Death and Treason

by Seeley James

  A beam of light crossed us. We looked up to find an old man in a bathrobe with a flashlight. He gasped. With body armor, helmets, and video-augmented visors, we looked like space aliens.

  “Keep calm and call the police,” I said.

  He trembled.

  “Russians,” Miguel said, pointing behind us.

  The old man followed Miguel’s finger with his flashlight beam. As much as I hated to do it, I darted him. We took off jogging for the boat a half-mile down the coast.

  We cast off and went around the southern tip of the island, hoping to avoid any of Denmark’s finest. Once we reached the open seas, I relaxed.

  “Are you any relation to Changing Woman?” I asked the big guy.

  He eyed me suspiciously. “Why?”

  “Heard a rumor about you being her son, Monster Slayer.”

  He leaned back and didn’t speak for a long time. Many Native Americans are not interested in sharing their spiritual beliefs for a host of reasons. Despite having fought together for the better part of a decade, he wasn’t sure I was worthy. Seeing as how I spent half my time talking to a figment of my imagination, I wasn’t so sure either.

  Finally, he sighed. “When the Dineh—Navajo to you—left the third world and came to the Glittering World, it was infested with foreign gods. These monster gods killed people and destroyed villages. Changing Woman gave birth to twin boys. The stronger twin was called Monster Slayer, and the other was called Born for Water. Monster Slayer killed the foreign gods and drove the demons from our land.”

  I looked at Mercury.

  My forced-into-retirement god shrugged. What can I say, bro? After the Romans turned Christian on me, the dark ages descended across Europe. It was a libertarian wet dream: illiterate people, plagues, wars, ignorance, and filth. The aqueducts hadn’t been cleaned in a thousand years. Just imagine the stench. Like the rest of the gods Christianity chucked out, I went for a stroll in the Americas. It was like how y’all go to the Caribbean for some R&R, ya know what I’m sayin? Had me a good time smiting people, too. Until that damn Monster Slayer showed up. He wiped out all the Celtic and Mesopotamian gods like he was mowing the lawn. ’S why you never hear about them anymore. Dude, I barely got out alive.

  I said, You were killing people?

  Mercury fisted my shoulder. Bro, you don’t know what a good laugh is until you talk a bighorn ram into headbutting a guy off the side of a mesa.

  I let out a long and sorrowful sigh. Miguel nodded in sympathy as if he’d heard my god’s confession.

  Back in our sweaters and wool caps, we returned the boat in Ystad at dawn. The owner helped us get our Russian friend, drunk as he was, into the rental car. Before long we were back on the road to Malmö.

  We were loading our sleeping Russian into the jet when Bianca called. “The camera was monitored by a Russian cybersecurity company based in Stavanger.”

  CHAPTER 26

  When he arrived at the office that morning, Yuri could barely concentrate for thinking about his impending lunch date with Andrine. He felt like a teenager. How could she have such power over him that he counted the minutes remaining until he would see her again? He smiled to himself then reminded himself of his workload.

  He brought up a news feed with clips of the American debates from the night before. There would be snippets in there they might use for new memes. It was an open-floor debate, each candidate casually addressing the audience. Veronica Hunter dominated the topics. Chuck Roche, on the other hand, loved his silver-handled cane. He didn’t need it for any medical reasons; he thought it made him look like Fred Astaire. And that obviously mattered to him. He wandered the stage while the other two candidates spoke. He walked with his cane barely touching the ground. He twirled it and examined its intricate elephant head in sterling silver. When Veronica Hunter dropped a zinger on him, he referred to an unproven conspiracy theory about her, saying, “If I win, I am going to instruct my attorney general to get a special prosecutor to look into your real estate investments.” He held his cane by the shaft and slapped the weighted head in his other hand. “You should be in jail.”

  Hunter looked at him as if he’d given a compliment. Something had gone horribly wrong in America. But that wasn’t his problem.

