by David Archer
She stayed in her seat for a few moments while other people gathered their carry-ons and made their way off the plane. When the center aisle traffic was a little slower, she got up and retrieved her own bag, then held it in front of her so that she could squeeze between the seats. The stewardess helped her get past the last few, and then she was walking through the movable ramp and into the terminal. She smiled when she spotted a Burger King and a Taco Bell, but she didn’t have time to worry about dinner at the moment. She had to get her baggage and find the embassy shuttle driver that was supposed to be waiting for her.
The airport was surprisingly busy, but she got to baggage claim without any problem. Her bags came through after only a ten-minute wait, the green diplomatic labels still in place over the locks. She’d been a bit surprised when her supervisor, Mrs. Carriker, had informed her that she was suddenly appointed to the position of Queen’s Royal Ambassador, a rarely used posting that would entitle her to diplomatic immunity while in Russia.
Bags in tow, she made her way through Migration Control, where her diplomatic passport was stamped and handed back to her. She then proceeded to the main entrance of the terminal and spotted a young man holding a hastily made cardboard sign with her name on it. She walked up to him quickly.
“I'm Catherine Potts,” she said.
The young man broke out in a big smile. “Cor,” he said. “Oh, forgive me, but the last QRA I had to pick up was a gentleman older than my granddad, so I was expecting someone, er, a bit more advanced in years.”
Catherine chuckled. “Well, I’ve been told I look a bit younger than my true age,” she said. “I’m probably near old enough to be your mum.”
“Pull the other one, it’s got bells on. Sorry, ma’am, I’m Jared Ogilvie, special attaché to the Embassy of the United Kingdom in Moscow.” He winked conspiratorially and leaned close as he took her bags. “Special attaché, you know, that’s the title you get when you’re the bugger gets sent out on errands.”
“Well, you seem well suited to it,” she said, following him out of the building. He led her to a rather ancient-looking Bentley limousine, where he stored her bags in the boot. A chauffeur opened the back door of the car for Catherine and she slid inside. A moment later, Jared walked around the car and got in on the other side. “Look, you’ve got a chauffeur of your own and everything. Pretty posh job, I must say.”
Jared grinned. “Yes, well, it’s a bit of a necessity, what? Bloody Russians don’t want our sort roaming around unsupervised, so they require us to hire locals as drivers. That’s Alexei. He pretends not to understand any English, and we pretend that he can’t hear anything we’re saying, anyway. Still, we only have to be a little careful what we talk about in the car, so it’s not so much of a nuisance.”
“I see,” Catherine said. “Well, my visit has no secrets attached to it. Her Majesty simply asked me to come over here and report back my opinions on this current case. Can you tell me anything new about that?”
“That’s a real cock-up,” Jared replied. “Of course, the Kremlin denies it, but the problem is that there are so many factions in the government here that nobody is absolutely sure there isn’t some truth to it. We know for sure that the KGB had such sleeper agents in place prior to 1991, and many of them are still there. Some have brought their children into it and are still awaiting orders, but there's considerable evidence that new sleeper agents are being recruited and trained even today. The big issue in this case is that nobody knows who was behind these particular people. MI6 has determined that there are at least eight former KGB programs that employed sleepers in the West, and some of them are still functioning. Most likely, the original handlers from the KGB are getting some sort of funding that allows them to keep their operations going without any direct connection to the current Russian Federation government. All of that means that the people who were arrested could be descendants of one of the old groups or they might be part of an entirely new cadre of sleepers. If the latter, then nobody is quite sure who would be running them.”
Catherine thought over what he had said for a moment. “What about the theory that this is a Russian plot to allow them to reinstate Soviet policies and government? What do your people think about that?”
“The Russian Federation has already annexed, or tried to annex, some parts of the old Soviet Union,” Jared said, “particularly Crimea and parts of the Ukraine. It’s well known that most of the government feels the downfall of the USSR was a disaster, despite the fact that Russia has been much more popular on the world stage and much more prosperous domestically since it happened. The problem in this instance is that it’s beginning to look like Russia deliberately staged the assassination of one of its own people in order to create an environment of suspicion and distrust that would undermine relations between the U.S. and all of the other former Soviet states. It’s very possible that most of those former states would have willingly accepted a return to Soviet domination after that assassination, on the theory that they would be safer as part of a new USSR than they would be on their own. With this story out and prevalent, however, those same potentially cooperative states are now gearing up for war. Russia could soon be facing a dozen different wars on its borders, and this would be a geopolitical and economic disaster for the country.”
“For Russia, yes,” Catherine said. “What about for the rest of the world, though? Wouldn’t the rest of us be better off if Russia were to suffer some loss of credibility and prestige?”
“If only it were that simple. Our local analysts are of the opinion that, if these border wars begin, Russia is going to adopt a scorched-earth policy. Rather than try to fight these countries into submission, President Feodor would commit enough troops and equipment to quickly subdue two or three of them, then conscript their soldiers into the Army and move out to crush all of the others. The only thing that might stop him from doing such a thing would be intervention by the United States or China, but there's a high probability that Russia would employ tactical nuclear weapons against either or both of them.”
