by Kenneth Eade
“Hopefully, Mr. Rogan, you won’t need to make Will anytime soon,” said Bondarenko. “Come back tomorrow for translation.”
“I need it today.”
“Then come back tonight. And bring more money.”
Seth grimaced. “Of course. I also need a new hotel. FSB has trailed me to the one you gave me. I can’t take the chance the Ukrainians have done the same.”
“Slava will put you in new hotel. And different car.”
“Thank you,” said Seth, shaking Bondarenko’s hand.
***
There was not much Seth could do without more information. He anxiously waited in his new hotel room, watching the clock. Whatever information Seth could glean from Petrenko’s computer files would already be known by the FSB, so he would be one step behind them. Finally, Seth headed for Bondarenko’s shop.
Bondarenko handed over the flash drive and said, “Rush job. Two thousand.”
“Two thousand?” Seth complained.
“Spy work expensive,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.
Bondarenko opened his desk drawer and pulled out a cloth package.
“This gun is considered sporting gun, so it’s not illegal,” said Bondarenko, as he unwrapped the cloth, showing a handgun in the palm of his hand. “But, if you carry it without permit, you will be arrested.”
“Can I get a permit?”
“Mr. Rogan, I am magician, not God.”
His eyes looked up at Seth, with a furrowed brow. “You still want gun?”
“Yes, I still want it.”
“Three thousand dollar.”
Seth grumbled and paid.
“One more thing.”
“More money?”
“No. I get that in time. You are hot. As long as they know Seth Rogan is in Ukraine, they will be looking for you. You need new identity.”
Seth left Bondarenko’s shop with his wallet a little lighter and retired to his hotel room to study the translation of Petrenko’s files.
***
Seth studied the translation of the data on the disk. Petrenko’s files were full of clues, but they were all stale. However, since they were the only clues Seth had to go on, he decided to run with them. He would start at Natasha’s last known location – an apartment across the river.
Seth breached the front door of the building easily, by pushing all the buttons on the security intercom and claiming he had a delivery for somebody. The front door of the apartment itself was unlocked. It looked like it had been broken. Seth let himself in.
His eyes scanned the small studio apartment, which was supposed to be a safe house. It had been turned upside down.
Three masked men smashed through the door of apartment 87. A startled Natasha sprang up from the couch and screamed. One of the men pulled a gun out while another tackled her back onto the couch. The third man rifled through her open suitcase on the floor, throwing clothes out of it randomly as he ransacked it.
Seth examined the contents of Natasha’s open suitcase for anything which may present itself as a lead. Her clothes had been scattered all over the floor. He picked up a blouse and felt the material between his fingers. It still has her scent, he thought, sadly. On the coffee table, which was piled with personal items that must have been dumped from her purse and scattered there, he found an Employee ID for the company she had been working for – it was Germinat, Seth’s ex-employer. Nice of Victor to mention this, he thought. Germinat had set up offices in Kiev, obviously planning on taking its GMO agenda as far as it could. GMOs were banned in most of Europe, but Germinat must have been planning to exploit a loophole in the Ukrainian legislation. He had also read that they had been buying up large plots of farmland.
After tackling her, the mask man flipped Natasha onto her stomach and handcuffed her.
“Who are you? Why are you doing this?” she asked, her voice muffled by the couch cushions.
“You are under arrest,” was the response.
“For what? And by who’s authority?”
They didn’t answer. Instead, they continued their search, one tucking her laptop computer under his arm.
“Where is your phone?” the man with the gun demanded.
“In my purse.”
The man pulled Natasha off the couch and frisked her, while another turned her purse upside down, spilled its contents all over the coffee table, and quickly pocketed her iPhone and her Russian passport.
“We know you work for FSB,” said the man with the gun.
“No, I’m just a teacher.”
“Spy teacher.”
“I teach Russian and sustainability to Americans at Germinat. You have the wrong person.”
Seth continued to search the room for clues. The thought of Natasha’s last message to him kept tugging at his brain. Surely, since she was not grabbed at the airport, they must have taken her cell phone, so how could she have sent the message? There must have been something, or maybe more, that Victor was not telling him. Angrily, he whipped out his phone.
“Why didn’t you tell me she was working for Germinat?”
“I told you, not by phone,” said Victor.
“You have to come clean with me.”
“We meet for coffee.”
“No thanks, Victor. I’m not thirsty.” Seth hung up. He thought about the reasons why Natasha could had been sent to Germinat, and whether she was really being held by the Ukrainians, or his former employer. The answer was waiting for him at his next lead – the Kiev headquarters of Germinat Corporation.
Seth exited the apartment building, his head full of thoughts about Natasha and what she could have possibly been doing at Germinat. That must have been why she called me to the agricultural conference. Seth had exposed Germinat’s collusion with the U.S. government; the fact that the company and the heads of the USDA and EPA had colluded with the company in hiding studies that the company’s genetically engineered foods were dangerous to the public.
