Hunting The Kobra

by Cooper-Posey, Tracy

  Quinn didn’t move. “Why has the CIA been observing me? Has this got something to do with Denis?”

  “Denis, like you, Quinn, was an innocent bystander.” Dima frowned. “At least, we think so. You can help us with that.”

  Quinn’s gut roiled. “Help you decide if Denis is innocent or not?” Her voice rose. “Of course he is innocent!”

  Dima nodded, her expression sympathetic. “How much do you know about Denis’s life in Austria?”

  Quinn hesitated. “He was a music professor there, too. He was invited to the Conservatory for a three-year teaching assignment. That was two years ago.”

  “You met Denis the week he arrived in America,” Dima said. “You began dating immediately. We have learned about Denis since he arrived in America. It seems we know more than you about his life in Austria, though.”

  “He didn’t like to talk about it,” Quinn murmured. Her innards shifted. “He was a professor at the Vienna School of Music and Performing Arts. He completed his undergraduate studies there, too. Denis is a musician. That’s all he is. Was.” Quinn closed her mouth and resisted saying anything more.

  Everyone in the room watched her, not with suspicious gazes, but with open interest. She could’ve been introducing herself to a new set of orchestra members. It was the same level of collegial politeness.

  Quinn shook her head. “Whatever it is you’re trying to lead up to, why don’t you just spit it out? Denis is dead. There is nothing you can say which is worse than that.”

  “Are you sure there is nothing worse?” The question came from one of the men. He had short hair, mousy brown. A closely trimmed beard and a simple business shirt with no tie and the sleeves rolled up. He had blue eyes and full lips and an intense stare. He was also carrying an extra thirty pounds.

  “Scott has a point,” Dima said. “What do you know about the explosion at the jazz club?”

  Quinn had to clear her throat before she could speak. It felt as though someone was squeezing it with their fingers. “I’ve heard all the usual crap everyone is saying on the Internet. C4 from Afghanistan, maybe the Taliban. None of it makes sense.”

  “Oh, it wasn’t the Taliban,” Dima said. “It wasn’t any terrorists we know.” Her expression softened as she looked at Quinn. “We are fairly certain the explosion had only one intended victim.”

  “Because the Russians don’t mind taking out an entire city block just to kill an ant,” Scott said, his voice dry, his tone disgusted.

  Quinn wasn’t aware of sitting down yet found herself propped upon the nearest desk. Her heart thundered. Her hand trembled enough to make her put the cup down, afraid she might spill it. She gripped her hands together. “They blew up a whole club just to get to Denis?”

  No one said anything. It was answer enough.

  “Why?” Quinn asked, bewildered. “I don’t understand.”

  Dima sighed. She pushed her hair away from her eyes. “We are still trying to understand, too. We were hoping you could help us with that.”

  “Me? Why would anyone want to kill Denis?” She couldn’t move beyond the idea that someone wanted Denis dead badly enough to kill twenty-four other people. “What have Russians got to do with it? Denis has never been to Russia.” The questions piled up upon themselves, one after another, making her head hurt.

  Dima lifted her hand as if she sensed the frenzy of questions in Quinn’s mind. “I can tell you a little,” she said. “It won’t be all the answers you want, but for now, until you agree to help us, I can only give you a glimpse of the problem we’re facing.” She put her hands together, the fingers extended, as if she was praying. She rested them against her legs. “There is a man we have been investigating for several months. He came to my attention via… Well, it doesn’t matter how I learned about him. When we investigated him, we learned of the man’s association with a Russian spymaster called The Kobra.”

  Quinn resisted the urge to giggle. No one was laughing. There wasn’t even a smile in evidence. The entire room of people watched her, assessing how she received the news. It told her they meant it.

  “Who is The Kobra?” Quinn asked.

