Читать книгу Ultimatum 2 - Richard Rohmer - Страница 9

Before the nuclear waste briefing of the President, the shrewd Secretary of State, always wanting to be as prepared as possible, telephoned Rob Ross’s boss, Michael Borins, the Secretary of Energy. Her request: “Tell me about Rob Ross, please.”

“Sure. I’ll give it to you straight. My perspective goes this way.”

In the short time he had known him, Attorney Borins had come to respect Dr. Rob Ross because of his broad sweep of knowledge of the huge range of issues that came under the Energy umbrella, the very elements that were the foundation of the United States’s booming economy: crude oil, natural gas, and electricity with all the facets of its manufacture. Electricity was at the centre of America’s civilization, and the heart of that centre was encircled by the invisible, apprehension-generating arms of nuclear power.

Rob Ross was a nuclear physicist who had come up through the bureaucracy of the Department of Energy in the operation of DOE’s several nuclear facilities. He had received his nuclear doctorate from MIT, then went to DOE, where he progressed upward through its organizational maze from Pantex, the enormous nuclear weapons decommissioning and plutonium storage facility in Texas.

Ross was a fitness buff, and it showed. Spent an hour every day on his machines, walked or jogged for at least twenty minutes, played good tennis, had a six handicap in golf. Never smoked. Drank white wine, rarely hard liquor. Six foot two, flatbellied, tanned, with a handsome face topped by a full head of straight, prematurely greying black hair and with Paul Newman’s blue eyes above a mouth full of apparently perfect teeth, Rob Ross would be a head-turner for any woman. At least that was Michael Borins’s assessment.

There was something intriguingly unique about Ross, facts that turned up in his top-secret CIA file. When he had first taken office after Senate approval, Borins had received Ross’s dossier and those of several other senior DOE staffers. To his surprise he discovered that Ross’s mother, Ruth, was born and raised in Leningrad, as it was then called, now once again St. Petersburg. She was the daughter of Jewish parents by the name of Zolotkov. A talented dancer, Ruth had become a ballerina with the Moscow Ballet. In 1960, when the Soviet government had given permission to the ballet to perform in major American cities, Ruth was part of the ensemble. In New York the twenty-year-old dancer decided to defect to the United States and was granted asylum. Ruth was immediately employed by a prestigious American ballet company with which she performed for many years, later becoming a celebrated teacher and choreographer. In her middle sixties, Ruth Zolotkov was at the pinnacle of her continuing ballet career.

Robert Ross’s mother had a brief liaison with a handsome, very wealthy man (reportedly a Canadian) that resulted in the birth of her only child on the day of January 24, 1962. Ruth refused to give Robert any information about his father, saying only that he had died shortly after Robert was born. Ruth Zolotkov married in 1980 but divorced in 1982. She did not remarry but had several relationships.

What the CIA file did not disclose was that as he matured, Rob began to question his mother about his father, his natural instincts driving him to want to know about the man. Anything.

But Ruth constantly turned him away, saying that it would be better if he did not know. She told him in his mid-teens there were many dark things his father had done in his lifetime that could bring pain and embarrassment to Rob.

However, she finally told him in a weak moment when she’d had some loosening-of-the-tongue ounces of vodka straight — with an afterbite of lemon. It was after his graduation, when he received his doctorate summa cum laude. The celebratory dinner with friends had concluded. Ruth and her son were alone in their suite reminiscing about his high school days and then his college carryings-on that had given his mother no little anxiety about whether he was doing enough studying.

Without warning Rob said, “Mother, don’t you think it’s time to tell me about my father? The truth. I think I can handle it no matter how bad his story is.”

It was time for Ruth to relent, but only to the extent that her conscience allowed, vodka or no vodka.

“I have always told you your father died shortly after you were born. That is not true. Not true.”

She took a sip of the white wine that took the place of the liquor, saying, “Your father and I never married. He was already married and had a family. I met him at a party in New York. It was an opening night party after my most successful ballet. I was the prima ballerina, very young...”

“Extremely beautiful.”

“Yes, yes ... and he was beautiful also, as you are beautiful, my Rob.” She hesitated, gathering her emotions to go on. “He came to New York from another country, from Canada, often and on business. We began to see each other regularly. We were in love — deeply in love — and so you came to my great joy and his. I wanted him to divorce his wife and marry me. But this could not be done.”

“Why not?”

“He explained to me that the divorce would cost him everything because of a legal commitment made to his wife at the beginning of their marriage. He had built up a substantial fortune and would lose it — I do not know the technicalities.”

“But you believed him?”

“Of course I did. So it was arranged, and lawyers drew up the agreement, that he would set up a trust fund in a Swiss bank account and that you and I would be looked after, well looked after, including your university tuition and all that sort of thing.”

“Yes, but you haven’t told me who he is.”

She shrugged. “And I’m not going to.”

“Please, Mother. Why not?”

“Because I gave my covenant that I would never tell you or anyone else his identity. That was the price I had to pay. My covenant.”

Rob shook his head. “Surely, Mother, after all these years. Frankly, it doesn’t make sense for you to keep on with this. Have you no compassion for me? In my gut I must know. You owe it to me.”

She gave a slight smile. “Certainly I owe it to you. But, my beloved son, it is a debt I’m not ready to pay, not unless your father permits.”

“Ah, so he’s still alive. He keeps in touch?” There was a lift of surprise and hope in his voice.

“Yes, yes. Of course he keeps in touch, but only to be told about you, how you’re getting along. He is very, very proud of you.”

“Be that as it may, Mother. I’m delighted to know for the first time that my father, whoever he is, is alive and doing well. That’s wonderful. I promise you, someday I’ll find him. Believe me, I’ll find him. But right now, Mother, how about a little toast to you and to me, the brand new Dr. Rob Ross!”

Rob’s mother had raised him speaking Russian at home with the result that he was fluent in both the spoken and written form. His resumé also showed that he was proficient in French and German. Remarkable, Borins had thought when he read of Ross’s linguistic talents, especially so in a nation full of bodies who had difficulty handling even their own version of American English.

“I can tell you that Rob Ross is one helluva capable young man. Exceptional,” Borins concluded.

“After the President’s briefing I’ll let you know if I agree,” State replied. She did indeed let Borins know. He was right on about Dr. Rob Ross.