by David Clark
The Chief grabbed the folder, opened it, and spread the papers out across the table. “You guys got on the bad side of Mrs. Ying Sanger. You knew her as Marjorie. That is just one of her many names.” He points out a section on one page that listed close to fifteen separate names. “She is a resident here, and connected big-time with the local and national government. Not much of a political person, but she knows what palms to grease for favors. We have watched her for almost twenty years as a suspect of money laundering, drug trafficking, human trafficking, and murder, to mention a few. She is untouchable, but we grab a few of those that deal with her.”
“Ummm, where is he…” He shuffled through the papers and pulled several to the top. “This guy here, well, he is even worse. Money laundering, terrorism, human trafficking, drugs, … We believe he was responsible for several political assassinations and toppled more than one democratic government. Ex-KGB super spy, extremely decorated, but fell out of sorts with them during the fall of the Soviet government, in the early 90s. To say he found the new government leadership soft, would be an understatement. He went off on his own and used the skills he acquired during his career to make a nice little nest egg for himself. I believe you said they introduced him as Isaac, but he is really Ivan Selvic. Unlike Ying, he doesn’t normally hide behind aliases. One of those that prefers for those he is dealing with to know exactly who he is, and what he is capable of doing. To say the dark web is where they do their business is not the half of it. They kind of created the whole thing for folks like you.”
Robert took offense to that statement, “Hey, now, we are not criminals.”
“Oh, sure. You are not people that take part in an illegal gambling activity on the dark web? Not to mention how many tax laws have been violated.”
At that moment Robert felt naïve. At no time did he consider what they were doing in those terms, but from the outside, it is what it was. A life that had provided so much for him and Amy, was undoubtedly criminal. His heart sank, along with his body back into his seat, at that realization.
“You can all relax. I have no interest in throwing you all, and Doug, in jail. You are just small fish in a big ocean. The paperwork isn’t worth it. I am after the big fish, like your friends here in the Syndicate.”
The three shared a confused look.
“You haven’t heard that term, have you?”
Doug spoke for the first time since he sat, “They are the ones that run everything. They run all the shows.”
Doug searched their eyes for understanding, finding none, he explained further. “There are over thirty instances of our show around the world. Their shows are different from ours. What Christopher has is like a franchise and, like all franchises, there is an agreement, with rules. We broke the rules, and that is why they are after him now.”
A feeling of guilt and remorse filled the room.
The door opened and a cheerful young man, sporting a crisply ironed white shirt, navy blue tie, and creased khakis, strolled in with a box. He placed it on the table, “Who’s hungry?”
Not a soul replied as the dark mood of the room engulfed him. The pleasant smile on his face melted away. He placed the box on the table and skulked a few steps backward toward the door. Stephen waved at him to urge him to leave. The young man took the hint, and moved out the door with haste, closing the door behind him.
“Guys, let’s eat. I am not sure about you, but I am starved.”
Robert just stared at the box, unable to move from the weight of the grief and guilt he felt. Doug didn’t hesitate and searched the box for his sandwich.
“I know which one yours is. Do you ever order anything different?” Doug asked as he tossed a sandwich wrapped in brown deli paper to Chief Maldons.
“Why should I? It’s perfection.”
“What about Christopher? They are going to kill him because of us.”
Doug disagreed, “Jill, first, he knew what he was doing. He broke the rules, not us. He knew what he was playing with, and who. Trust me on that.” Doug took a huge bite out of his double decker pastrami on rye. “Just like I remember, the tangy Asian mustard.”
Stephen agreed, with a mouth full of his own hot ham and cheese.
Robert reached into the box and pulled out his sandwich. Halfheartedly, he unwrapped it and then gave up, placing it on the table. “I get that, Doug, but it doesn’t change the fact that our friend is going to die.”
“Well, they will torture him first. They need to make an example of him. That will give us some time.”
Jill screamed, “We can’t let that happen!”
“It is the best we can do, and Christopher knows it.”
“Do they know about Christopher?” asked Chief Maldons.
Doug replied before taking another hearty bite, “Nope, just me and a few members of Alpha do.”
Chief Maldons flashed a smile and chuckled before chomping down on the sandwich in his hands.
“Do we know what? What is Alpha?”
“There is some stuff you need to know. Let’s eat and talk. Dig in everyone.”
6
Robert took his first bite of sandwich. The contact of flavor and carbohydrates with his tongue renewed the hunger he felt earlier. A hunger that needed more than a single bite to satisfy. The rest ate while Doug took another bite of his sandwich, before getting up while chewing to fix himself a cup of coffee. He sat down and settled back in his chair, looking at his friends, enjoying the first food they’d had in several days.
“So, each of you met Christopher through the online game. Well, except you, Amy, you were a viewer of the show. You guys are part of what Christopher called Delta. You were the fourth team he put together through the years to do this. I have been a member of several of the teams, including the first, Alpha. We didn’t meet Christopher through an online game, he didn’t start using that gag until Charlie. Both Alpha and Beta were formed by people he knew professionally.”