  Dima nodded, pleased, as if the question was the right one. “The Kobra has been directing a section of Russian intelligence operations for nearly thirty years. No one knows who he is. We have no photo of him. He only uses his alias. Everyone in the intelligence community has heard of The Kobra. He has done more to dismantle American security and intelligence affairs than a dozen other countries put together. After thirty years, we are certain that whoever The Kobra is, he is high in Russian politics. It makes him powerful, a brilliant strategist and deadly to American security. My unit, this unit, is charged with finding the Kobra. It is our single mission.”

  Lochan swirled his coffee cup, peering at the liquid inside. “We know next to nothing about him except for the effects he leaves behind—like the trail of a worm.” He grimaced. “Every American intelligence officer who has investigated him has either died or disappeared.”

  “Yet you’re investigating him,” Quinn said. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

  “We are being careful,” Dima said. “We are not directly investigating him. As he leaves trails, we are following those trails.” She smiled. The expression was full of mischief. “If he is human, he can be found. I will find him.”

  “And what does this Kobra have to do with Denis?” Quinn asked.

  “Directly, nothing.” Dima gave a small shrug. “Indirectly, we think there is a connection there—even more so, now.”

  Quinn gripped her elbows. She was cold. “You mean now that Denis is dead?”

  “The Kobra has a habit of cleaning up after himself,” said the honey blonde woman sitting on the desk beside Leela. She looked to be in her early forties and was dressed like a soccer mom. Quinn saw a dozen versions of her in the supermarket every day. She would be just another mom rushing around to buy tonight’s dinner ingredients before picking up the kids. “We are wondering if this is what is happening now,” the soccer mom added.

  “The man who came to my attention four months ago,” Dima said, “we suspected to be directly connected to the Kobra. We have been watching the man and checking into his background and what we found has convinced us there is a strong possibility he knows the Kobra. That’s when life got interesting.”

  Quinn rolled her eyes. “Does this mystery man have a name?”

  “He does,” Leela said. She pushed her glasses up her nose. “He is called Elijah Aslan now.”

  Quinn stared at them. Elijah Aslan. The Englishman. The man at the funeral.

  The one who had known Denis.

  Lochan, the man who had pretended to be Nina’s boyfriend—or perhaps he actually was Leela’s boyfriend—Lochan spoke as if he was recalling data he had memorized. “Elijah Aslan was born in Ukraine. His parents died when Chernobyl blew up. In the aftermath, Ilya Miroslav Aslanov was pushed into one of the state orphanages and disappeared off the Russian radar. It was chaotic, back then. There are no confirmed records of his life until 1989, which likely means he was with the Ukrainian Mafia. In 1989, he paid a lot of money for a student visa and full tuition at Cambridge.” Quinn didn’t recognize Lochan’s accent. He had used the same accent when they shared hamburgers. Perhaps it was genuine. Quinn didn’t know. She was questioning everything, now.

  “Aslanov lived in Britain for the next eight years,” Lochan continued. “He earned advanced degrees in chemistry, business and politics. While he was there, he built up a useful network of contacts.”

  “While he was in Britain,” Scott continued, “the Ukraine achieved independence and kicked Russia out. Aslan didn’t go home. Possible because the gang he was with before he moved to Britain was dismantled or being monitored by the new government.

  “Instead of going back to Ukraine after he graduated, he acquired a green card and moved to Texas. It’s possible he was still working for the Ukrainian Mafia—we’re looking into that. He set up a chemic
al company, bought a few others and built himself a medium-sized business empire with deep connections to the energy industry and the manufacturing industry. His chemicals supplied half the factories in North America.”

  “Why do you think he was still working for the Ukrainian Mafia?” Quinn said. “Maybe he was trying to build a new life. People come to America to do that all the time.”

  “Homeland Security won’t say,” Dima said. “We haven’t asked them too loudly or too often, because we don’t want to send up alarm bells in Russia. What we do know is that Homeland Security kicked Aslan out of America after 9/11. That is highly suggestive.” Her gaze locked with Quinn’s. “In 2002, Aslan moved to Austria. For the last sixteen years he has been the premier chemical agent in the world. As far as anyone can tell, he is perfectly legitimate.”

  “Austria…” Quinn breathed. “Denis knew him in Austria?”