  There were other things to do. Yuri pulled up last night’s surveillance video from Svaneke and fast-forwarded it until he saw muzzle flashes and falling bodies. The dropping bodies were the wrong ones. Yuri felt himself stop breathing as the shocking duo dispatched a platoon of his countrymen. Impossible. He backed it up to check. Sure enough, it was the Americans leaving the scene. A hand reached up in front of the camera. Then the feed blinked offline. Jacob Stearne and his big friend had dispatched Strangelove’s ambush with inhuman and ruthless precision.

  Were he not an atheist, he would have thought the gods had intervened on Stearne’s behalf.

  A vision of Strangelove’s strategy appeared in his head like jigsaw pieces. The banda that attacked the Sabels in France must’ve planned that attack for weeks. Yet Yuri was given the same Sabel assignment just days before the attack. The package in Zurich was devoid of anything useful. Yet Strangelove had ordered Yuri to monitor the remote location personally. What was Strangelove’s game?

  Yuri felt himself leaning over his desk, his nose just inches from the screen. His heart raced as he moved the pieces into place. The old man had never liked Yuri’s psychological warfare. He preferred physical operations. But—like assassinating Kennedy—overt acts required a scapegoat to prevent the incident from igniting a war between two nuclear powers. Strangelove had expected the Americans to track down Yuri’s banda and arrest or kill them.

  When that didn’t happen, he stabbed Yuri. Was that act planned? Or was the general’s frustration boiling over? Then the orders to kill Sabel. The old man had expected Yuri to die in the attack on the Sabels. Now the orders to monitor Svaneke. What was that about?

  The answer cut him like a knife.

  Strangelove had played a brilliant endgame. When #HuntersFail was traced, the evil mastermind of the terrorist attack—Yuri Belenov—would already be dead. No further leads would be pursued. Strangelove and Popov would drink a toast to the fallen heroes of the Federation and go on to the next task.

  Yuri would have to move fast to stay alive. There were new logistics to handle now. His timeline for going rogue jumped from soon to forty-eight hours. Maybe. Barely enough time to get the banda packed up and dispersed. Many gigabytes of tools and scripts would need to be copied to anonymous storage sites. A ton of high-end computers, carefully rigged to mask their work through the hacked computers of housewives and civil servants and executives, would be shipped to—to where?

  And all of it had to be done under Vasili’s patriotic nose.

  One word leaked to Strangelove, and they were dead in an hour.

  Which meant it was time to separate the allies from the enemies. He glanced over at his lieutenant, who hunched over his laptop. They had worked together for two years. He had been a loyal officer. Vasili deserved one more chance. After all, the lieutenant had a family.

  Vasili could feel the major’s cold stare and glanced over his shoulder.

  Yuri pointed at his screen. “Did you see that?”

  “Svaneke?” Vasili was white. “Ten men ambushed them, and Stearne walked away.”

  Yuri tapped on his screen with a finger. “What kind of camera was that?”

  “Axis PTZ, remote controlled.”

  “Logs and diagnostics software onboard?”

  “Of course.”

  “Who has those logs now?” Yuri turned his chair to face Vasili. He leaned forward as his lieutenant realized the problem.

  Vasili said, “But we spoofed the IP addresses.”

  “How long will it take Stearne to trace the camera’s live-stream back to Istanbul? Then Paris? And finally, Stavanger? Six levels of spoofed IP addresses might fool the average geek, but Stearne has Sabel Technology behind him. How long do we have?
”

  “Three days,” Vasili’s voice shook. “Or two.”

  “Time for an executive decision, Vasili.” Yuri lowered to a whisper. “Do we stand and fight—or run?”

  “We stand and fight.” Vasili’s eyes opened wide. “It is our duty.”

  Yuri flicked a glance over his shoulder to their fifteen hackers. Some had rifle training at one time or another. None of them had weapons that weren’t plugged in. Yuri and his lieutenant had five firearms between them. None were automatic, and only one was semi-auto. When they moved operations here, they never expected Stavanger to become a war zone.

  Vasili rubbed his face. “We must report this.”

  “Ask yourself a question first. Why did Strangelove set up an ambush?”

