by Jack Arbor
“What happened in 1991?” Max asked. “If they had an iron grip, how did the Soviet Union fall apart?”
A slow nod from C. “They lost control, due in part to subversive action in Ukraine by the US. The chekists learned their lesson. The Soviet Union was the old shadow government, with each country’s president and the Chairman of the Supreme Soviet all practically puppet heads except for Khrushchev, who was more liberal, and got away with it because Stalin went too far.” He spread his hands. “Now you see how important the consortium is to the stability of the hard-liners.”
This is too bizarre to be true.
C cleared his throat. “Our intel suggests there are at least three more of these councils. One for foreign policy, and one for control—media, spin, and in the extreme case, assassinations—and one for administration. But there might be more.”
Wait. “Sounds like the list of old KGB directorates.”
“Precisely.”
“What about the military?”
“Some evidence points to the military being largely in control of these councils. Members of the military are on each board, but they don’t have their own directorate.”
If what C was saying was true, the task ahead was even more daunting than he thought. How do I force an entire shadow government to stop hunting us?
C coughed gently. “We don’t know why this system of secret committees has marked your family for assassination, Mr. Asimov. But I can assure you, if you choose to continue our relationship, Her Majesty’s intelligence services will do everything in its power to protect and aid you in your quest.”
“I appreciate that.” The best way to find out what MI6 is hiding is to stay close to them. To stay close, they have to believe I’ll share what Kate knows.
C gave a brief nod. “Before we part ways, Mr. Asimov, I have two questions for you.”
Max shifted to ease the pressure from the large bruise on his back. Since the explosion at Ivanov’s, he’d had difficulty sitting for long periods of time. Not even the white pills helped. “I don’t know where Kate is.”
The director bent his head. “I understand. Callum disagrees, but I believe our best bet to learn what she knows is by ensuring she gets the love and attention she needs from those closest to her. We’d be happy, of course, to offer protective custody.”
Max shook his head. “It’s not necessary, but thank you. What do you want to know?”
“Several key facts are missing from Callum’s reports.” C peered at Baxter before continuing. “Victor Dedov’s role on the consortium must have been quite a shock, given his relationship with your father. How did you put the pieces together on his involvement?”
“Two things pointed to his involvement.” Max held up two fingers. “One obvious, one not. He didn’t need the weapons to defend his keep in Switzerland. I’ve been there twice and knew he had an ample supply of weaponry. Therefore, Dedov needed the guns to defend something else. The second was something he said when I talked with him in Italy. He said he needed to protect something extremely valuable. If not the keep, then what? So I hid a tracking device in the weapons shipment. When I saw the rifles were headed for Cyprus—the same place Bluefish told us Kate was located—I put it all together.”
C pursed his lips. “Dedov and Spartak were working together against Ivanov in a plot to take over control of the consortium. That much we put together with help from our friends in GCHQ.”
“Right,” Max said. “They were in cahoots.”
C inclined his head. “Studying up on American lingo, I see.”
“Trying, Sir,” Max removed a white pill from his pocket and slipped it in his mouth. My back is killing me. “While both Kate and I were held captive, he assumed he had the power. When Ivanov rolled into the Cyprus compound, Dedov figured he had the leverage to take Ivanov down. What else do you want to know?”
The director removed a small tablet computer from his jacket pocket and tapped a few times and read before regarding Max again. “There was a gap in time between when Kate appeared in the courtyard and Dedov took the bullet that shot off his foot. The details are foggy. Can you fill in the holes?”
“Did you serve, sir?” Max asked.
“Pardon?”
“The military. Did you see any action?”
“Yes, of course. I don’t see—”
“The fog of war.” Max frowned. “When the helicopters started shooting, we were intent on escape. It wasn’t until Dedov appeared at Ivanov’s house that I realized he must have taken gunfire that severed his leg.”
C appeared to accept his explanation. “What happened to this fellow calling himself Bluefish?”
“That’s three, sir.”
