by Tim Tigner
“Sounds like a plan.”
Once they’d packed up and started the truck, Achilles asked, “You really think Korovin will come?”
Max drove toward the gate, giving the guard a wave and a smile before answering. “I’m absolutely certain that he will.”
“How can you possibly know that?”
Max looked over and met Achilles’ eye, revealing a rare glimpse of raw emotion. “Because if he doesn’t show, I’m dead.”
Achilles thought about Max’s position as the gates parted, allowing them to exit the first stage of their mission and enter the second. He and Max were both all-in on this one. Evidence of their collusion would eventually show up — if anyone was looking. If Korovin was still alive when that happened, there’d be no way for either of them to talk themselves out of a traitor’s jail. Achilles held Max’s eye, while nodding back. “You and me both.”
Chapter 81
Brainstorming
Zurich, Switzerland
MAX STUDIED the steely gray clouds sweeping in over the Swiss Alps for a few seconds before turning his gaze back to Achilles. Their collaboration on the Korovin affair had been going unexpectedly smoothly — even for a couple of pros accustomed to unconventional assignments — but their differing viewpoints on the Sobko and Grachev assassinations portended a thunderous clash. “It’s a perfect fit, Achilles. Two shooters, two targets, two simultaneous shots. There’s no guesswork, no grunt work, and most importantly, no risk of capture. All we have to do is uncover or orchestrate their joint appearance someplace they’ll be susceptible to sniper fire.”
Achilles set his coffee down and shook his head. His demeanor reminded Max of what he’d seen back in Seattle — before Achilles had cut his bonds.
After installing the explosive lions, they’d driven straight from Glick’s estate to a coffee house a few villages over to plot their next moves. Time was tight, very tight, so they were still dressed for garden work. They only had a few days to take out two high-profile targets. Neither would be nearly as tough as Korovin, which was why all prior focus had been on the president. But now that the Korovin job was set, the task of eliminating his hard-line successors loomed large and daunting.
Achilles looked up from his coffee. “A sniper shot is too high-profile. Lukin was killed just a few days ago. If we add Grachev and Sobko to the list, who knows how Korovin will react.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Max persisted. “Korovin’s not going to ignore Glick’s stock purchase. It presses three of his hot buttons — his pet project, his penchant for privacy, and his personal fortune.”
“We don’t know that. And it’s not just Korovin I’m worried about. The more Russians we eliminate, the more the world will look beyond Russia’s borders to find the assassin.”
“Not our problem,” Max replied, studying his sparring partner. Achilles’ eye color varied with the environment like no other irises Max had seen. Blue, brown, green, or black. Give the American spy a vivid shirt and his eyes appeared to match. Today Achilles was wearing the olive outfit of an upscale gardener, but at the moment his eyes looked more like the thunderheads now rolling in. Emotion was overpowering optics.
Achilles clenched his jaw before replying. “I won’t ignore the spirit of my mission just to make it easier to complete. President Silver is counting on me. He’s relying on my judgment as much as my skills.”
Max fought the urge to lean away. “So what do you suggest?”
After a few seconds of silent tension, Achilles thunked the white marble table three times with index and forefinger. “We get them to resign.”
“Sounds good,” Max said, working hard to sound sincere. “Any idea how?”
The eyes twinkled, like a lightning flash in the clouds, and Achilles’ whole demeanor shifted along with his tone. “Why should they resign?”
Max was thrilled by the attitude shift, but befuddled by the question. “I don’t follow.”
“Why don’t they deserve to be in office?”
“I’m sorry Achilles, you’ve lost me.”
Achilles’ upbeat expression didn’t change. He’d latched onto something, and Max’s opacity wasn’t fazing him. “What do they have to hide?”
“You mean corruption?”
“Exactly.”
“All our politicians are corrupt.”
“Sure, but they all hide it. If exposed, they’d go to jail for it. Right?”
“You want to blackmail them into resigning?”