  “To eliminate the threat.”

  “And why have us monitor it?”

  Vasili thought for a long time. Yuri waited patiently.

  “You think he did it to expose us.” Vasili looked up. “You’re saying he purposely turned us over to the Americans? No, no. He would never do that. Besides, he doesn’t know where we are. By design, he doesn’t even know we’re in Norway. Complete deniability. We’re an autonomous company with no visible ties to Russia or the GRU.” Vasili bit his knuckle as the realization came to him. “And that’s why he used a camera with logs. In case his ambush failed, he knew Stearne would trace it to us, the men monitoring the island. There is no connection between Moscow and us. Strangelove is sacrificing us.”

  Yuri nodded.

  “Why?” Vasili asked.

  “Americans are smart and methodical. It’s not a matter of ‘if’ the Americans trace #HuntersFail back to us, it’s when. At some point, they will follow tiny clues back to this room. What will they find?”

  “Our dead bodies. Or, if we survive Stearne, rogue operators who worked alone. No ties to Russia.” Vasili accepted his Avos’ and slumped in his chair.

  “We have an option.” Yuri studied the lieutenant’s face.

  Vasili sat up and glanced at the others, then back at Yuri. “You mean, those crazy ideas about going rogue? Of becoming stateless? Abandon our posts?” Vasili turned back to his workstation. “I must report this, immediately.”

  Yuri grabbed his lieutenant’s arm and pulled him back, face to face.

  “Don’t jump to conclusions.” He watched as his man softened. “These are my orders: tactical retreat. We bug out now, each man to a different location. We lay low for a week. We reconnect and set up in a new location. We will not abandon our posts. Imagine the surprise on Strangelove’s face when we report for duty.”

  Yuri studied the lieutenant’s reaction carefully. Vasili appeared to like that option.

  “Those are my orders,” Yuri said.

  “With all due respect, sir, we should stay. Strangelove is testing us. I’m sure of it. He probably has a better ambush planned. For all we know, there could be another banda outside, waiting for them.”

  The New Soviet Man indeed. Vasili had more faith in Strangelove than the Pope had in Jesus. Under other circumstances, it would’ve been comical, but Yuri nearly snapped. He fought his rising rage. “Those are my orders. Say nothing to Kaliningrad until we arrive at our destination.”

  “Yes, sir.” Vasili saluted.

  Yuri smiled and patted Vasili’s shoulder. “Did you find a criminally insane Mexican in New York?”

  Vasili didn’t answer.

  The New York mission was critical to Yuri’s escape plan. Strangelove must get regular updates on the current workload, or he would crash their party.

  “There are half a million Latinos there,” Yuri said. “In any population of that size, there should be ten thousand criminals. Of those, there would be hundreds of mentally ill candidates.”

  “Yes, I found them. And I narrowed the list to three loners who rant online against the city and state.”

  “Prepare a report I can take with me.” Yuri tried to smile. “We must complete our assignments even on the run.”

  Vasili smiled at that order.

  Yuri gathered the men in a semi-circle around him. He opened with a joke, then cited each man’s accomplishments. Everyone had made a tremendous effort creating a news storm out of the smallest local provocations. Anything involving a Mexican immigrant, legal or not, had been elevated to national attention with subtle racism and a lot of hyperbole. Roman’s project had reaped the biggest banners. His story was the banner on several news sites.

  Then he explained the compromised video feed that required a tactical retreat. “I’m sorry we have to uproot your lives again.”

  “Don’t be.” Igor crossed his arms. “We don’t need Russia. Russia needs us. But see how they pay us? We should leave and keep going—on our own.”

  “We don’t need the old men who used to run our country.” Roman shook his fist. “They do nothing for us. They know nothing about the new economy.”

  In his peripheral vision, Yuri saw Vasili gasp.

  Another voice added, “They made us crash the airliners. The Americans will have our heads when they find out it wasn’t #HuntersFail.”

  And another, “We owe the general nothing. I say we strike out on our own.”

  “This is insubordination,” Vasili shouted above them all.

