Objekt 825 (Tracie Tanner Thrillers Book 9)

by Allan Leverone

  Tracie leaned against a tree across from the three small homes, clustered together inside a small clearing carved out of the ever-present Russian forest.

  Gazed out of the forest and across the narrow road.

  The car she’d seen Morozov drive away from Objekt 825 was parked outside the middle home. Lights were off inside all three houses, which would make sense given the time.

  Now that she had identified which home contained her target, Tracie turned her attention to the houses on either side of Morozov’s. Neither had a car parked in its driveway, and both gave off an aura of emptiness. She couldn’t exactly put her finger on why she thought they were empty; it was entirely possible anyone staying in either house would have no need for a vehicle. Still, she didn’t think that were the case.

  If the homes were unoccupied, that would suit her purposes perfectly. She would have to approach Morozov differently if there were potential witnesses right next door than if there were not. She decided a closer look would be necessary to find out for sure.

  Sunrise at this time of year would occur in less than an hour, and already Tracie could see the skies beginning to brighten. This kind of up-close reconnaissance was best done under cover of darkness, so she gave herself a moment to catch her breath, then broke silently out of the trees and headed toward the tiny Russian subdivision.

  24

  June 25, 1988

  6:25 a.m.

  Objekt 825

  Tracie’s initial sense about the homes on either side of Commander Morozov’s being empty was proven correct. She checked multiple windows on both structures and found their interiors to be vacant, not just of residents but of furniture as well. Whatever their purpose, neither was occupied at this time.

  Her original plan had been to wait in the woods for Morozov to exit his home, thus minimizing the likelihood of being seen. Given the distance of the commander’s residence from the apartment complex, though, she no longer thought that precaution would be necessary. It was highly unlikely any apartment resident would peer across the expanse toward the commander’s home, and even more unlikely anyone would see Tracie should they do so. And there was by now enough daylight that she would observe anyone moving by car or on foot toward the homes from either direction in plenty of time to take cover.

  So after satisfying herself that Morozov’s home was the only one occupied, Tracie approached it from an angle that would keep her hidden should he happen to glance out a window. Then she flattened herself against the wall on the side facing away from the apartment complex. She placed her backpack on the damp grass and then sat on it to await the commander’s appearance.

  Her theory was that he would want to be inside his office by seven a.m.—lead by example, show the troops what real professionalism looked like, that sort of thing—but if not, if he were a late sleeper, she was perfectly willing to wait until eight or even nine, if necessary.

  She had nowhere to be.

  Sooner or later he would have to leave his house.

  ***

  It turned out to be sooner.

  Tracie had been seated on her backpack less than ten minutes when she heard the front door open. A moment later it slammed closed, followed by the sound of a lock being engaged, and then footsteps descending the stairs and moving toward the driveway.

  She climbed to her feet and shrugged the backpack onto her shoulders. Then she pulled her Beretta from its leather shoulder rig and slipped around the corner, falling in behind Morozov as she scanned the area for potential witnesses.

  There were none.

  She closed the distance between them steadily, moving noiselessly despite the incessant throbbing of her injured ankle. She’d hoped the few hours worth of sleep she got before departing the old hostel would be enough to allow for a bit of recovery, but it seemed to have done little to promote healing.

  She pushed the pain from her mind and continued, timing her approach to coincide with Morozov’s arrival at his car. He reached for the door handle and then froze. Tracie realized he’d seen her reflection in the car’s side window, but by then it was too late for him to respond effectively.

  She reached up and pressed her weapon to the side of his skull.

  Spoke softly in Russian. “We need to have a little discussion.”

  “Who are you, and what do you want?”

  “Who I am is of no consequence to you. What I want, however, will be the subject of our discussion. Now, here is what is going to happen: you will get behind the wheel of your car, and I will slip into the seat directly behind yours. If you do anything other than exactly what I tell you to do, I will blow your brains all over your windshield. Do we understand each other, Commander Morozov?”

  He didn’t answer immediately, but Tracie hadn’t expected him to. He would mentally review his options, quickly eliminating each until, after maybe ten or fifteen seconds, he would reach the only possible conclusion: he must do as he was told.

  So she waited.

  A moment later, he said, “I understand.”

  “Are you armed?”

  “Why would I need to carry a gun? This facility is secured by fencing and heavily armed soldiers in every direction.”

  “And yet here I am. So much for your fencing and armed guards. Place your hands on the roof of the vehicle and spread your legs, while I determine whether you have begun our relationship by lying to me.”

  He did as instructed, muttering softly under his breath. She ignored him and patted him down, and discovered he’d been telling the truth about being unarmed.

  Satisfied, she said, “Now, get in the car.”

  He slid behind the wheel while she opened the rear door and dropped into the seat behind his. They pulled their doors closed simultaneously.

  “What now?” Morozov said.

  “I told you. We’re going to have a little discussion.”