C’s eyes widened. “Pardon?”
Max waved his hand. “Never mind. We dropped him a block from a hospital and made an anonymous call.”
The director picked at a fingernail. “Can you explain why you didn’t turn him over to the American authorities?”
“He’s a current and high-ranking member of the US military. I was intent on finding Kate and didn’t have time to sort it out. We know who he is and where to find him. Besides, we have enough evidence to expose him if he tries anything. He works for us now.”
C recrossed his legs while looking at Baxter. “Given the evidence against him—”
Baxter cut in. “We were on US soil and already in hot water. I didn’t want to create an international incident. It was my decision.”
Another nod by C as he returned the tablet to his pocket.
This is dragging. I need to get back to the hotel before Kate wakes. “Where does this leave us?”
C gestured at the door. “I know you want to go, but I’ll leave you with this thought. What many intelligence agencies tend to forget is that intelligence agencies are just that, they are in charge of intelligence. Our mandate is to develop sources of information into actionable intelligence that our government leaders can act on. So go. Despite Callum’s insistence to the contrary, we will not follow or interrupt Kate’s recovery. We trust you’ll take good care of her. Seek the knowledge that you seek. When you learn what you learn, come to London. We will work together to compile and analyze our intelligence and determine what the Russian’s are up to. In the end, that knowledge will set you and your family free.” C leaned against the door to open it for Max.
With one foot on the pavement, Max stopped. “I need a favor.”
“Name it.”
When Max told him, C inclined his head. “It will be done.”
Max stepped into the brisk morning, accepted his pistol from the bodyguard, gave Cindy a nod, and strode off in the direction of Portugal’s National Archeological Museum. As he saw the sign next to the hulking neo-Manueline style building, he chuckled at the irony. To know the present, he needed to uncover the past.
Fifty-Six
Outside Aspen, Colorado
A beam of sunlight cut through the jack pines while a crisp breeze stung his skin, foretelling of the winter ahead. Snow fell overnight, and a crispy frost covered the loamy ground so their feet made crinkling sounds as they hiked. Despite the chilly temperatures, the morning sun warmed their shoulders. Kate walked in front with Max following. Their destination was a ridge that offered a shelf of rocks ideal for sharing a thermos of hot coffee and admiring the jagged snowcapped mountains in the distance.
After his surprise meeting with C, Max, Kate, and Spencer spent three days on various transatlantic flights using the air travel for surveillance detection. While traveling, Kate spoke little and never strayed far from the two men. When she dozed, Kate held Max’s hand and often cried out in her sleep while clamping down on his fingers.
They arrived at the cabin from Europe a week ago. Arina and Alex’s trip was courtesy of MI6 and was the favor Max asked of C. Once settled in the cabin outside Aspen, Kate ate sparingly and refused offers of wine or cigarettes. Most of her days were spent curled under a wool blanket in a chair on the porch looking out over the
pond or in front of a roaring fire. Whatever secrets the former CIA station chief and black-ops commander held in her head were locked there forever. Still, each morning, Max forced the group to take a hike in the hopes that the clear mountain air and brisk exercise might help Kate’s recovery.
Some days Spencer joined them, other times he accompanied Alex on a four-wheeler jaunt through the woods or coached Arina in the finer points of pistol shooting in the barn’s makeshift gun range.
When they reached the rocky outcropping, they sat with their thighs touching and sipped steaming coffee while surveying the valley. Velvety tops of pine trees stretched for miles in all directions, and to the west, a buildup of clouds foretold of more snow. Max related stories of his childhood and how his father taught him ballroom dancing and cooking, not because he needed to know them as a gentleman, but because they would come in handy as a spy. When he exhausted his memories of growing up, he moved to tales from his days at the KGB academy, like how an upstart young cadet named Svetlana challenged him to a pistol shooting contest. The loser had to guzzle a bottle of vodka. She got most of the liquor down before throwing up. Later, they pumped her stomach.
