The Lion jc-5

by Nelson DeMille

  "I understand." She gave me her new cell phone number and said, "Call me tonight with good news."

  Well, if it was bad news, I wouldn't be the one calling.

  Back in my apartment, I worked on my incident report, then I began drafting a long memo about this case, starting from the beginning three years ago. The memo contained all I knew that was classified, and also my own thoughts and theories about things like the CIA's involvement in the original case. I had no idea who this memo was addressed to-but maybe it was addressed to posterity; to whoever worked this case in the event of my death.

  Under the heading of "Khalil II," I revealed my recent meeting with Boris Korsakov, which reminded me that I hadn't heard from him since I'd left him at Svetlana contemplating a reunion with his star pupil. This might mean that he was dead, but I think I might have heard about that on the news, or maybe through official channels. More likely Boris had nothing more to say to me. Or, as I said, he'd skipped town, which was the smart move, but maybe not what an egotistical former KGB guy would do. And as I'd discovered long ago, the most common cause of death among alpha males was ego. I should know.

  I used my ATTF cell phone to dial Boris, hoping he'd recognize the number that I'd given him and that he'd take the call. Or another voice would answer, "Khalil here."

  Boris Korsakov answered. "Good afternoon, Mr. Corey."

  "And to you." I asked him, "Where are you?"

  "Where I was when I last saw you."

  Of course he could be anywhere, and I said to him, "I thought I heard a Swiss yodeler in the background."

  He laughed and replied, "No, you are hearing the Red Army Chorus singing 'Kalinka.'"

  "No kidding?" I suggested, "Tell them to take a break."

  "Hold on."

  The Red Army Chorus packed up and left, and Boris said to me, "One becomes nostalgic as one gets older."

  "Right. I've got an old German deli guy down the block who misses the hell out of the Third Reich. So, what have you been up to?"

  "Nothing. And you?"

  "Same. And where is Mrs. Korsakov?"

  "Moscow."

  "Lucky girl. Look, I'm rethinking what I said to you about not having your place put under surveillance. What do you think?"

  Without hesitation, he replied, "You promised me a week."

  "Boris, I made no such promise, or if I did, I've come to my senses and I hope you have, too."

  He informed me, "We both came to the right decision about this. You should not rethink it."

  "Well, I am." I asked him, "What do you think you'll accomplish by locking yourself in your office?"

  "Maybe nothing more than staying alive while you find Khalil. But we will see."

  I said, "He's not going to come for you if he knows you're barricaded in there. In fact, that's a tip-off to him that you know he's here."

  He informed me, "I often spend days living in my office when my wife is not here. So this is not unusual."

  "Yeah? What do you do all day?"

  "Come visit and you can see."

  He laughed and it was that kind of laugh. Men are pigs.

  I got back to the subject and said to him, "Look, Boris, you don't have much chance of killing or capturing Khalil. I'm thinking you need my help. I want to put your place under surveillance, and I also want you to let me set up a trap." I explained, "You leave your fort there, go back to your apartment, take long walks on the boardwalk, go about your normal business, and I'll have people around you who can protect you and also grab Khalil if he makes an attempt on your life." I assured him, "I've done this a thousand times. Haven't lost anyone yet." Not even myself.

  He seemed to be thinking about that, then said, "I will consider that."

  I knew he was stalling so I asked him, "Why do you want to kill him?"

  He replied, "I did not say I wanted to kill him."

  "Okay, so you want to reason with him?"

  "There is no reasoning with that man."

  "So, what's your goal? Your objective?"

  "To defend myself until you capture him. Or I may capture him here."

  "And then you'll turn him over to the police or the FBI."

  "Correct."

  "But if you do that, then he'll sing-and it won't be Kalinka."

  "I am not following you."

  "All right. Let me be more clear." I said to him, "Your story about your involvement in and your knowledge of Khalil's mission here three years ago and Khalil's story about that are probably not the same story."

  No response.

  I continued, "You knew damn well that he was coming here to murder U.S. Air Force pilots, and that's what you trained him to do. But you bullshitted the CIA, and they believed you-"

  "They never believed me. But they found it convenient to say they did."

  "Okay… so they think you were involved with, and had knowledge of, these murders. But if Khalil is captured and interrogated by the FBI, he will implicate you in those murders, and the best you can hope for from the Justice Department is a forfeiture of all your assets and a one-way ticket out of here." I added, "The worst would be an indictment for accessory to murder."

  He thought about that and replied, "They would not let that happen."

  "Who?"

  "My friends in Langley."

  "You think?" I asked him, "Have you heard from them?"

  He replied, "If I have, I could not tell you."

  "Try."

  "This is a closed subject."

  "Okay, then I'm going to have surveillance put around your club and your apartment."

  This was not what I really wanted to do, of course-I wanted to find Khalil myself. But I couldn't pass up this opportunity to set a second trap for him, and the first trap, with me as bait, didn't seem to be working. Also, I had a legal-and maybe moral-obligation to call Tom Walsh about Boris.

  Boris said to me, "May I ask you a question?"

  "Sure."

  "Why did you come here alone?"