Catherine looked out the car window at the people walking by on the streets. “And we would be dragged into World War III.” She looked back to Jared. “Am I right?”
“Quite likely, yes. What it all boils down to is that, if these people are American agents who committed an assassination on sovereign Russian soil, then the normal protocols may still prevent any of these disastrous scenarios from coming to pass. The Yanks deny any knowledge of these agents, the Russians scream and yell that the Yanks were lying, the agents are executed and the whole matter tends to fade out of the world’s consciousness within a few days. On the other hand, if they turn out to be Russian sleepers who carried out the assassination in order to create an atmosphere that would allow the reformation of the USSR, then it’s one of the biggest acts of fraud in history. The backlash would be incredible, both inside and outside of Russia.”
“Like the conspiracy theories surrounding the attacks on the World Trade Center in 2001,” Catherine said. “It’s been claimed ever since that the attack was orchestrated from within the American government, and that it was done to force the average American to overlook some of the things their government would do in the name of keeping them all safe.”
“Quite right. This would be an absolute Russian nightmare.” He leaned toward her. “I just learned that there already seems to be some interagency fighting going on. An FSB Captain who had been involved in the case until this morning was killed about half an hour ago. Car was run completely over by a lorry, and the bloody thing disappeared right after. Might not be suspicious except he and a woman from his office had just gone to visit the SVR Colonel who replaced him, trying to show him evidence that one of these people they’ve got locked up might have been here before and done another assassination.”
Catherine stared at him. “You think he was killed because of that evidence?”
“Not so much what I think,” Jared said, “it’s our intelligence
people who are in an uproar about it. Apparently they found a photograph of one of the men that was taken at the airport more than a year ago, and the bugger was suspected then of killing several people. One of them was the son of an SVR bleeder who turned out to be working several different sides of the fence. You might remember, his name was Andropov.”
“Andropov? Really? Jared, can you get me a copy of that photograph? One of the reasons I was sent here is because the Queen has heard a rumor that one of these men is the one who prevented the murder of Prince Charles some time ago. As it happens, that man once had an interest in Andropov. I’m fairly certain this is going to confirm what she was told.”
Jared took a phone out of his pocket and quickly sent a text message. “I’m not certain whether we can get it or not,” he said, “but I’ll try.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The door swung open. Noah looked up to see who was coming in and his eyes widened in surprise. Just outside the door, each of them handcuffed and wearing shackles on their legs, stood Jenny, Marco, Randy, Dave, Jim, and another man that Noah didn’t recognize. Five guards holding automatic weapons stood around them, and Colonel Leschinsky motioned for him to stand.
“As I told you earlier,” Leschinsky said, “it’s time for us to move you. Unfortunately, it is necessary for us to transport you as prisoners, so please do not resist.”
Noah stood and turned his back, and a moment later he felt one of the guards putting handcuffs on him. He stood where he was as the shackles were applied, then turned carefully around.
“Resistance is futile,” he said. “I learned that from Star Trek.”
The guard took hold of his arm and walked him out the door, and then Leschinsky motioned for all of them to follow him. They were taken down a long hallway and told to enter a small room with benches around its walls. Once they had gone in and taken seats, Leschinsky leaned in.
“You all need to wait here for a short time,” he said. “I assure you, it will be only a few minutes.”
Noah watched him close the door, then looked around at all of the others. His eyes came to rest on Jenny, and he smiled. “Hey, there, cute stuff,” he said. “What are they accusing you of?”
Jenny glared at him hatefully. “Do I look like I’m in any mood to be hit on?”
Noah chuckled and turned to Marco. “Watch that one, Harry,” he said. “Just a little bit on the bitchy side.”
Marco shook his head. “Did anyone ever tell you you’re crazy, Sam? This is not exactly the time or the place to be trying to pick up a girl.”
“Nonsense,” Noah said, “I can never pass up the chance to talk to a pretty girl like that. Life is too short, man, you gotta try.”
“Lighten up, asshole,” Randy said. “That’s my wife you’re talking about.”
Noah looked at him. “Geez, really? Look, man, I’m sorry. This is just how I deal with stress, okay? I have to make jokes, and if there’s a pretty girl around, then I…”
“Just shut up,” Randy said. “Do you not understand that we're probably on our way to die?”
“Die? I sure hope you don’t know something that I don’t know. That Colonel Lifshitz, he said they’re taking us out to some luxury resort place, just to keep us safe.”
Jim scoffed. “Yeah, I heard that line, too. Never trust a Russian, that’s what I always say.”
Marco cleared his throat. “Sam, did they tell you what this is all about? First, they said we were American secret agents, then the next thing I know, they’re saying we’re some kind of Russian spies. Did any of that make sense to you?”
“Not a bit,” Noah said. “I told that other guy, the captain, we were just trying to steal the commissary money. He didn’t believe me. Saying we were trying to steal something about an execution plan.”