“I do.”
Max felt his stomach drop. He’d been excited for a second. “We don’t have time for a long play. Blackmail ops require multiple stages. Before you can catch your targets, you have to identify their weaknesses, create an exploitation plan — then lure them, hook them, and reel them in.”
“Not necessarily.”
“Anybody ever tell you you’re cryptic?”
Achilles chuckled, leading Max to believe he’d stumbled onto an inside joke. “You just hit on Katya’s favorite refrain.”
The mention of Katya made Max think of Zoya. He’d been trying not to. He knew she was fine and that she was facing no imminent physical danger. But he still felt guilty about pulling her out of her world and plunging her into his — the cold water at the deep end — and then abandoning her.
“I was watching the news last night,” Achilles continued. “Charlie Rose is going to be interviewing Korovin again in a few days.”
“So?”
Achilles waved the air. “Forget about that for the moment. What do Grachev and Sobko want more than anything?”
Finally an easy question, Max thought. “Korovin’s job.”
“Right.”
Now Max saw where Achilles was going. “They’d both kill for the opportunity to be interviewed by Charlie Rose. Especially if each thought he were the only one given the honor.”
Achilles nodded.
Max’s moment of clarity vanished like the sun behind the clouds. “But how do we turn their desire for Charlie Rose interviews into their resignations?”
Achilles’ eyes flashed again, and Max knew he had it. “Guile.”
Chapter 82
Five Days
Seattle, Washington
THE APPLE STORE in Seattle’s University Village had more in common with a beehive than with the neighboring shops. Katya found it perfect for their meeting with Wang. Two Caucasian women in bright red polo shirts huddled in intense discussion with a rumpled Asian man clutching a big black umbrella would blend right in.
Wang arrived wearing a pleasant expression rather than his usual befuddled frown. “You did good work. We own Solid Green now. Electronically at least.”
Katya leaned closer. “So when’s the shipment?”
“Fifty Command-R Autopilot Systems, going to Boeing?”
Katya found Wang’s attitude a bit too enthusiastic. “That’s right.”
“Pickup is Friday at 8:00 am.”
“Five days from now?”
Wang nodded.
Suddenly the danger seemed more real. Katya could also sense tension seeping from Zoya, although she got the impression that her partner’s angst was caused by more than the impending date.
Katya reached over and grabbed Wang’s umbrella. To her surprise, he let her take it. She gave it a spin on the floor and asked, “Is your team ready for the install?”
“Of course. It will take about an hour to rework each system. That includes cracking open the casing, soldering on the additional circuit boards, and resealing the system. Ten men working means five hours. Add in two more hours for packaging at both ends and a third for buffer and you’re looking at an eight-hour turnaround.”
“You’re satisfied with the workshop Max arranged? Everything is in order?” Max had subleased a warehouse just down the street from Vulcan Fisher for Wang’s team to work in.
“Already set up.”
“Good.”
Wang reclaimed his umbrella. “Do I have the go-ahead to update Soli
d Green’s pickup instructions? Five p.m. Friday at the new address?”
Katya looked at Zoya. She still looked bothered, but she nodded. Turning back to Wang, she said, “You do.”
“Very well then. I’ll see you Friday morning. Good luck.”
Zoya reached out to stop Wang. “Hold on. We should meet Tuesday for a dry run.”
Wang’s face spoke before he did. “I don’t think that’s necessary. My team has been to the facility. It checked out.”
“Not your call. We’ve got a tight turnaround, and only one shot.”
Wang turned to Katya.
Katya didn’t know what Zoya was thinking, but she’d come to respect her intuition. “I agree. Shall we say 8:30 Tuesday morning? We’ll be there with the truck.”
Wang didn’t fold. “You forget, my guys have regular jobs. This is moonlighting for them. One sick day is not a big deal, but I don’t want to push it.”
Zoya didn’t back down. “Just you then. It’s important that we think it through live.”