  “I have nothing to say to you, except to remind you that your fate will be…unpleasant once you are apprehended. And you will be apprehended.”

  Tracie reached up and pressed her weapon against his head for a second time. “I will lead this discussion. If you choose not to participate, you will discover your life span has been shortened considerably. Are we on the same page in this regard, Commander?”

  This time there was no delay, because there was nothing for him to consider. He had no options. His choice was binary: agree to her terms or die.

  “Da,” he spat. His anger was obvious, but Tracie thought there was a healthy dose of fear in the response as well.

  “Good,” she said. “I want to talk about the electronic device Comrade Lukashenko delivered to you yesterday.”

  “The communication decoder? What about it?” His tone was one of confusion. Whatever he thought the maniac in a Red Army lieutenant’s uniform wanted, the possibility that it was related to yesterday’s visit from The Weasel had not occurred to him.

  “Correct,” Tracie said. “It does not belong to you, and I have come to take possession of it and then return it to its rightful owners.”

  He shook his head. “I have no idea what you are talking about. My superiors in Moscow informed me Comrade Lukashenko would be delivering a submersible communication decoder, and that our researchers and scientists were to begin reverse-engineering the device immediately.”

  “Did they tell you where the object of this pending research came from?”

  “They did not.”

  “And that didn’t strike you as odd?”

  “I did not care. I received my orders and I intend to follow them. It is no more complicated than that.”

  “Well, I have some new orders for you. You are going to escort me into your facility. Then you will bring me to your research lab, or wherever you are keeping the device. Together, we will then remove it from Objekt 825.”

  “And why would I do any of that?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “Perhaps, but explain it to me anyway.”

  “Because,” Tra
cie said, “if you do anything other than exactly what I have described, you will die. It is very much that simple.”

  “If you shoot me, you will never escape. Your fate will be worse than mine.”

  Tracie chuckled. “I got into this place undetected. I’m quite sure I can get out the same way. But even if you’re right, and I’m apprehended, fated to suffer horribly, you will still be dead. That does not strike me as a trade-off you would find satisfactory, Commander.”

  He shook his head again, his fear and frustration plain. “The device was just delivered to us yesterday. My people will become suspicious if I remove it less than twenty-four hours after handing it over to them.”

  “Are you or are you not the commanding officer of Objekt 825?”

  “You already know that I am. It is why we are having this conversation.”

  “And are your men obligated to do as you say or are they not?”

  “You know the answer to that question as well.”

  “Then your argument is irrelevant. I do not care how suspicious your men get. I do not care what you choose to tell them when we take possession of the device. All I care about is that we leave the facility with it. If that happens, and you do exactly as I say, you will be allowed to live. If not…” She allowed her words to hang in the early-morning stillness, hammering home her message.

  Morozov huffed angrily but said nothing.

  “Do you understand everything I have told you?”

  “Da.”

  “Do you understand your only chance at surviving beyond the next few minutes is by doing exactly as I have said?”

  “Da.”

  “Then what are you waiting for? It is time to go to work. Consider it ‘Bring Your Captor To Work Day.”

  “What? I do not understand.”

  “Never mind. Just drive.”

  25

  June 25, 1988

  6:55 a.m.

  Objekt 825 administration building

  During the short drive from Morozov’s home to the parking lot outside the Objekt 825 office complex, Tracie filled the commander in on her Olga Koruskaya identity and the flimsy cover story she’d concocted: she had been sent here by the KGB to retrieve the device because her superiors had changed their minds, deciding they wanted more time to examine it at Lubyanka.

  When she finished talking, he said, “Why take the risk of abducting me at gunpoint? Why didn’t you show up at the facility and use your KGB cover story to retrieve the device?”

  “Would you have believed me and accepted my story without checking with Lubyanka?”

  “Well, no.”

  “There is your answer. Your way would not have succeeded. My way will, because your men have no choice but to accept orders from you.”

  He shook his head and muttered something else under his breath.

  Tracie ignored him, easing her weapon away from Morozov’s skull as the car approached the parking lot. She held it between her knees, pressed into the back of the driver’s seat at an angle that would allow her to fire into his spine should he begin lowering his window to scream to the sentry inside the guard shack.

  He didn’t lower his window.

  Didn’t do anything suspicious at all.

  He nosed his vehicle into the same parking spot Tracie had seen him use yesterday. Apparently it was reserved for the base commander, although there was no sign, or any other indication of that being the case.

  He shut down the engine. “What now?”

  “Now we do exactly as I told you. We enter the facility and move to your office.”

  “You will need to sign in at the guard shack.”

  “Bullshit,” Tracie said, her voice steely.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You think I haven’t had Objekt 825 under surveillance? I saw you escort Comrade Lukashenko inside the facility yesterday without signing him in. You will do the same thing with me.”

  He cursed and then said, “Very well.”

  “I know what you are doing,” Tracie said. “You are trying to draw the sentry’s attention by delaying, by sitting here with me inside your vehicle until he becomes suspicious. Now, get moving and do not try my patience.”