Seth should have been paying attention as he walked to his car, but he was more of a scientist than a spy. That proved to be a disadvantage to him as he approached the parking lot, where he was grabbed by two guys and thrust into a black Mercedes, which took off.
“That my point,” said Victor Godinov, who was seated in the back of the car.
“What?” asked Seth.
“You’re untrained and sloppy, and that makes you liability.”
“And you’re not telling me everything.”
“I tell you what you need to know,” he shouted.
Seth shouted back, “I need to know where she is before they kill her, and you know! I don’t understand why she was sent to Germinat. I thought it was the military industry who wanted to join the party here in the Ukraine.”
“Military, yes of course. They want to sell their bombs and military equipment to Ukraine, and get Europe to pay for them. Scary part is that your country’s wars always produce demons. They try to make Afghanistan into next Vietnam for Russia, and they get Jihad. They lie and say there are weapons of mass destruction so they can invade Iraq and they get ISIS. Do I have to go on?”
“No, but why Germinat?”
“Let me explain something to you. We are at war. War is not on battlefield. It is in boardrooms of companies that control your United States of America. They want to be number one provider of gas to Europe, and put in factory farms to be number one provider of GMO food for Europe.”
“And what is their interest in Natasha?”
“She speaks English, the Americans who work at Germinat need to learn Russian, and we need to learn what they know about Ukraine’s plans to break away from Russia.”
“So how was she exposed?”
“We don’t know.”
“Where is she now?”
“We don’t know.”
“For God’s sake Victor, stop lying to me and tell me the truth. I’m not going to stop looking for her!”
“I make you deal. Go to conference in Moscow. When you come back,
if we don’t have Natasha yet, we will work together to find her. This is only chance you have to see her again. I’m sorry to tell you, my friend, but you are not very good spy.”
CHAPTER NINE
The best way to get a new identity was for Seth to accept Victor’s suggestion. Seth Rogan had to leave for Moscow and a different person had to return.
He took the 2:05 p.m. nonstop to Moscow on Aeroflot Airlines. He checked in through immigration and passport control with his US passport. This would show, to anyone who was tailing him, that he had left Kiev and arrived in Moscow. After going through customs, he walked through the maze of people meeting people, brushed off taxi drivers who were soliciting fares, and found his ride at curbside – another black Mercedes. Boris Abramov was waiting inside.
Seth got into the car and shook his hand.
“Good to see you, Tavarish,” said Abramov. He was fifty-something, with long greying hair and a grey moustache, but a larger than life presence, like a classic movie star.
“Good to see you too.”
“Is my man in Ukraine taking good care of you?”
“He’s expensive.”
“Well, these things aren’t cheap,” said Abramov, running his hands through his long hair, pulling it back.
“Do you have anything for me?”
“Not much. They are holding back details of the report from you, of course.”
“Of course.”
“But it is true that Natasha has been moved and they are looking for her.”
“Good. I was hoping they wouldn’t back off to try to avoid a potential scandal. Is she?”
“Alive? Yes, from what we know, she is still alive.”
Seth sighed with relief.
“What do they want from her?”
“She is low level FSB agent, but she was sent on undercover assignment. I think they are holding her for bargaining.”
“Bargaining?”
“This is high stakes game now. Ukrainian oligarchs have taken over country and they want money and support from Europe and United States. If they expose Russian agent found undercover in their country, it could be embarrassing for Russia.”
“But won’t Russia refuse to acknowledge her as anything but a teacher?”
“Correct. That why we have to be very careful. Once they think she is no use to them, she will be in more danger than she is now. You want Russian driver license and passport, or Ukrainian?”
“Which one is quicker?”
“They are same. I suggest Russian, because you don’t speak Ukrainian language. Do you speak any Russian?”
“A little, enough to get around.”
“A lot of foreigners come to live in Moscow and get Russian citizenship. We will get Russian documents.”
“Forgeries?”
Abramov frowned.
“You think I would give you, my friend, forged documents? No, of course they will be genuine. And your friends at Embassy will never find out until it is too late.”
“My friends?”
“We need to take biometric photograph. But first you need new look. Change color hair, grow moustache and beard.”
“A new look, I get it – I’ve done that before. Not sure how long it’ll take to grow a moustache and beard. Boris, there’s one thing that has me really puzzled.”
“Tell me.”
“If they had her cell phone, how did they get me the message?”
“Tiny transmitter in her earrings.”
“Brilliant. But it must have had GPS.”
“I’m sure it did. Either it wasn’t working, or your friends at embassy didn’t tell you everything.”
“Could be a little of both. One more thing, Boris.”
“What?”
“I need help in Ukraine. I don’t speak the language, and I feel, well, like a one-armed blind man.”
“I tell Bondarenko to give you man to help. And Seth – ”
“Yes?”
“Don’t trust anybody.”
“Thank you. What about the conference?”
“Our man will attend as you.”
“But if they follow him, they’ll not it’s not me!”
“Oh really?” asked Boris, showing a photograph on the screen of his phone. It was of a man who bore a striking resemblance to Seth.
