by Gary Ponzo
“Put your hands down,” Kalinikov ordered, glancing around and finding no one as usual.
Tommy lowered his hands. He wore jeans, a tee shirt and some casual walking shoes. He knew enough to keep his distance.
“I must be rusty,” Kalinikov said, more to himself than anyone else.
“Ah, don’t beat yourself up. You weren’t expecting trouble. Your antenna was down. It means you’re relaxed and enjoying retirement.” He gestured toward a nearby chair. “May I join you?”
Kalinikov considered how long he should allow this intrusion to last. It wasn’t good to have his past follow him so closely. Yet he needed some answers before he could bury the body.
“Anton,” Tommy said. “I’m not stupid. If I was a threat to you, I would tell you that I had the place surrounded or some crap like that. But that’s not the truth. I am completely alone.”
Kalinikov thought of the advantage for the man to come out and confess his solitude. There was none. If he came with backup, he would announce it. It would almost guarantee that he wouldn’t be shot. He motioned to the chair and Tommy sat down, hands on the table as a professional courtesy.
“I spent five years developing an alias without any trails leading to this place,” Kalinikov said, his hand still on the pistol under the table. “It was a carefully constructed plan. I need to know how you found me.”
Tommy shrugged. He looked a little embarrassed, as if he was about to explain a card trick and make it all seem so ridiculously simple. “You see, when we were in that bar in Payson, you mentioned something to me about retiring to the Caribbean. Now I realize we were just making small talk and I thought you were a retiring businessman at the time, but still,” Tommy pointed to his temple. “I log these things away in my mind. It’s funny how I remember crap like that, yet I get lost driving around my neighborhood.”
“The Caribbean is a very large area.”
“Yeah, well, see here’s the thing,” Tommy lowered his head, again appearing uncomfortable about his ability to find the assassin. “You’d be amazed how many people move to this part of the world when they want to disappear. I’m talking white collar thieves, gangsters, and even professionals like you, who cherish seclusion once his career is finished. It just makes sense.”
Kalinikov was suspicious of everything and everyone. This was no exception. “There are hundreds of islands to choose from.”
Tommy rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, I pretty much have contacts everywhere. Especially down here. That warm ocean breeze seems to attract a lot of dirty money.”
Kalinikov’s wife was just exiting the water, maybe sensing the unannounced guest. She pulled a towel around her shoulders and examined the patio.
Tommy must’ve caught Kalinikov’s glance over his shoulder because without turning around, he said, “You can have her join us if you wish.”
Kalinikov rubbed his left shoulder, giving her the signal to stay nearby and wait. She quickly disappeared from view.
“No,” Kalinikov said. “Continue.”
“Well, listen, I’m really sorry, but a six-foot-five-inch left-handed Russian isn’t exactly the toughest thing for my contacts to track down.”
Kalinikov had to give him that. He couldn’t disguise his height and once he retired, he decided to retire his phony accents as well. He looked around the empty beach and wondered who might have given him up. It opened up an entirely new set of concerns for his security.
“Don’t worry,” Tommy said, rubbing his fingertips along the gritty plastic tabletop. “I let it be known I was looking for an old friend. No one knows anything about your past.”
This man seemed to know precisely what Kalinikov was thinking every step of the way. It bothered him to be so transparent. “So you found me. Very good. Now what do you want?”
“It’s not what I want really. It’s what someone very high up in the United States government wants.”
A sour anger rose up inside of Kalinikov’s chest. He’d left the business and he wanted this over. “I am retired.”
“Yeah, here’s the thing. It’s not exactly the same type of job. It’s something different.”
“Different?”
“Yeah.” Tommy pointed to Kalinikov’s iPad. On the screen was the front cover of the NY Times. The headline read, “President’s Brother Missing.”
Kalinikov read a few sentences, then nodded his head. “I see.”
“It’s a part of the world you’re familiar with.”
“So you want information?”
With a pair of tired eyes, Tommy shook his head.
“What?” Kalinikov asked. “You want me to assist you in finding him?”
“He’s not missing. He’s been captured. We know approximately where they’re keeping him.”
Kalinikov read another few paragraphs while his guest patiently waited. The president’s brother was lost in the Colombian jungle, near the Brazilian border. He was doing a documentary on the native Indians indigenous to the area when he was captured.
“You are correct,” Kalinikov said. “I am familiar with this area. But I am also retired.”
“I know.”
“You cannot offer me enough money to work again.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because the person who needs your help is the President of the United States.”
Kalinikov’s face twisted into a sharp glare. “You must understand, I do not exactly have any loyalty to your nation.”
“Yeah, and to be honest, I don’t blame you. But my cousin, you remember, Nick, the FBI agent, well, he’s sort of the point man in this thing and he’s desperate. He needs someone with your skills.”
Kalinikov understood just how desperate they must have been. He eyed his visitor and considered his options. If this man found him, he probably notified the American authorities where he was and now Kalinikov was on the run once again. His mind ran through his choices.
“You wanna shoot me right now, don’t you?” Tommy said without a trace of humor in his voice.