  He reached for the door handle as Tracie eased her weapon into the shoulder holster hidden beneath her blazer. “I still do not believe you would shoot,” he muttered.

  “Try me,” she answered, timing the opening of her door to match his. They stepped out of the vehicle at the same time and Tracie moved to a position immediately off his right side as they approached the pathway leading to the front entrance.

  “You might be interested to know,” she said, speaking quietly enough not to be overheard inside the guard shack, “that I could access my weapon in plenty of time to eliminate you and then your young sentry, should you elect to do anything stupid. And then I would remove your keys from your right front pocket, climb into your car, and be on my way before anyone else could react. Just in case you were wondering.”

  She offered her little soliloquy not just to remind Morozov of the deadly consequences that would follow should he attempt to warn the soldier watching them stroll past that he was in distress. She wanted it to appear to the guard as though the two of them were sharing a pleasant little conversation. If he’d watched them exit the car—and he probably had, who wouldn’t pay attention to his boss as the man arrived at work?—he’d likely had his suspicions aroused simply from seeing Tracie exit the back seat, rather than the front.

  Whether he’d become suspicious or not, they passed him without incident. “Good morning, Commander,” the man called through the open door, and Morozov raised a hand in a friendly response, and then they left him to his duties, as cars were steadily entering the lot.

  Plenty of people had walked to work as well, and as soldiers, scientists and office staff passed by, a few offered tentative “Good mornings” to the base commander. Most seemed to want to avoid attracting his attention.

  That was just fine with Tracie.

  They entered the building through the double glass doors, into a stark lobby featuring a concrete floor and mostly bare walls. The monotony of the interior was broken only by the occasional framed photograph—a Russian submarine here, a Soviet dignitary there. The obligatory hammer and sickle flag hung squarely in the middle of the lobby, directly above a massive picture of General Secretary Mikhail Gorbachev.

  A young receptionist seated behind a large desk looked up and smiled quizzically as Tracie and Morozov approached.

  “Good morning, Commander,” she said. “I was not aware we had any visitors scheduled for this morning.” Her smile faltered as she caught a glimpse of the jagged scar running north to south along the right side of the visitor’s skull.

  Tracie almost laughed. Almost.

  “Car accident,” she said.

  “This visit is unscheduled,” Morozov interrupted, talking over her. “Lieutenant Koruskaya has come from Lubyanka.”

  The receptionist’s smile disappeared entirely. As legendary as the KGB was in the west, Tracie had discovered the Soviet security organization was even more renowned—and feared—inside Russia and its associated satellite states. Nobody wanted to come to the attention of the KGB if it could possibly be avoided.

  “I see,” she said, lowering her head and beginning to write out a visitor’s badge.

  “Do you not wish to see my identification?” Tracie said frostily. She didn’t want to rattle this young woman any more than she already had, but thought that any KGB representative who did not insist on following protocol might seem more suspicious than one who did.

  “Oh. Yes. Of course.” The receptionist smiled gamely and held out her hand as Tracie produced her forged credentials. There was virtually no chance the forgery would be uncovered by anyone short of a Soviet document expert, which this nervous, intimidated young woman clearly was not.

  She glanced at the ID for maybe a half-second before returning it to Tracie, studiously avoiding meeting her eyes.
Then she resumed working on the badge, writing quickly.

  After a moment, she passed it across the desk and said, “Please pin this to your jacket and keep it displayed at all times while inside the facility.”

  “I will do that,” Tracie said.

  “Have a nice day, and enjoy your time here.”

  “I am sure it will be very productive.”

  She turned to the commander and said, “May we begin the day in your office, please, Commander Morozov? We have much to discuss.”

  “Of course,” Morozov replied, his voice gravelly and curt. Numerous hallways led out of the lobby in multiple directions, and the commander turned toward the one farthest to the right. Tracie turned with him, careful to remain off his right side, a position which would enable her to lift her left arm and fire her weapon directly from her shoulder holster should it become necessary.

  So far, Morozov had shown no signs of attempting to warn any of the soldiers strolling the facility that they had an enemy in their midst, but this was his turf, not hers. Things could go sideways in an instant, and she wanted to maximize her chances for survival should that happen. The farther the entryway doors got behind her, the less likely that survival became in the event Morozov did something stupid, but she wasn’t about to make the odds any longer than they needed to be.

  They entered the hallway into what was clearly the office suite reserved for Objekt 825’s upper management. The gold carpeting was a step up from the bare concrete of the lobby, although it looked ancient, grubby and worn. The first door on the right was Morozov’s office.

  “I need to reach into my pocket for the key to unlock my door,” Morozov said, speaking softly.

  Tracie answer was spoken just as softly. “Fine. Do not do anything you will regret.”

  “I already have.”

  “Then let me put it to you differently: do not do anything that will get you killed.”