Wang wriggled his teeth for a moment before deciding for himself that yes, that would be a good idea. “All right. See you Tuesday morning.”
Katya waited for Wang to leave before asking, “What’s bothering you?”
“We screwed up.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Max didn’t want Wang to know what system he’d be working on — until the last minute.”
Katya put hands to hips. “There was no way around it. Not with Wang’s team looking for monthly shipments of fifty units to the same address.”
“We should have thought of something.”
Katya agreed. Now that Wang knew what system the units were going on, he could guess their game plan. There wasn’t much ambiguity to how you would use hijacked autopilot systems. “I see your point. But it’s done. I’m more concerned about how we’re going to stop this thing. We can’t actually give Korovin control of those planes. What if Achilles and Max aren’t able to kill him?”
“If they fail, we alert Boeing. But I know Max won’t fail. He never does.”
Katya thought back to what she’d heard about Achilles’ last assignment with the CIA. “To us they look superhuman, but there’s a first time for everything.”
Zoya didn’t reply.
“Why did you press for the dry run on Tuesday?”
“I’ve never trusted Wang. As one professional evaluating another, I can tell you he’s acting when he plays the peasant brought in from the rice fields. There’s a lot going on beneath the tranquil surface. When he mentioned the Command-R system, he got unduly excited. Something’s going on.”
“I picked up on that too. But what can we do about it?”
“I think we should watch where he goes.”
“He warned us not to try. Plus he’s a pro. He’s been operating under the radar in Seattle for years.”
“I know. But I’ve got a plan. Actually, you gave it to me.”
Katya’s phone vibrated before she could ask. “It’s Achilles. Let’s go somewhere more quiet.”
She accepted the call but didn’t speak until they were out on the street. “Hi.”
“Hi. Is Zoya with you?”
“Yes. Why, is something wrong?”
Katya hated that they had to keep their calls so businesslike. She wanted the details. She wanted to know how he was feeling, what he was thinking, and if he too was staring at the wall for half the night. Probably not. His nervous system was tougher than a manhole cover.
“Nothing’s wrong. Is it safe to put me on speaker?”
“You’re on.”
“Zoya, what’s the name of your friend at MosFilm? The magician with makeup and masks? The one you worked with on The Hunchback of Notre Dame?”
“Mila.”
In the background, Max said, “Mila, that’s right.”
Katya saw Zoya brighten at the sound of Max’s voice. As tough as Katya had it, Zoya had it worse.
Achilles continued, “Zoya, can you call Mila and tell her you’ve got a big, urgent project for her. Tell her it pays ten times her normal rate, but it has to be confidential, and it has to be tomorrow.”
“I can call. She’ll want details. She likes to be prepared.”
“Tell her you’ve got a six-foot-two 31-year-old who needs to pass for Charlie Rose. In person.”
“The talk show host?” Katya asked.
“That’s the one. He’s six-foot-three and 75 years old. You think she’ll be up for it?”
Zoya said, “Mila loves challenges, but there’s only so much she can do. Aging you won’t be a problem, but how much you end up looking like Charlie Rose will depend on the similarities of your build and bone structure.”
“That’s all we can ask. Thanks, Zoya. Katya, I need you to get a Google Voice number for New York City. Then I need you to use it to make some calls. I’m going to give you a list. Are you ready?”
Chapter 83
Masks & Promises
Moscow, Russia
“YOU’RE NOT GOING TO LIKE IT,” Mila said, holding up the straight razor. “And this is only phase one.”
Achilles took a second to study the master makeup artist. When he’d pictured her prior to their meeting, he’d imagined someone in her late-fifties with big hair and a bulky apron. Mila looked more like Taylor Swift in glasses. And she didn’t appear to be joking. “Go ahead.”
Mila set her straight razor down and picked up the electric. As she went to work, Achilles found himself remembering the words to a cadence sung on long runs during his CIA training. In Sergeant Dix’s southern drawl, he heard, “Sat me in that barber’s chair. Spun me around, I had no hair.”
