Free Day Of Wrath by Larry Bond

tired.” He covered her hand with his.
    ‘“Just like you.”
    They were all on the edge of exhaustion. Since Alexei Koniev had found nearly two kilos of pure heroin in Colonel Anatoly Gasparov’s luggage, the three of them had been working almost around the clock to try to pin down just what had gone wrong aboard the An-32 carrying Gasparov, John Avery, and the rest of the O.S.I.A inspection team.
    Although neither the NTSB nor the Russian Aviation Authority experts were willing to label the crash as anything but an accident yet, finding a million-plus dollars of illegal drugs aboard the downed aircraft added up to one hell of a potential motive for sabotage.
    Helen and the Russian MVD major spent most of their time on the secure communications channel to Moscow or poring over the voluminous police and surveillance files faxed to them.
    Operating on the working theory that Gasparov might have fallen afoul of a rival drug-dealing Mafiya gang, they were trying desperately to trace his most recent movements and any suspicious contacts.
    Which left Thorn with the painstaking grunt work of sifting through the rest of the crash victims’ personal effects—looking for something, anything, that might shed some light on the situation.
    He was still puzzled by the discrepancy between Avery’s inspection logbook and the other two they’d recovered so far. Faint alarm bells went off whenever he saw the circled weapons serial number, but he couldn’t make it connect with Gasparov’s apparent heroin smuggling. In any event, both Washington’s and Moscow’s records were quite clear.
    Avery and all of his teammates had given the Kandalaksha special weapons storage depot a clean bill of health before boarding the doomed An32.
    Helen pointed her chin toward the bag he’d set aside. “Find anything more?”
    “Nope.” Thorn shook his head. “A couple more wallets. Part of a key chain. Pieces of a couple of paperback books. Nothing significant.”’ He looked up at her. “How about you? Any progress?”
    “Not much.” Helen bit her lip in frustration. “Gasparov’s arms inspectorate colleagues are saying the same thing. They all knew he was cutting corners—selling government equipment and supplies and so on—to supplement his salary. But they’re all ‘shocked,’ just ‘shocked,’ that he’d have anything to do with illegal drugs.”
    Thorn arched an eyebrow. “You believe them?”
    She shrugged. “I don’t know.” She took her hand off his shoulder and started pacing. “Questioning Russian officials is tough enough in person. But I really don’t like having to rely on secondhand interrogation reports translated into some Russian cop’s idea of English.”
    “Plus you can’t be sure whether or not the cop who’s asking the questions isn’t a crook himself?” Thorn probed.
    Helen nodded grimly. “That, too, Peter. We both know the MVD is riddled with people on the Mafiya’s payroll. For all I know, the officers assigned to question Gasparov’s associates are working for the same drug ring.”
    Now that she was on to the subject of police corruption, Thorn decided to risk asking a question that had been on his mind since he’d arrived at the An-32 crash site. “So what about Koniev? How far can you really trust him?”
    Helen stared down at him. “Alexei?” She shook her head in disbelief.
    “You’re asking me if Alexei Koniev is dirty?”
    Thorn had the sudden feeling he’d stepped on a delayedaction mine. He forged ahead anyway. “Yeah, I guess I am.” He outlined his reasoning.
    “I’ve seen the pay scale for an MVD major, and there’s no way Koniev can afford the clothes he wears—not on his salary. So where’s the money coming from?”
    “I vetted him myself, Peter,” Helen said coolly. “He’s clean. As far as the money’s concerned, Alexei’s older brother, Pavel, just happens to be one of Russia’s top entrepreneurs. He’s a software wiz who’s built himself a pretty