  Yuri held up his hands to quell the uprising. “Easy, gentlemen. There will be no rebellion, no insubordination. We are Russians. I am working on a plan to keep us out of American hands.” He gave everyone a stern look. “We have a lot to do. Get to work.”

  The faces of insurrection remained as they lowered their voices. The group broke up, chatting in smaller groups before returning to their tasks.

  He caught Roman’s gaze and gave the man a see-me-later nod.

  Yuri turned to Vasili, putting his face to the lieutenant’s ear. “Let them think whatever they want. I have methods to ensure they answer when I call them.”

  Vasili’s lips formed the first syllable of a protest. Yuri cut him off. “Do not challenge my authority.” He lowered his voice. “We must be gone before Stearne gets here. Work on getting the office ready to ship out. I want to see significant progress by the time I return from lunch.”

  Yuri trotted down the stairs and stepped into an alcove to wait. Three minutes later, Roman came down the stairs. Yuri grabbed him. “Tell the men to keep their mouths shut. One more word in front of Vasili and we’re in a Moscow prison by dinner time.”

  Roman’s eyebrows shot up. “Then we’re really—”

  “Make sure there is a copy of all our tools where Strangelove can find it. And another he will never see. I’ll address the men later. As soon as I can shake Vasili.”

  Roman ducked his head and bounded back up the stairs.

  Yuri floated up the street to a French bistro. It was early for lunch, with only two other tables taken. He sat, spreading his arms in a grand style. He felt like the tsar expecting his servants to wait on him. Andrine lit up the room a few seconds later.

  They both ordered soup. After all the pleasantries of weather and family were exhausted, he leaned over the table and held her gaze.

  “I am going to New York tomorrow for a business trip. My associate fell ill and cannot go. His room is already paid for, and his first-class flight is non-refundable. It is waiting for a beautiful young lady who wants to see the world but also wants to come home again. Will you go with me?”

  Andrine’s mouth fell open. Her sparkling eyes widened. Her slender hand covered her face for just a moment before a breathless laugh escaped. She gasped twice before she could speak. “Do you mean it? Just the two of us?”

  He nodded. “But you would have your own room and—”

  She nearly knocked the table over when she wrapped her arms around him. She hugged him with the most satisfying embrace he’d ever felt in his life. In that moment, he felt happier than he’d ever dreamed possible.

  She sat back in her chair, gushing her thanks over and over. He plied her with the details. They conjured up trips to MoM
A and the Statue of Liberty. They planned a stroll in Central Park. They considered if visiting the 9/11 Memorial would be too depressing. They wondered if they could find tickets to the latest musicals or if they should settle for an old standard instead. In all, they planned a hundred days’ worth of excursions for their seven-day trip.

  The waiter brought their soups and looked at Yuri for a moment. He said, “Excuse me, but it was your friend who was murdered on the waterfront a couple months ago, right?”

  “Yes.” Yuri took a sip of soup and looked up at the man.

  “I was sorry to hear they overturned the conviction of those drug addicts.”

  Yuri said, “They should have given them the death penalty right away.”

  Andrine’s eyes flashed as she grabbed his wrist. “Surely you don’t support capital punishment.”

  CHAPTER 27

  Pia sat at the table with Olivier and Dad as her jet neared Washington DC. Time was running out to expose Roche and his Russian connections, but the Frenchman had yet to help them.

  “Jacob broke into the Russian Embassy when Popov stole his dog.” Pia leaned across the table. “And you saw what we did to the Russians at your farm. How can you doubt my ability to keep you safe?”

  Olivier crossed his arms and stared out the window as the early morning sunlight spread gold across the cloud tops below them.

  Pia glanced at his children, huddled on the couch at the back of the jet. One was asleep. The other two were watching her tense interrogation of their father. She needed answers, and there was little time left. But would she be as harsh on Stefan? Would she berate him in front of his children?

  Alan leaned into Olivier’s space. “You betrayed us. Why should we give you sanctuary? Why shouldn’t we put you on a flight back to France as soon as we land?”