“It’s amazing!” he exclaimed, staring at the photograph. “He could be my twin.”
Boris smiled. “With every generation, our toys get better.”
***
Seth was dropped off at a photo shop in a sleazy neighborhood on Leninsky Prospect. There his disguise was completed.
“Stand here, foot on line,” instructed Sasha Bedrov, another one of Abramov’s contacts. “You look like different guy. Black hair look good on you too.”
“Look at camera, no smile,” he commanded.
Bedrov clicked a couple of times and then said, “That’s it. Ready by end of day. Ten thousand US dollar.”
“Ten thousand?”
“That is discount for Abramov. Regular price fifteen thousand.”
Seth spent the rest of the day with Abramov, learning as much as he could about Natasha’s assignment to Ukraine. It was really very simple. She had been sent as a teacher to teach Russian language, as well as a class on sustainability. But that was her cover. Several messages of hers to the FSB had been intercepted and that is how she had been exposed.
CHAPTER TEN
“Mr. Rogan, or I should say Mr. Rostov, here are your documents.” Seth took the red passport which bore the name, Andrei Rostov, and handed over ten thousand in crisp 100 dollar bills. At this rate, the stash of cash he had brought from the States was not going to last very long.
Seth bid good-bye to Abramov, and proceeded to Sheremetyevo airport. Almost immediately after exiting the car, he began to have this creepy feeling that somebody was following him. He casually looked over his shoulder and scanned the crowd behind him. Nobody stood out in particular, but, as an extra measure of security, he doubled around the airport, and then took a coffee in the Chocolodnitsa café.
As Seth sipped his coffee, he casually scanned the other patrons who were sitting at the tables from time to time, as well as people loitering nearby the open air café. He made a mental note of the appearance of each person who was a constant presence in the area.
Seth took off again on another airport tour, and glanced behind himself to see if anyone in the crowd looked familiar. His stomach jumped as he recognized one of the patrons from the café. Although it could be a coincidence, he couldn’t take any chances, so he slipped into an electronics and Internet store and pretended to browse. His follower took a seat on a bench not far from the store. He was wearing a light brown coat and had dark brown hair.
Seth had to put the Follower through one more test to ascertain if he was truly being tailed. He exited the store and went to the nearest men’s room. Seth took a stall in the restroom, crouched down, removed a mirror from his carry-on bag and positioned it so he could see around the bathroom outside the stall. The Follower was there, pretending to wash his hands. Seth knew at once that he was, in fact, being followed, and started to panic.
The Follower finished washing his hands, turned around, and pulled open the door of the empty stall next to Seth, letting it fall closed after he had ascertained that it was empty. He then tugged on the door on Seth’s stall gently. At that moment, Seth made his move. Unlocking the door, he shoved it outward with all his might, knocking the Follower down, and ran past him. As he did, the Follower grabbed his left ankle, and pulled. Seth smashed his right heel against the Follower’s fingers as hard as he could, and the follower let go. Walking as quickly as possible, Seth exited the airport, grabbing the first taxi he could see, and headed for Vnukovo airport. It was too risky to fly out of Sheremetyevo.
***
Once he arrived to Vnukovo, Seth bought a ticket for the night flight to Kiev with his Russian passport as Andrei Rostov. To mask his American accent, he pretended to ha
ve a sore throat. The conversation was simple, and consisted of only one question – Do you have luggage? Seth had taken a business class ticket to keep conversation to a minimum and speed his way through passport control and security.
Fortunately for Seth, passing through passport control and security in Russia was not difficult. The officer at passport control didn’t speak a word to him – just looked at his passport, looked back up at him, scanned it and handed it back. Seth told him, “Spasibo,” which means “thank you” in Russian.
Passing through security was a one-way conversation. He was asked for his boarding pass, and told to enter and then exit the screener. After a brief repose in the business class lounge, he was on his way back to Kiev.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Upon his arrival in Kiev, Seth was sweating with anxiety. He had gone over all the possible questions that the border police may ask him, and had rehearsed all his answers in his “sore throat” voice. After a brief wait in line, he approached passport control with his new Russian passport. The policeman looked at Seth, scanned his passport, and looked up at him again, with a stern look and asked in Russian, “Where are you coming from?”
Seth responded, “Moscow.”
The agent slid Seth’s passport back to him. He was free to go. At the arrivals area, a grinning Slava was waiting for Seth.
“What are you doing here?” he asked Slava.
“I’m your new assistant.”
Were they kidding? The guy with the video games? Great, thought Seth.
Slava took Seth’s carry-on and led him to yet another old, broken down car.
“Secret agent car,” said Slava, grinning.
“Yeah, just like James Bond’s Aston Martin.”
“What?”
“Never mind.”
Seth got in as Slava threw his bag in the trunk and climbed into the driver’s seat. He took off,leaving behind a cloud of smoke and screeching rubber, like a bat out of hell.
“Whoa, what’s going on?”
“I shake tail.”
