This preview shows page 1. Sign up to view the full content.
Unformatted text preview: treet fly by; he was hearing the poem. Pain and suffering as they stumble Blood and/ear before they learn. Twenty-five So THIS is Stolov. He knew the moment he stepped off the plane. They had tracked him all the way. And here was the big man, waiting for him, a bit overmuscular in his black raincoat, with large eyes of a pale indistinct color which nevertheless shone rather bright like clear glass. The man had near-invisible blond eyelashes and bushy brows, and his hair was light. He looked Norwegian to Yuri. Not Russian. Erich Stolov. "Stolov," Yuri said, and, shifting his bag to the left, he extended his hand. "Ah, you know me," said the man. "I wasn't sure that you would." Accent, Scandinavian with a touch of something else. Eastern Europe. "I always know our people," said Yuri. "Why have you come to New Orleans? Have you been working with Aaron Lightner? Or are you here simply to meet me?" "That is what I've come to explain," said Stolov, placing his h...
View Full Document
- Spring '10