Read Online SIREN'S TEARS (ALTON RHODE MYSTERIES Book 3) by Lawrence de Maria - Free Book Online

boss, Marat Rahm was a colonel in the Soviet Union’s KGB and a highly educated expert on all things Western.

CHAPTER 7 – BYGONES
     
    Lunch was Beef Wellington, asparagus and new potatoes, all served in high style by Lara the cousin, whose cleavage when she bent to ladle some gravy on my plate would have stopped Napoleon before Moscow. She noticed where my eyes went and smiled. Ah, NYU.
    Lunch and Hollywood done with, Arman poured the three of us small tots of chilled vodka to go with our cheese and fruit plate dessert.
    “I take it you found the food acceptable,” Marat said,
    Before I could answer, Arman said, “He was expecting borscht.”
    “Everything was excellent, Mr. Rahm. And I want to take the opportunity to commend you on the help you gave to the victims of the recent storm.”
    “There are many Russians on the water in South and Midland Beach,” Marat said. “Blood is blood.”
    That was true. Many Russians, with a landlocked gene in them, gravitated to the shore, wherever they settled in the United States. 
    “You didn’t help only Russians.”
    “Did you know that during the great San Francisco earthquake of 1906, a visiting Russian naval vessel was one of the first to offer succor and relief supplies?”
    “Yes.”
    Marat Rahm smiled.
    “Of course you do. I forgot how well-educated you are. Is there anything you don’t know, Mr. Rhode?”
    “I don’t know what to do about Father Zapotoski.”
    “Ah, yes. The reason for your visit. You want to find out why I sent him to you and if I believe him.”
    “That’s it in a nutshell.”
    Marat looked at his son.
    “An American idiom, Papa. He means yes.”
    “I can see my money was well spent on your Ivy League education, Arman. Do you still have those cigarettes you keep hiding from me?”
    “Papa. Wine, vodka and cigarettes. Why don’t you just shoot your doctors?”
    “A fine idea. But, for now, one cigarette.”
    Arman looked at Kalugin, who reached into his pocket and brought over a pack, picking up an ashtray from a nearby chiffonier. Arman lit two cigarettes off one of the candles and gave one to his father.
    “Zapotoski is an interesting character,” Marat said. “I knew him from the old days, in Europe. Our two secret services occasionally worked together. Although we knew, of course, that Polish Intelligence distrusted us more than they distrusted the West.”
    “I’m shocked.”
    He laughed.
    “Yes, they had good reason. We were all ostensibly Communists, but Poles and Russians share a long and vengeful history.” He took a long drag on his cigarette. Surprisingly, he didn’t cough. “In any event, Zapotoski and I had a bit of a falling out.”
    “So he told me.”
    “I’m sure he did.”
    “He also said you saved his life.”
    “I didn’t have him shot. That’s not the same thing. I still gave him a rough time, but we’ve let bygones be bygones. Indeed, I was instrumental in getting him his current position.”
    Marat saw the look on my face and smiled.
    “I should explain. After Zapotoski got out of Lubyanka alive, a rare feat in itself, he was a changed man. He came from a very religious family and never really accepted the atheism that normally was de rigueur for men in his position. Honestly, I don’t know how he ever became a major in the Oddzial Polskiego, Polish Military Intelligence. He was what you would call a ‘closet Catholic’ I suppose.”
    “Why did you let him go?’
    “The charges against him were flimsy. He was not really disloyal, just a Polish patriot who liked to stick his finger in our eye occasionally. And things were changing, even then. The more perceptive among us could see the writing on the wall by 1980. We were making a cock-up in Afghanistan, something your Government should have learned from. It wasn’t the time to make a lot of enemies in sister services.” He looked over his shoulder. “Lara, some Turkish coffee, please.”
    The girl went out and he continued.
    “When he