Prince Atom
Explorer
Lyakovetsky never slept deeply. In all his training with the armies of Mother Russia, he was the first up at reveille and the last down after lights-out. And after the army, when he was in the KGB training, he was always the one who woke up in time to catch the intruders.
So the phone didn't have to ring very long before he grabbed it out of the pocket of the fatigue jacket hanging on the back of the chair beside the bed, and hit the Answer button.
"Yeah?" No sound of sleep in his voice, despite the hour (the clock on the table burned brightly with red figures: 3:00).
"If you want to know what's going on, be at Ned's Diner, off the overpass on Exit 34 on I-101, in one hour. Take a seat at the middle booth below the window facing the street. Don't mind if the booth's already occupied, just sit down. Don't be late."
"Who -- ?" But the phone clicked off.
Lyakovetsky sat on the edge of the bed and turned the cell phone over in his hands. He was used to getting mysterious, abrupt phone calls in the middle of the night, but he hadn't had one now for close to ten years. He didn't think this came from the Kremlin; not least among his clues being that there were none of the code words, and the message was not ciphered.
Besides, the Kremlin he knew hadn't dealt in mysterious, midnight phone calls. They were just too suspicious.
Lyakovetsky looked at the alarm clock again. He had just enough time to get there, if he started immediately. Good thing this motel let you pay in cash, up front.
He grabbed the fatigue jacket, stuffed the phone back in the pocket, and laced up his boots. Then he left the key to the room on top of the broken television, left the door unlocked, and got on his bike, headed south.
So the phone didn't have to ring very long before he grabbed it out of the pocket of the fatigue jacket hanging on the back of the chair beside the bed, and hit the Answer button.
"Yeah?" No sound of sleep in his voice, despite the hour (the clock on the table burned brightly with red figures: 3:00).
"If you want to know what's going on, be at Ned's Diner, off the overpass on Exit 34 on I-101, in one hour. Take a seat at the middle booth below the window facing the street. Don't mind if the booth's already occupied, just sit down. Don't be late."
"Who -- ?" But the phone clicked off.
Lyakovetsky sat on the edge of the bed and turned the cell phone over in his hands. He was used to getting mysterious, abrupt phone calls in the middle of the night, but he hadn't had one now for close to ten years. He didn't think this came from the Kremlin; not least among his clues being that there were none of the code words, and the message was not ciphered.
Besides, the Kremlin he knew hadn't dealt in mysterious, midnight phone calls. They were just too suspicious.
Lyakovetsky looked at the alarm clock again. He had just enough time to get there, if he started immediately. Good thing this motel let you pay in cash, up front.
He grabbed the fatigue jacket, stuffed the phone back in the pocket, and laced up his boots. Then he left the key to the room on top of the broken television, left the door unlocked, and got on his bike, headed south.
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