have bright blue eyes. Especially the women. Some weird genetic strand in the population.”
“You think the Hoths are from Afghanistan?”
“They knew a hell of a lot about the conflict with the Soviets. A little dressed up, but they got most of the details right.”
“Maybe they read books.”
“No, they got the feelings right. And the atmosphere. Like the ancient greatcoats. Details like that were not widely available. That’s insider information. In public the Red Army made out it was superbly equipped, for obvious reasons. Our propaganda said the same thing about them, for equally obvious reasons. But it wasn’t true. The Red Army was falling apart. A lot of what the Hoths said sounded like firsthand information to me.”
“So?”
“Maybe Svetlana really did fight there. But on the other side.”
Lee paused a beat. “You think the Hoths are Afghan tribes-women?”
“If Svetlana fought there, but not for the Soviets, then they must be.”
Lee paused again. “In which case Svetlana was telling the whole story from the other side. Everything was inverted. Including the atrocities.”
“Yes,” I said. “She didn’t suffer them. She committed them.”
We all went quiet again, another twenty seconds. I kept my eyes moving all around the park. Look, don’t see, listen, don’t hear. The more you engage, the longer you survive. But nothing jumped out at me. Nothing untoward was happening. People were coming and going, people were taking dogs to the run, a line was forming at a hamburger stand. Early, but every hour of the day or night is lunchtime for someone. It depends on when the day starts. Lee was going through her notes. Jacob Mark was staring at the ground, but his gaze was focused somewhere far below the surface. Finally he leaned forward and turned his head and looked at me. I thought: Here it comes. The big question. The bump in the road.
He asked, “When Lila Hoth called you, did she mention Peter?”
I nodded. “She picked him up in the bar.”
“Why spend four hours doing that?”
“Tradecraft. And for fun and finesse. Because she could.”
“Where is he now?”
“She said he’s here in the city.”
“Is he OK?”
“She wouldn’t tell me.”
“Do you think he’s OK?”
I didn’t answer.
He said, “Talk to me, Reacher.”
I said, “No.”
“No you