“So, Mr. Teplov, what can I do for you?”
“It’s Colonel Teplov.”
“Is it?” she asked, pointing at the patch on his shoulder. “Because I didn’t know that Wagner mercenaries retained their rank from prior service in the Russian Armed Forces.”
Teplov smiled. “You know who we are.”
“Oh, I know all about you.”
“And how did you come by this knowledge?”
Walking over to her kitchen counter, she picked up her wine, crossed her arms just as she took a long sip, and said, “Because I’m a Wagner widow.”
For a moment, Teplov’s mask slipped. He was genuinely surprised. “Who was your husband?”
“Demyan Volkov,” she responded. “He was killed in Syria. Latakia Province.”
“I’m very sorry for your loss.”
“So am I. What is it you want, Mr. Teplov?”
He looked at the food containers. “Did I interrupt something?”
“Why do you ask?”
He walked over and read the receipt taped to the top of one of the containers. “Two bacon cheeseburgers, chocolate cake, French fries? Sounds like a lot of food for a woman your size.”
“Are you accusing me of something, Mr. Teplov?”
He paused and, looking at her, replied, “Should I be?”
“That depends. If you asked the new girl what I normally order, she would tell you it’s always salads. Sometimes, though, I get fish or chicken. If you ask someone who isn’t new, they’ll tell you the same thing, but they’ll add that several times a year, I come in and order a very large, very unhealthy meal.
“When that happens, it tends to be on a significant anniversary—the day I met my husband, the day he died, the day we got married, or the day we had our first date, which today happens to be the anniversary of.”
“Again, I’m truly sorry,” said Teplov. “I didn’t know.”
Extending her wineglass in a mock toast, she then brought it back in and took an even longer slug. “What they won’t tell you,” she said, once she had swallowed, “because none of them know, is that after I bring the food home and eat it, I drink way more than I should—usually several bottles. The next day I am pretty useless.”
He had no reason to doubt the veracity of her account, so he decided to cut to the chase. Taking out the photo of Harvath he had shown around the bar, he presented it to her. “Have you seen this man? We believe he may be hiding somewhere here in town.”
“I have not,” she answered.
“Would you mind if my men took a look around your house? As I explained in the bar, the American is armed and very dangerous.”
Christina raised her palms. “I don’t know why he’d be here, but go ahead. Be my guest.”
Teplov nodded and his men commenced their investigation. Turning his attention back to her, he said, “We were concerned you might be in danger.”
“In danger? Of what?”
“During our search for the fugitive, some of my men passed by your clinic. Were you aware that the back door had been kicked in?”
“Kicked in by whom? When?”
“We don’t know. We assume it was the American and that it happened within the last couple of hours.”
“Was anything stolen?” she asked, trying to appear concerned.
“We found some bloody gauze pads in the trash as well as an empty antibiotic vial, plus two for rabies. Have you had cause to treat anyone for rabies recently?”
Christina shook her head. “I have not.”
“Interesting.”
She had no idea if he believed her or not, but the alcohol had emboldened her. “Where would your fugitive have been bitten by a dog?”
Teplov held up his index finger. “Not a dog. Wolves.”
“Jesus,” she replied.
“You don’t like wolves,” he said with a smile.
“Can’t stand them. They’ve been preying on people in the Oblast all winter. None of us go anywhere without a rifle. So far, though, they haven’t attacked people in Nivsky. Where did this happen?”
“A hundred kilometers east of here.”
“Wonderful. In addition to a murderer, we also have killer wolves on our doorstep,” she said, before changing the subject. “How bad is the back door to my clinic. Was there any other damage?”
“None that my men have reported.”
“Anything stolen? Besides the things you found in the trash?”
“They couldn’t tell,” he responded. “It sounds like some sort of cabinet used for storing medicines was broken into.”
“Damn it,” she cursed. Then, downing what remained in her wineglass, she grabbed her parka, which had been hanging over one of the kitchen chairs.
“What are you doing?” demanded Teplov.
“What does it look like I’m doing? Someone broke into my clinic. I need to know how bad