“Yeah, that’s what they told me. Crap, you actually told them about the money? You have any idea what stealing that much money, hell, even trying to steal that much money, you got any idea how much prison time we’re going to get?”
“Hey, the way I look at it, this is Russia. You get arrested in Russia, you might as well figure on going to prison no matter what it’s about. I thought, maybe if I was just honest with them, they might cut us a break, you know what I mean?”
“You guys are so stupid,” Randy said. “They keep trying to tell me that I’m some kind of assassin, and that my wife murdered a couple of men. Hell, we just brought some friends and came here on vacation. Went out to watch the whales and saw some boat blow up. These assholes are crazy.”
“I just want to go home,” Jenny said. “That’s all I want, just to go home and forget this ever happened.”
The door to the room opened suddenly and Colonel Leschinsky stepped inside. He stood in the middle of the room and looked around, then began clapping his hands.
“Bravo,” he said. “Bravo. An excellent performance. If this were a movie, you would probably win an Oscar, each of you. Of course, this is not a movie, and you've just wasted an opportunity to discuss your situation more honestly.”
“Discuss what?” Jenny asked angrily. “You want us to discuss this dickhead you threw in here with us? We’ve told you over and over, we don’t know anybody else. We didn’t assassinate anybody, and we don’t know anything about who did.” She sat back in a huff.
Leschinsky laughed. “As I said, a wonderful performance. Gentlemen, and dear lady, we will shortly be taking you to the place that will be your home while we try to determine the truth of who you are. This would all be so much easier if you would simply tell us. I might add, it would all come to an end that much sooner, as well. If, in fact, you are the Russian sleeper agents that so many sources allege you to be, then it is quite possible that you will actually regain your freedom. Would anyone like to talk about this?”
Noah looked up at him. “Hey, you know what? Here’s the problem the way I see it. If any of us was to jump up and say, ‘yes, I'm a Russian spy who was living in the U.S. and waiting to come back here and kill somebody,’ then you guys are suddenly going to start asking us all kinds of questions about Russia. We don’t know about Russia, or at least I don’t and Harry doesn’t. We wouldn’t be able to answer those questions either, so we’d end up right back in the same boat we're in now.”
Leschinsky looked at him. “You may be right, Mr. Winston,” he said. “But the fact of the matter is that you are either American espionage agents and assassins, or you are Russian sleeper agents. I can assure you that we will find out the truth, and then we will take whatever action is appropriate.” He gave them a big smile. “All that this means for you at this time, however, is that you are going from a prison cell to a mansion. This is so that we can prevent anyone who might want to silence you from finding out where you are. That could be a terrible thing.”
A soldier stuck his head in the room and said something in Russian, and Leschinsky nodded to him as he replied. He turned back to face them again. “Your ride is ready,” he said. “If you will all please get to your feet and follow me, we can depart on our journey as soon as one more traveler arrives.”
* * * * *
“There’s only one way I can think of to get you a look at that photograph,” said Ronald Barrons, intelligence analyst for the British Embassy in Moscow. “It’s in the possession of the woman who was in the car with Federov when he was killed, and she’s probably lucky to even be alive. When they pulled her out of the car, she said she’d seen the lorry coming and ducked down, so when it hit, she was thrown into the floor of the car. That’s the only reason she wasn’t crushed by the roof.”
Catherine nodded. “So where is she? I want to see her as soon as possible.”
“She’s in hospital, of course,” Peterson replied, “and they would not normally allow a foreign national to visit her at all, but you’ve got special status. As a QRA, you can be admitted to see her to express the Queen’s good wishes, and you can ask her about the circumstances of the accident. With any luck, she’ll tell you about th
e photo and show it to you.”
“Then make it happen. The sooner I know whether this is the same man the Queen asked me to verify, the better I’ll like all of this.”
Peterson ducked his head in a nod, then turned to walk away. Catherine sat behind the desk in the tiny office she’d been given to use during her visit and thought about how she would feel if it did indeed turn out to be Alex Colson.
She had met Colson only a few times, starting with a case where he was trying to find an information broker named Jeremy Pendergrast. She had helped him locate and abduct the man, which had then taken him to Russia, where he rescued the daughter of the president of Mauritania from some Russian agents who were holding her in order to pressure her father into a political alliance he did not want.
The second time was when he was sent into London to impersonate an international assassin known only as Adrian. Adrian was scheduled to take a job for a quasi-terrorist organization, and Colson was supposed to identify and eliminate them. He succeeded in that mission, but then he learned that Adrian was planning to assassinate Prince Charles, and turned his efforts to stopping that from happening.
The very last time she had spoken to Colson had been on the telephone, just after Adrian had killed her entire team and left her bleeding in the street. She had begged him to find Adrian and kill him, and then passed out. When she awoke a day later, she learned that a passing drug addict had picked up her phone and that Colson had convinced the man to call 999. If he had not, she probably would have bled out on the spot.
She owed him her life, and her country owed him even more.
Peterson returned a few minutes later, a smile on his face. “Miss Kerensky is awake,” he said, “and would be pleased to receive you. The hospital is only a few minutes away. Shall we go now?”