“That is precisely what I was thinking.”
“Well, I can’t say I don’t deserve it, but here’s the thing, it’s the president. He’s extremely motivated to save his brother. I’ve been told to offer whatever you want to make it happen.”
“So what happens when I refuse?”
Tommy took a disgusted breath, like he needed to scold a child but wanted to explain his reasoning. “Okay, well, you’re right, they’ll offer you five million for the job, but I told my cousin that wouldn’t matter to you.”
Kalinikov waited, while his finger played with the trigger of his gun, twitching with anxiety. He was glad he remembered the silencer this time. “I am listening.”
Again the sheepish expression reappeared and the man twisted his head from side to side, taking in their surroundings. “Well, you spent five years working on this location.” He gently waved his arm around to highlight the beauty of the tropical shoreline. “And your wife obviously loves it here.”
Kalinikov’s finger involuntarily tightened around the trigger. “Yes.”
“And, well, a man with your past has left some enemies behind. I’m sure your anonymity is probably the most valuable asset you have left anymore.”
Kalinikov could feel it all coming back now. His muscles tensed, while he pulled his feet under his chair and kept his weight forward, ready to pounce.
“You are threatening to give away my location?” The assassin sneered.
“Um,” Tommy shrugged, that embarrassed looked keeping Kalinikov from shooting him. “I guess that’s the only thing that would get you motivated to help, isn’t it?”
“You would actually do that? Give us up to our enemies?” Kalinikov whispered with a deadly stare.
The man clasped his hands together and dropped his head, seemingly searching for something he wanted to say, but not coming across the proper words. Finally with a weary expression, he sai
d, “No . . . I probably wouldn’t.”
Now Kalinikov was confused. “No?”
“No, I honestly wouldn’t do that. I mean, I know I’m supposed to tell you that to get you to help, but the reality is . . .” Tommy looked around at the small beachside resort, “No, I wouldn’t do that to you and your wife. I guess I’m not very good at this blackmail stuff, am I?”
Kalinikov leaned back in his chair. He left the gun on his lap while he folded his arms and assessed his visitor. “Explain to me why I should even consider this mission?”
Tommy rubbed his eyes with his right hand and yawned. “Look, I’m not gonna bullshit you. It’s a crappy job. You’d be trudging through the Amazon on foot, trying to find a needle in the haystack. Plus there’ll be drug cartel thugs and government soldiers, all ready to take shots at you the minute you set foot inside the jungle. All this because the president’s brother was trying to save some native Indians from losing their land to the cartels.”
Kalinikov said nothing. Tommy waited patiently, but Kalinikov didn’t need to say anything. His message had been sent.
Tommy stood up and tapped his index finger a couple of times on the table. “I’ll be going now. Please tell your wife I apologize for interrupting your morning.” He turned and headed back on the sunken boardwalk.
As Tommy was leaving, something about the visit gnawed at Kalinikov. Something primal began tugging at him. As much as he’d enjoyed the ocean and the time with his wife, there seemed to be a hole in his spirit. His body tensed up with anxiety as the man strolled away. Was he really ready to retire? Was it just that simple? Or was he concerned about his future security?
“Wait.” Kalinikov raised his voice to be heard over the waves.
Tommy looked back, barely turning.
“How many people are going?” Kalinikov asked.
“It’s a covert operation. There’s just me, Nick and his partner, plus three Navy SEALs.”
“How many are experts on the Amazon?”
“Not sure what the SEALs know, but Nick, Matt and I are from Baltimore.”
“You will all be dead inside of two hours.”
“Probably, but taking a guide would be too risky. We can’t afford to be protecting people.”
When the conversation stalled, Tommy nodded, then resumed his exit down the pathway.
“Wait,” Kalinikov shouted. He found himself rising from his chair, the adrenalin surging through his veins. He tucked his gun back into his waistband and walked up to Tommy. “What is the name of the Indians who needed help?”
Tommy’s eyes were at half mast. Clearly he had traveled all night for this meeting and was now paying for the lack of sleep. “I think they were the Mandigo? Martubo?”
“Maruto?”
“That’s it. The Maruto tribe.”
Kalinikov cursed under his breath. “I was mistaken. You will be dead within the first hour you arrive.”
Tommy patted the large Russian on the side of the arm. “Thanks for the pep talk, killer.”
As the gangster turned to leave, Kalinikov said, “I will go.”
Tommy turned around and faced Kalinikov with a look of complete confusion. “What?”
“I know the Maruto tribe. They were thought to be extinct until an explorer came across their habitat some years ago. I am sure that is what drew the president’s brother to seek them out.”
“Are you serious?”
The man was completely perplexed by the assassin’s reversal. It was the reason Kalinikov was convinced the man was being truly honest about his intentions.
“I will do it under three conditions,” Kalinikov said.
“Shoot.”
“First, I must be in charge of the mission every step of the way.”
“Are you kidding? We couldn’t tell a tree trunk from an Anaconda. Of course you could be in charge.”