  Lochan picked up the narrative with his even voice. “On April 17, 2013, a fertilizer plant exploded in West Texas. Fourteen people were killed, more than one hundred and sixty were injured and more than one hundred and fifty buildings were damaged or destroyed. At first, there did not seem to be any connection to Aslan. Then we tracked ownership of the plant through dummy corporations and shell companies. The plant belonged to Aslan.”

  Scott added, “Once we figured that out, we understood why Homeland Security kicked Aslan out. Records are sealed, although it isn’t hard to presume the explosion was not an accident. A chemical fire burns hotter than anything on earth except for a nuclear fire. It’s an effective way to get rid of evidence.”

  “Evidence of what?” Quinn said.

  “Of the wrong sort of chemicals.”

  Quinn blinked. “I avoided science in high school.”

  “There are plenty of weapons in the world which do not explode,” Dima said. “We think Aslan has undermined governments and supplied chemical weapons to third world states for decades. We believe he is the world supplier of Sarin gas. We think he might be dealing with the Russians. Also, the Chinese. Only, nothing has ever been proven. There is not even a warrant against his name. Any interest the American government has about Aslan is unofficial, because everything we know about him is speculation. He might still be in contact with the Kobra. He may not be. He could also be a completely innocent businessman.” Dima’s smile was harsh and straight. “Only, I have dealt with enemies like Aslan before. Many of them. Aslan feels exactly as they did. He leaves a bad taste in my mouth.”

  Quinn recalled the empathetic and gentle man who had sat on Denis’s desk and given her the only comfort anyone had provided, yesterday. In twenty minutes, Aslan had propped her up and handed her a way to cope with the day.

  That man was an agent provocateur supplying chemical weapons to America’s enemies?

  Quinn reached for her cup of tea, giving herself time to think. “And this man knew Denis?”

  No one answered. Quinn looked up.

  Dima smile was gentle. “Aslan and Denis met in 2008, when Aslan became a patron of the music school where Denis taught. They became lovers and remained together until Denis moved to America in 2016.”

  Quinn closed her eyes. She put the cup down, fumbling to find the top of the desk. A high C note sang in her mind.

  “There’s no evidence Denis and Aslan were maintaining a long-distance relationship of any sort,” Lochan said. “Aslan stayed away from the States until this week, when he rented a private jet and flew directly to Boston. The only thing he has done since he arrived is—”

  “Come to my house and talk to me,” Quinn finished.

  Lochan nodded. His expression was sober.

  Dima stood. “For right now, that is all we can tell you. This man who we think has a direct connection to the Kobra has sought you out, among the thousands of people he knows here. There is an intimate connection between the two of you and he is responding to it. Which is why we brought you here today. We want you to know who has stepped into your life. And we wanted to ask you…” Dima hesitated.

  Quinn sighed. “You want me to spy on him.”

  [5]

  One Hour Later.

  “I should warn you I don’t like lying,” Quinn said, as she cracked open the lid on the salmon salad Leela had brought her. She sat at a desk. while Dima sat on the other side with a similar salad in front of her. Dima ate with her fingers and licked the tips between mouthfuls.

  Quinn used the plastic fork they had supplied.

  In response to Quinn’s statement about lying, Dima looked up from her salad. “You don’t have to lie. At least, not directly. If Aslan does come back to speak to you again, you can be yourself and speak the truth as you always do. There is nothing about your life you must hide from him. He wants to know about Denis and he wants to learn about you because you were part of Denis’s life. He will know if you’re lying, so tell the truth. Just don’t mention this afternoon to him.”

  “You want to know about The Kobra,” Quinn pointed out. “Telling the truth won’t get you that information.”

  Dima shook her head again. “All you have to do is keep your eyes open and your ears pinned back. If you hear anything suspicious or curious or just plain interesting, you pass it on to us. You don’t have to direct conversations. You don’t have to do anything at all except be yourself and observe.”