Doug paused and looked at Stephen, as if asking permission. Stephen gave him a shoulder shrug. The two communicated for several moments using non-verbal cues of eye raises, nods, and smirks. Eventually, Stephen agreed and said, “Go on.”
Even with the wholehearted approval, Doug thought for a minute more.
“Guys, Christopher was British intelligence.”
This news caught both Robert and Amy mid-bite. Their sandwiches hung half in and half out, while they processed this news. Jill dropped her hands to the table and sat, mouth agape. Their friend was a spy, like Doug. On top of that, a British spy, a real James Bond. Robert remembered the level of cloak and dagger involved in his recruitment into the team. Something that took on a different meaning now.
“That is how I met him. We were both assigned to South East Asia for our respective countries. We ran into each other often through the years and many times shared resources and information to keep both of our governments up to date.”
Stephen interrupted, “Let me add, Christopher was one of the best they had. I have seen agents come and go on their side, but he was the best we worked with. That is also why I am confident he can handle what they will do to him. The training for agents conditions you to suffer to some level, without a traumatic impact to their mental health. They can’t break him, no way.”
Robert then made the connection. Christopher is a British national. The US Embassy had notified them, and they were working on finding and rescuing him. “So how long until the British find and rescue him?”
Both Doug and Stephen looked at each other before Stephen responded, “They aren’t. We haven’t told them yet. Even if we did, they wouldn’t care. First, he is retired, not an active agent anymore. Second, he is involved with illegal activities, like all of you were.”
“Then what we are we going to do?”
“You are not doing anything. YOU, are going to lie low in a couple of apartments we have here in the Embassy until I can find a military transport to sneak you on back to the States. I should be able to send you
right into Miramar. I take it you won’t mind taking a cab to your homes from there. I believe there is a flight in two days, but I am trying to confirm.”
Robert protested, “I am not going anywhere until we help Christopher.”
Stephen jumped up and rammed his fist into the table. The man who appeared at first mild mannered and even-tempered now seared a hole through Robert with his bulging eyes. “You are not in the position to make demands, buddy. You are lucky I don’t have you locked in a cell guarded by a Marine and then going home in handcuffs. It is only because of Doug that you aren’t.” Stephens sat back down; his demeanor changed with the flick of a switch. A peaceful calm came over him.
Robert sank back in his seat, eyes furious. Amy reached over to calm him down. Her touch forced him to stay still outside, but on the inside, he wanted to reach across the table and knock the smug look right off his face.
Doug sensed the tension growing in Robert. Something reflected by Jill, as well. He knew they were worried, he was, too, but losing their heads in the conference room with someone trying to help them would solve nothing. Quite the opposite. He tried to calm the room and explained, “Guys, I know you are all worried about Christopher. I am, too, but right now there is nothing we can do. Let’s get you guys home. I will do what I can for him. I have a little plan working.”
“Doug, go ahead and tell them.”
Doug gathered the papers on the table and searched for three specific pieces. Once found, he laid them out in a very distinct order.
“Okay, this is a flight list of all non-commercial aircraft that departed the airports in a one hundred-mile radius in the last forty-eight hours.” He looked at the group, “We don’t know how long we were out, but Mr. Lee said something about yesterday, so I expanded the search to two days. Of the sixty-three flights, fifty of them are cargo aircrafts and none are going where I believe Ying is heading. That leaves thirteen. Seven went to Japan. Two went to Australia. She has a warrant for her arrest there, so that is a no. Two are heading back to the states. Same thing there. One went to North Korea, that is a possibility, but the other went here.”
Doug pushed the second piece of paper in front of his friends. The page had a picture of a large white palatial estate, positioned in a dense forest. “Aerodrom Chkalovskiy. It is an airport north of Moscow. That is Ivan’s estate in Noginsk. About thirty minutes away from that airport and very remote. Ivan used to be a big player in the game, hosting his own. Now he is mostly just a gambler and lets others do the dirty work. When he did host, I believe he did it from there. In the last year another Russian version has popped up. The host is Sergey Menidivev, his number two in almost everything he is involved in.” Doug pointed to the third page, which had a picture of Sergey, a clean-shaven Russian male, in a military uniform, with a chiseled jaw and a single patch over his right eye. To Robert he matched every stereotype Hollywood had painted through the years.
He continued, “The lighting and everything on his show looks like Ivan’s. So, I bet they are using the same location.”
Robert’s head spun around the details laid out. He loved spy movies, but never knew he would find himself in the middle of one. The CIA, MI-6, disenfranchised ex-KGB, and now a Russian military officer with a patch. It all seemed a little over the top. “Doug, are you serious or is this just… a cover story, like the one you are going to tell Bob and Michelle’s family?”
“I will take that,” said Stephen. “Robert DeLuiz, of San Diego. You recently bought a house in Del Mar Heights. This is no cover story. This is as real as it gets. You, sir, are lucky to still be alive, considering who you found yourselves involved with.”
Jill cut right past everything and asked the only question she cared about, “That’s great. How are you going to get Christopher out?”
“That flight we are trying to line up to send you back home, will bring over some friends of mine and Christopher’s. These are… were, some of the best operators in the business. We will go get him.”