“Second, I want an assurance that the US government will offer permanent protection for me and my wife once I return to Cat Island.”
“Done.”
“Finally, I need to know exactly who gave away my location here.”
Tommy hesitated. He seemed less enthusiastic about this demand. “Okay, but you have to promise me that you will never do any harm to this person, nor will you ever bring up the fact that he or she gave you up. Remember, that person believes we’re old friends, and that’s all.”
Kalinikov stuck out his large hand.
Tommy looked down at the offering as if there might be a knife attached. Finally, with a tired grin, Tommy shook his hand and said, “You should’ve killed me when you had the chance.”
Chapter 14
Jeffery Faust was driving to his office at Langley to pick up some flash drives and classified documents regarding any Colombian contacts. It was the last time he would be out of Walt Jackson’s office for the next twenty-four hours, or until the president’s brother was rescued, killed, or released. He was betting that Trent Merrick was already dead, but he needed to operate under the assumption he was still alive.
As he gestured to the security guard protecting the parking lot, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed his boss, the Director of the CIA, Ken Morris, to brief him on the bleak circumstances. He was in Egypt on assignment with a new director.
The guard opened the gate and Faust roamed the back of the lot while waiting for Morris to answer.
“What’s going on, Jeff,” Morris said.
“A lot,” Faust said, rolling to a stop in the middle of some empty spaces and putting his car in park. “How’s Raji doing over there?”
“Not good. He relies too much on technology.”
“But that’s why you hired him, because of his tech skills.”
“Yeah, well, he spends way too much time overlaying files for tendencies and not enough time in the field,” Morris said. “How goes the rescue operation?”
Faust leaned his head back against the headrest and sighed. “The command center is in Walt’s office.”
“And?”
“Well, doesn’t that bother you a bit?”
“Listen, the president has a hard-on for Bracco. You know that. So, who did you think was going to run the operation with Nick taking the helm? Langley?”
“No, but they should’ve at least made it a joint task force. We could’ve been working together on this.”
There was a pause. “Jeff,” Morris said in a deliberate tone. “What do you mean could’ve? Aren’t you part of the team?”
“Yeah, but—”
“Don’t, Jeff. Don’t sandbag the project just because you feel disrespected somehow. I’ve had my battles with Louis and Walt and I’ll probably have more down the road, but they’re good at their job and they’ll run a good clean operation.”
Faust gripped the steering wheel tight with his free hand.
“Jeff?”
“I’m here.”
“What do they want from us?”
“A small seaplane to drop off the rescue team in a lake in the Amazon.”
“Call Tevin down there. He’ll set it up.”
Faust thought about the bad information he’d received from Tevin about the president’s dislike for Pablo Moreno. This was before the photograph showed up with President Santoro on his knees kissing the back of Moreno’s hand. Faust thought about the disinformation Walt told him to give to his chief Colombian agent.
“Yeah,” Faust said, leaving out the details. “I’ll call him.”
“Anything else?”
“No, everything else is fine.”
“Well, send me a report tonight, okay?”
“Will do.”
Faust hit the end button. He refused to believe Tevin Martinez would’ve turned. He was Faust’s most trusted asset in South America.
He pushed a button on his phone and a few moments later, Tevin’s voice said, “How goes it, Jeff?”
“Good. Listen . . . Tevin . . .”
“What is it?”
“We’re going to be assist
ing the FBI in an emergency rescue mission in the southern part of the country.”
“Assisting the FBI? What’s going on?”
“Never mind. I just need you to set up a couple of things up for us.”
“Jeff, are you going to brief me on this or not?”
There was something deep down that bothered Faust. He’d never been pried for information from one of his agents before. Not like this. Each team member understood that information was purposely compartmentalized. The left hand didn’t know what the right was doing because it reduced the chance for contamination. Or treason.
“Your last report about President Santoro and his dislike for Pablo Moreno. Did you locate the asset who delivered that intel?”
There was a pause. “Why?”
“Because its veracity is being questioned from other assets in the area.”
“What other assets?” Tevin sounded annoyed.
Faust pressed his foot down hard on the brake of his car even though he was already in park. One of his best agents just asked the one question no agent should ever ask. He was being defensive and displaying every tendency of a double agent.
“Tevin,” Faust said, “you’re coming in.”
“What? Jeff, what are you talking about? I’m on the verge of infiltrating Moreno’s inner circle. You can’t pull me out now. I’ll be a target.”
“I’ll have a ticket waiting for you at the Bogota airport by this afternoon. Be on the two-thirty flight to Dulles.”
There was a very long and very scary silence. Faust waited longer than he should have.
“Tevin, you’ll be safe. I promise.”
Nothing. He could hear breathing. And maybe just a little too much thinking.
“Tevin?”
The line went dead.
“Shit!” Faust slammed his phone against the dashboard. “Shit, shit, shit.”
A knock on his window.
Faust turned to see a security guard who’d just hopped off his golf cart.
“Is everything okay in there?” the guard asked, peeking into the interior of the car as he spoke.