When the coffee was gone and a snowflake hit him on the nose, they began the long hike back. As they descended the steep trail and approached the cabin, cloud cover dulled the sunlight and the snow came down heavier. The growl of an engine grew louder as a large Jeep with oversized tires pulled up the drive. First to exit from the vehicle was a bundle of energy with blond hair.
“Uncle Max!” Alex rushed over and offered Max a fist bump. Spike, now a medium-sized dog with puppy-sized energy, jumped from the back and ran in circles sniffing the air.
“Hiya, sport. Need help with the groceries?”
Spencer climbed from the truck, his worn cowboy boots crunching on the gravel, and Arina got out of the front passenger seat.
The five of them retired to the cabin, where Kate settled on the couch under a sheepskin rug and Arina busied herself in the kitchen. Spike and Charlie, Spencer’s gray-faced golden retriever, bounded up onto the couch and settled in next to Kate, who absently stroked Charlie’s back. Max built a fire in the hearth while Alex and Spencer helped Arina in the kitchen.
A large spread of meats and cheeses and vegetables was set on the table, and Max broke out a bottle of aged bourbon and poured generous helpings for Spencer, Arina, and himself. Kate shook her head when Max offered her a tumbler of the light brown liquid.
After the food was eaten and the dishes cleared and Alex was settled into bed, the two men retired to the porch in down jackets to smoke and sip bourbon. Two inches of the liquor was gone before Spencer stirred. “I know the docs in London gave her a thorough evaluation, but do you think we should get her some medical attention? Some kind of head doc?”
Max swirled his drink. “I’m sure MI6 would be happy to provide someone.”
With a snort, Spencer drained his drink. “Do you trust them?”
Max scratched his neck. “I don’t trust any intelligence agency. But if we have to work with one, they're probably the best of the lot.”
Spencer poured them another measure. “Maybe.”
Max sipped. “The MI6 doctors said she’ll eventually start talking again.”
“At least she’s safe,” Spencer said.
The two men lapsed into silence as the bourbon steadily disappeared. By the time they went inside, Kate and Arina had gone to bed, and the fire was reduced to glowing embers.
The next day, the five members of the makeshift family went on the usual hike to the top of the ridge. Arina was as quiet as Kate. The man she loved, the man who rescued her from the dangers of the consortium, the man who took her son under his protective wing and provided them both a safe place to live, had turned out to be a traitor. He had also murdered her husband and her parents. Max left her alone with her thoughts.
Spencer led them along the steep switchbacks, followed by Kate, Alex, Arina, and the two dogs, while Max took up the rear. Both men wore sidearms, and a rifle was strapped to Spencer’s back while Max carried a shotgun. Arina was armed with a 9mm on her hip. Alex trotted along, happy to be back in the woods of Colorado. He liked to dart off the trail and return with a stick or leaf or some other treasure. Kate was her normal stoic self. Is that a renewed brightness in her eyes? Maybe it was his imagination.
Since uncovering his father’s video, Max had played it over and over again, watching it frame by frame. When Arina and Alex arrived from Switzerland, Max played the video for his sister dozens of times, both of them watching intently for clues. By now, he had memorized the dialog, and he let it scroll through his mind while they walked.
As they crested a ridge with mountain views on either side, Arina halted in the middle of the trail. “I’ve got it!” she yelled.
Max almost knocked her to the ground before catching her and bracing them both to keep from tumbling to the rocky trail. “Jesus, sis. What is it?”
The rest of the group stopped to listen as she bounced up and down. “The video. I’ve got it!” Her face beamed.
Max’s mouth hung open as Arina recited a quote from memory. “Man cannot possess anything as long as he fears death. But to him who does not fear it, everything belongs. If there was no suffering, man would not know his limits, would not know himself.”
Everyone gaped at Arina. Spencer, Kate, and Alex stood a few meters down the trail while Charlie sat on his haunches and Spike sniffed at the ground.
Max touched Arina’s arm. “Are you okay?”