  Good question. I replied, "Well, I was on my way to Coney Island, and out of the blue I had this thought that Boris Korsakov could be living in Brighton Beach."

  "That sounds very improbable."

  "Right. Okay, your club and apartment will be under surveillance in the next hour or so, and you'll be followed if you decide to come outside for some fresh air. Also, I'd like you to consider cooperating with this surveillance, and let us put a few people inside your club. Okay?"

  He didn't respond to that and said, "You came alone because you want to kill him. Not capture him, Mr. Corey, but kill him."

  "I don't remember saying that."

  "Oh, but you did." He further informed me, "You'd like to do it yourself, of course, but you would accept me doing it. The important thing for you-and for me-is that he is killed."

  "Boris, I think you were in the KGB too long."

  "Long enough to know how to solve a problem." He continued, "We understand each other, so you don't have to say anything, but please think about what you were thinking about when you arrived here… unofficially."

  "Well, to be honest with you, I've rethought that."

  "No. You are trying to make yourself feel better about your unorthodox method of dealing with Asad Khalil."

  Boris had a point there, but I replied, "I didn't call you for psychotherapy."

  He replied, "We are both men who have seen some of the world, and we understand how things are done." He informed me, "In Langley, they told me a little about your involvement with Khalil when he was here last, and I have concluded from that and from what you yourself said to me three years ago that you have some personal reasons for wanting Khalil dead. And he feels the same about you-as he feels about me. So why don't we leave others out of this, and also leave our conversation where it was when you walked out of my office?"

  I thought about that. I mean, what was the downside to letting Boris try to kill Khalil? None. But there was a big downside for Boris if Khalil killed him instead. That, however,
was not a downside for me-in fact, hate to say it, but Boris would get just what he deserved at the hands of the monster he helped create.

  But if Boris killed Khalil, then, yes, I'd have to accept it wasn't me who did it. But Khalil would be just as dead.

  "Mr. Corey?"

  "Okay. I said a week. That's Tuesday."

  "Good. That is the correct decision for both of us."

  "I hope you still feel that way when you find Khalil sitting in your office."

  Boris did not comment on that, and he said to me, "As I mentioned, I would not be surprised if Khalil intends to kill your friend, Ms. Mayfield. So you should warn her."

  "Let me worry about that." I then asked him, "Have you thought about what else Khalil might have planned, aside from whacking me and you?"

  He stayed silent awhile, then replied, "Well, as I said, he must need to repay someone for his trip to America. But I can tell you that when Khalil was last here, he had not been trained in explosives or in handling chemicals or biological materials."

  "Well, that's good news." I asked him, "You didn't have time for that?"

  He replied, "That is not my area of expertise."

  "Right." I said, "But he could have learned something new in the last three years."

  "Of course. But I want you to know he did not learn from me."

  "Right. So if we all start keeling over from nerve gas or anthrax, you had nothing to do with that."

  "Correct. And if there is a large explosion-"

  "Not your fault."

  "Also correct."

  "Okay, but… do you have any thoughts, any theories about a possible target-is there anything this asshole might have said to you? Like, 'Gee, Boris, I hate to see women shopping in department stores.' Follow?"

  "Yes, I do." He stayed silent awhile, then said, "He did have what I would call an anti-materialistic opinion. So perhaps he would target something like a department store, but… what real damage would that do?"

  "Are you kidding? Boris, this is New York. Have you seen all the ladies on Fifth Avenue?"

  He laughed, then said, "I wish I could be helpful in guessing a possible target… but this man has so many hates." He informed me, "He did not like women, though he is not gay. He was a… puritan. He would, like his leader Khadafi, go into the desert for weeks at a time to pray, and live on bread and water. He rejected all comforts and material objects, except his clothing and his weapons."

  "Not a fun guy."

  "No. In fact, a rather boring man. But regarding a hated target… his biggest hate was simply America, and everything about America, so he has many targets."

  "Right."

  "He considers America corrupt, decadent, and weak."

  "What's he have against decadence?"

  Again, Boris laughed and said, "He considered me decadent. Can you imagine that?"

  Well, yes, but I said, "Maybe he needs a night in Svetlana."

  "It would be good for him," he agreed. Then he said to me, "Khalil had a favorite expression-'the Americans know too much of gold, and they have forgotten steel.'"

  Well, there could be some truth there. But rather than tell Boris that, I said, "Let me ask you a more specific question about the CIA and Khalil, and you don't have to answer this, but if you don't, I might have to pull the plug on you."

  No reply, so I asked him, "Did the CIA have any involvement with Asad Khalil?"

  Again, no reply.

  I waited.

  Finally he said, "This is not something you want to know."

  "Then why did I ask?"

  Finally, he replied, "You understand that my friends in Langley were not giving me too much information during my debriefing. They were asking me questions. But as a trained interrogator yourself, you know that one can learn much from the questions."

  "What did you learn?"

  "I learned… the CIA and the KGB have much in common."

  I didn't reply and waited for more.