Stephen leaned forward, coughed and stated, “Just so we are clear with everyone. I have helped out an old friend with some information, but that is as far as we go. Doug and his friends will be on their own, and I will have no knowledge of what they plan to do.”
Doug nodded in agreement. “You guys hang out here for a bit. I have a few more things to arrange and… we will get them into the apartments, what… in the next hour or so?”
Stephen confirmed, “Yep, we are just changing the sheets now.” He and Doug got up and left the three friends alone with their thoughts.
7
The cheery individual who delivered lunch came and gathered up Jill, Robert, and Amy and walked them through the offices of the U.S. Consulate. No one paid any attention as they paraded through the cubicle farm. Their escort was more personable than most of those they had encountered in the facility. In fact, he was happy to talk to anyone, especially if they talked back. He acted like a tour guide, chatting and answering questions along the way.
During their journey Robert learned he was a summer intern from Princeton. His course of study was cryptography. He was one of over a hundred that applied for four slots in the CIA internship program. As he explained, this was an extremely coveted program that “anyone who was serious about this field had to have.” Supposedly, based on what he told Robert, if you had this on your resume you would have the pick of the best jobs at graduation.
The enthusiasm ended when Robert asked him, “So what kind of exciting things have they had involved you in? Or can you even tell us?” Robert meant the last part to be humorous, but missed. Harold Luther, second-year student from Princeton and originally from Iowa, informed him, “Just retrieved lunch, coffee, and a few dinners late at night.” He was quick to add though, “They told me they will ask me to help out with something in a few days.” His eyes told everyone he doubted it, though.
“Well, that’s good,” said Robert.
Harold led them down a corridor and across into another building. This building was less office like and more residential. On the ground floor was a gym, which was modern-looking with its glass walls allowing anyone who walked down the hall to look in. The walls in the hallway were a beige patterned wallpaper. The floors in the gym appeared to be some kind of wood, while those in the hall were a dark, glossy tile. Those tiles continued into the locker room they passed next. Further down, Harold guided them up a set of wooden stairs to the second floor, and more glossy dark tiles.
Walking down that hall they passed several sets of closed dark wood doors. Harold told them these were emergency apartments for the ambassador and his family to use if something were to make living out in the community unsecure. The doors for the next three were wide open.
They were spartan rooms. Maybe a little more equipped than your average hotel. Each room had a bed, table, and two chairs. A single chest of drawers sat against the wall, with a flat screen television on top. A couple pairs of standard-issue gray t-shirts and pants were folded on the bed. Robert’s mind went to images of rows of people running around the building in Langley, Virginia in similar attire.
The private bath had a single sink, toilet, and shower. The towels were stark white, with no emblem or monogram on them. Harold pointed them down the hall to a central common place, with a kitchenette setup. It was good for coffee, tea, and sodas and anything you had that could be microwaved. There was a cafeteria on the ground floor below them that always had something, but as he said, “There is a reason why people order out.”
Amy and Robert headed into one, Jill took the one across the hall. Amy lay down on the bed and Robert sat beside her. Soft was not the word Robert would use to describe it. It felt like a table with a couple of blankets on it, but it was better than being strapped to a board. The comfort didn’t matter to Amy, she was out in seconds. Robert sat beside her, listening to her breathe. The silence made him uneasy. Too similar to sitting strapped to a chair waiting to be a pawn in one of Ying’s games. He leaned forw
ard and picked up the remote from the chest of drawers and flicked on the TV. Without even looking at what was on, he dropped the remote on the bed beside him. The show, all in Chinese, took care of the unsettling silence.
Across the way, Jill sat on the bed, and had done the same. The doors of both apartments were left opened, and that is the way they would stay.
Later in the afternoon, Doug made his way to his apartment. When he arrived, he found the doors of his neighbors still open, with a random show on in the background. Jill and Amy were both sleeping. Robert was still sitting there, staring through the screen.
When Doug walked past, Robert saw him. He got up, folded the half of the sheets he was sitting on over Amy to make her more comfortable and walked out, pulling the door slightly closed behind him, but not all the way. He stopped at the door to Doug’s apartment.
“Hey, Robert. You guys settling in? Need anything?”
Robert said, “Nah, we’re good. Thanks.”
“It's not a 5-star resort, but I have been in worse.”
“So, you and Christopher are both spies?”
The abrupt question and topic caught Doug off guard, “In a manner of speaking. We were intelligence agents. Our job was to gather intelligence.”
“Ever kill anyone?”
“None that I didn’t have to in order to save my own neck.”
Robert paused a bit to ponder that qualification before he asked the next question. Doug was changing out of the hooded sweat suit they had woken up in and into the gray t-shirt.
“So how did it all start?”
“How did I go from the Marines to the CIA?” Doug asked as he walked into his private bathroom.
“No, how did you and Christopher go from working for your governments to doing…” Robert thought about how Stephen Maldons had described it earlier. The sounds of water splashing seeped from the bathroom. “… doing something illegal?”
Doug emerged from the bathroom wiping his face with a towel. “Oh, that.” Doug rubbed his brow for a minute. “I need a drink. You need a drink?”