Zoya had really come through, not only by getting Mila to agree to a meeting, but also by getting her excited about the project. By the time he and Max had arrived, she’d already loaded enough Charlie Rose video into her Autodesk software system to create a life-size 360-degree model of the celebrity’s head. It would generate the outside of the rubber mask. The next step was creating a similar model of Achilles’ head for the inside. To get perfect pictures and a perfect fit, he needed to be bald.
Achilles studied his new look in the mirror. He was well-tanned from thousands of hours climbing cliffs, but the density of his dark hair had kept his scalp white. The contrast, now visible, looked ridiculous.
While he thought about that, Max held up a photograph and asked Mila, “Can you make me look like this guy? Enough to fool people who haven’t seen him for years?”
She appraised the photo with pursed lips. “You just have this single passport photo?”
“That’s right.”
Mila held the photo up beside Max’s head and compared them. “Your eyes are similar, and that’s the key. If the eyes match a person’s memory, their mind tends to fill in the rest. I can make this work.”
“Can you do it without shaving my head?”
“If you plan to keep the same hairline you have now, I can just grease your hair back for the mold.”
“Excellent.” Max gave Achilles a taunting wink.
Achilles ran a hand over his smooth scalp in a mock salute. “Who is it?”
“A guy I went through the academy with. A real asshole named Arkady Usatov. Wouldn’t mind causing him a few problems. His best friend from back then now heads security at Korovin’s summer home. That’s what made me think of him.”
“That opens up options. I like it.”
Achilles turned back to Mila. “Mind if I play devil’s advocate?”
“By all means.” She flashed him a confident smile.
“I know these rubber masks look real on film, but will they work in real life?”
Mila was ready for that one. “The short answer is yes — for a while. Let’s break it down. The hair will be perfect. Millions of people are walking around all the time with hairpieces that go unnoticed. The skin is where it gets tricky.”
While she spoke, Mila was using a camera to scan Achilles�
�� head into her computer. “We’ll start with your hands. There’s a famous example of a young Asian man flying from Hong Kong to Vancouver wearing a rubber mask that disguised him as an old Caucasian. He got caught not because of his face, but rather his hands. They were too young. We’ll be painting liver spots, wrinkles, and veins onto yours with dyes.”
On the screen, Mila dragged the 3D image of Charlie Rose’s head on top of his. “This is very good. Your bone structures are similar. Cheek bones, eye sockets, ear placement, all blend acceptably. You must have similar ancestry, in the evolutionary sense.” She stopped nodding, and her tone changed. “His face is longer, so you’ll have to relax your jaw. Show me your teeth.”
Achilles did.
“Close enough. Neither of you have any unusual dental features.” She resumed ticking boxes on the computer screen. “Our ears and noses never stop growing. Did you know that?”
“Sounds familiar.”
“This makes it hard for older people to appear young. But of course those adjustments are easy going the other way.” She completed the last of the query fields and hit return. “Okay. In about four hours, we’ll have the base of your mask. Meanwhile, we’ll get started with your hands.”
“What will the mask be made of?”
“Clear silicone. To which we’ll apply makeup.”
“And that will look natural?”
“Of course. Women wear it all the time without anyone noticing. But you’re particularly fortunate in that respect.”
“How so?”
“Charlie Rose’s face is constantly covered in pancake makeup for the cameras. People will expect it. The makeup will make your mask look more real, not less.”
Achilles hadn’t thought of that. “Any behavioral tips — things I can do to sell the disguise?”
Mila slid her jaw to the left. “Distance will be your friend. You’ll be able to fool everyone who doesn’t know Charlie personally at two meters or more. Once people close to within handshake range, it becomes hit or miss. Try to minimize interaction at that distance. And don’t face people head-on. Give them your profile, and then give them something else to look at. If they’re close and you can’t control where they’re looking, try to show them your back.”