  I pictured Boris lighting a cigarette and sipping vodka. Then he said, "I have no idea if Khalil and the CIA had any sort of understanding then-or now. But I will tell you this-when a country is attacked, the people rally to the government. You saw this on 9/11. But when a country is not attacked-or has not been attacked in… let us say almost two years-then people forget. And perhaps they become critical of the government, and critical of the methods used by the government in fighting the enemy. In America especially, people resent any loss of their liberties. Correct? So what is the solution of the government? To hand back the power to the people? No. The solution is another attack."

  Again, I didn't respond, but I completely understood what he was saying. Boris, though, was… well, a Russian. A KGB guy. And these guys loved their conspiracies. And they loved to speculate about secret plots and all that. So when I asked him to speculate, I'd hit his X-Files button.

  "Mr. Corey?"

  "Sorry, I was making notes for a movie script."

  "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

  "Not at this time," I assured him.

  "Thank you for your call. And for the week."

  "You're quite welcome, and don't forget to call me if you should happen to kill him in self-defense."

  "My attorney first, then you."

  "You're a real American, Boris."

  "Thank you." He stayed silent awhile, then said to me, "Whatever he has planned for you, Mr. Corey, is not going to be pleasant."

  "Right. You too. And probably you first."

  He didn't reply to that and we hung up. I got a beer and sat on the balcony.

  Well, I might now know a little more about Khalil's head, but I wasn't any closer to finding him. And I wasn't any closer to figuring out what else he had planned here. But I was a little more certain that he had something planned-something chemical, biological, or, God forbid, nuclear. Something given to him by his backers.

  As for Boris's CIA conspiracy theory… well, Boris wasn't the first person to think that there were people who would welcome another attack. But welcoming an attack and conspiracy to instigate one were very different things.

  My other thought was that I shouldn't be conspiring with Boris Korsakov, former KGB assassin. But sometimes you have to partner up with a bad guy. As the Arabs say, the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Plus, I doubled the chances that Khalil would wind up dead before he could set off a weapon of mass destruction. Or kill me. And that was the goal. I'd worry later about explaining all this to Tom Walsh if I had to.

  I finished my beer and looked out at the buildings across the street. If Khalil was there, then I was a tempting target. But I recalled my dream, which came to me as the sum total of everything I knew about this man, how he'd killed before, and who he was. So we'd meet-probably at a time and place of his choosing, not mine-but we'd definitely meet.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  At 5:30, I took a taxi to 26 Federal Plaza.

  I spent a few hours at my desk, catching up on e-mails and memos and listening to voice mail. There was nothing pertaining to Asad Khalil, which reinforced my conclusion that this was a very tightly controlled case. As for all the other cases that I-and Kate-had been working on, it appeared that they'd been parceled out to other detectives and agents. So, was I still working here? I guess I was until the Khalil case was settled, one way or the other.

  I didn't see Tom Walsh, which reinforced my suspicion that he was distancing himself from me and from the operation-but not so far that he couldn't be on the scene if I killed or captured the wanted Libyan terrorist. I wondered, though, if he'd show up if I got whacked and Khalil got away. No photo op there. In any case, if I'd seen him, I'm sure I would have told him about Boris. Unless it slipped my mind.

  At 8 P.M., I met with Paresi and Stark, and we went over the operation in detail.

  At 9 P.M. I left 26 Federal Plaza, pretty much as I'd been dressed the night before, except this time I had a Yankees cap on-so if I ran into Khalil, he could shout, "Die, Yankee!"

&
nbsp; I made the short walk down to the Trade Center site, and noticed that the observation platform had a locked gate at the entrance, and the surrounding area-which had been devastated when the Towers collapsed-was deserted at this hour.

  I did a complete walk around the site, which was about a third of a mile on each side, and I stopped a few times to look down into the huge excavation, which was partially lit by stadium lights. At the bottom of the deep pit was construction equipment and piles of building material. Virtually all of the rubble was gone, but now and then human remains still turned up. Bastards.

  On the Liberty Street side of the big hole was the long earthen ramp that went down into the construction site. The ramp was blocked by two high chain-link gates that were locked. On the other side of the gates I could see a house trailer that was a comfortable guard post for the Port Authority Police who manned this single entrance to the excavation. Parked near the gates was a Port Authority Police vehicle that was used by the two PA cops in the trailer.

  Well, I didn't expect to see Asad Khalil here near the guard post, so I moved onto West Street, which runs between the World Trade Center site and the buildings of the World Financial Center site, which had been so heavily damaged by the collapse of the Twin Towers that the area was blocked off by security fences. This place was like a war zone-which it actually was.

  On the opposite side of the excavation I could see the lighted observation platform, and it occurred to me that Asad Khalil would not have missed this tourist attraction while he was in New York. I pictured him standing there, looking down into this abyss, trying to hide his smile from the people around him.

  Stark's voice in my earpiece said, "You are alone."

  "Copy."

  I walked down to Battery Park, which was about a half mile south of Ground Zero. Battery Park at night is quiet, though not desolate. You get some romantic types who sit and watch the water and look at the Statue of Liberty, or take a ferry ride to Staten Island. Cheap date. Done it.

  It was a nice evening, so there were a few people in the park, including the surveillance team couple I'd seen in Central Park, sitting on a bench again, holding hands. I hoped they at least liked each other.

  I said into my mic, "This is not promising."