  Movement from the corner of her eye caught Quinn’s attention. She looked around. The open office had a dozen desks which had been abandoned by the real estate company. The six other people in the room were using the desks for their intended function now. They had chairs in front, most of them fold-up plastic. They had laptops open on the desks and a range of peripherals which did not typically come with computers. Quinn wasn’t sure what some equipment was for. She wasn’t the geek. That was Leela’s department…or so she had thought.

  They were all busy on their keyboards. They spoke to each other in low voices as they typed and snatched mouthfuls of their lunch, which sat on the desks beside them. There did not seem to be any tension between them. They sounded like students chatting casually across library tables.

  Quinn prodded at her salad. “I keep coming back to Aslan. He was charming. He was a nice man. He was empathetic. I can’t align that with a chemical weapons dealer who kills people to cover his tracks.”

  “Hitler was a charming man in person,” Dima said. “Powerful men are often charming. It helps them get their way.”

  Quinn swallowed. She had no appetite. “Could I get another cup of tea?”

  Dima smiled, as if she understood what Quinn was feeling. She lifted her chin. “Agata, would you mind running down to the coffee shop and getting another Irish Breakfast tea for Quinn?”

  The twenty-something blonde girl who was working on the same desk as Lochan, her laptop backed up against his, rose to her feet. Her jeans had artistic slashes at the knees and the floral jacket over her T-shirt had braid and tassels on the hem. Her hair hung to her waist and there were braids among the waves. She had half a dozen bracelets up her wrist which clattered musically as she moved. Her boots had fringes on them.

  She tucked a cellphone into the back pocket of her jeans and hurried out of the office.

  Dima turned back to Quinn. “You must forget what we have told you about Aslan. He will not tell you himself. Besides, what he does is not our priority here. His connection to the Kobra is.”

  “It is hard to forget a man who supplies the world with Sarin gas,” Quinn said dryly.

  “Allegedly supplies,” Scott said. He was sitting at the desk beside the one where Dima and Quinn ate their lunch. He hunched over his laptop as if he was willing it to give him the information he was reading. His gaze lifted enough to glance at Quinn over the top of the screen. “Almost everything we know about Aslan is a guess or rumors or unsubstantiated. Who knows? He might actually be a sweet guy.” He went back to his laptop.

  “Scott is our realist,” Dima said. “You will get used to him.”

  “I don’t h
ave to get used to him, do I?” Quinn said. “I’m supposed to go back to being me, right?”

  “You haven’t been you for several weeks now.” Dima lifted her chin to indicate Lochan and Leela. Leela worked on the desk beside Lochan and Agata. “We have been hovering, watching your back, since early July. Whether or not you agree to help us, we will continue to watch your back for a little while longer.”

  “And what if Aslan never comes back?”

  “He will,” said the soccer mom, lifting her voice. “It may seem accidental, but he will be back.”

  “And once he comes back, you scoop out my brain, then I can get on with my life once more?”

  “It’s called debriefing. Yes, we will learn everything we can from your encounter with him. Then you can get on with your life.” Dima’s smile was full of mischief again. Quinn liked the smile. Now she was sitting closer to Dima, she could see the woman was older than she had first thought. Fifties, perhaps early sixties. She was a youthful woman, though. The mischief in her smile added to the impression of a woman living gracefully through her mid-years. Quinn hoped she was as elegant in her fifties as Dima.

  Quinn stabbed at a cherry tomato, missed, and stabbed again, irritation building in her. “Did Aslan kill Denis?”

  Dima didn’t seem shocked or even surprised. “It’s an interesting question. Lea, what do you think?”

  The third man in the room was tall, with dark wavy hair and olive skin. He had a tightly trimmed full beard and lucid gray eyes which didn’t match his skin or his hair. He looked up from the laptop, his eyes narrowed. “It’s possible he might’ve been moved by jealousy to hit out at Quinn, although it doesn’t seem likely. Everything I’ve learned about him says Aslan is a careful man. He considers every move. Even his emotional decisions are carefully made. So, no, I don’t think he did kill Denis. If he was going to do that, he would’ve done it two years ago, when Denis and Quinn first got together.” He had no accent at all.