She bounced up and down on the balls of her feet. “It’s a quote from Tolstoy’s War and Peace. Papa made me memorize it, but would never tell me why.”
A melodic voice came from behind Arina. “Nikita Ivanov is actually Anton Pushkin.”
Everyone turned to stare at Kate. Her eyes glinted with electricity as she recited from memory. “Anton Pushkin, born in 1952 in St. Petersburg, is a direct descendent of Felix Dzerzhinsky, also known as Iron Felix, who was the first Director of the Bolshevik secret police. Pushkin grew up in St. Petersburg, son of that city’s Governor. At age seventeen, he disappeared into the KGB’s training programs, eventually becoming Head of Second Chief Directorate in charge of counterintelligence. Five years after assuming that post, Pushkin’s death was faked and he disappeared.”
The whole group was stunned into silence, and even the dogs sat quietly. Max stepped closer to Kate. This is the information his father hid in Kate’s mind. What everyone was looking for. The quote was the key.
“A decade later Pushkin reemerged as Nikita Ivanov after undergoing significant plastic surgery. Now he leads a top secret and tightly controlled group of men descended from the first secret police organization instituted by Vladimir Lenin in 1917.”
Spencer cleared his throat. “Except he was killed by a bomb hidden in Dedov’s wheelchair.”
Kate shrugged. “Ivanov/Pushkin is also one of three ministers who form the Komissariat for the Preservation of State.”
“The what?” Max shifted his feet in the snow. A komissariat was an old term that meant government department in the old Soviet Union, but the word hadn’t been in use since the 1940s.
“The Komissariat for the Preservation of State governs four groups. The first, the council of internal security, is twelve men charged with disinformation and propaganda along with suppression of uprisings. The second group, called the council of external security, oversees the military. The third group, called the council of petroleum and natural resources, manages a monopoly on oil and gas production, and the fourth group, called the council of monetary policy, handles banking and finances. These groups all operate outside the rule of the law and serve as a shadow government. The Russian president is a puppet, who serves at the pleasure of the Komissariat for the Preservation of State.”
So MI6 is right. Except they left out the part about this Komissariat thing. “Who are the three ministers of the Komissariat?”
Kate smiled. “The Ko
missariat for the Preservation of State is comprised of three men, all of whom are direct descendants from families who formed the Cheka. This lineage is strictly maintained through bylaws and secret ceremony. We’ve discovered that Ivanov/Pushkin is one such minister. The identities of the other two ministers remain secret.” She paused and smiled. “More accurately, their identities were not revealed to me by Andrei.”
Max turned to Spencer. “This is good information, but hardly worthy of pursuit by so many intelligence agencies.”
The ex-CIA man gazed at the sky. “To be fair, they didn’t know what information they were looking for.”
Kate gripped Max’s arm. “There’s more.”
Everyone stared at Kate.
“I know when and where the Komissariat for the Preservation of State holds its monthly meetings. It’s a closely held secret, known only to the Komissar himself and the other two ministers. The next meeting is in mid-January.” Her hand tightened on his forearm. “Max, your father wants you to be there.”
The pitch darkness of the moonless morning forced the sky to blend with the murk of the trees. Max stepped outside, careful to tread lightly on the wooden porch. Pea gravel crunched under his boots as he made his way to the edge of the pond. A cloud of no-see-ums encased his head before he batted them away. A chorus of cicadas kept a constant background buzz.
Stopping along the water’s edge, his boots sinking into the soft earth, he removed a crumpled pack of Marlboro Reds and his Zippo, the one he received from his grandfather just before his death.
How had Kira tracked him so easily?
He had replaced his clothes, including his boots and beloved leather jacket, so he knew there was no tracking device hidden on his person. Goshawk performed a scan on his Blackphone, ensuring it too was clean. He bought a new backpack and wallet. Baxter scanned him and his gear with a bug tracker, which revealed nothing. He was clean, yet she had easily followed him between Europe, the US, and Cyprus.
