by Saul Herzog
Only a handful of people knew of the Group’s existence, and with this memo, Sandra had just been added to them.
Roth’s Group was small, but it had the highest levels of access and authority. His field agents, known officially as Paramilitary Operatives, and within the Group as assets, were recognized as the most elite units in the nation. They were recruited exclusively from Navy’s SEAL Team Six, Air Force’s 24th Special Tactics Squadron, Marine Corps’ MARSOC, and Army’s Delta Force.
Until a few weeks ago, there had been four of them on active duty around the globe. But somehow, the Russian’s infiltrated the Group and took out three of the four assets in simultaneous hits around the globe.
The sole remaining asset, Lance Spector, was missing in action.
He was AWOL.
Off the radar.
He was last seen in Moscow, where he’d assassinated Evgraf Davidov, the head of the GRU’s Prime Directorate, and the suspected leader of the sinister Dead Hand, the Russian president’s secret organization for maintaining power through terror.
The report said that Spector had a complicated relationship with Roth. Roth was the one who’d recruited him, and there had been periods in their lives when they’d been extremely close.
The report finished by stating that while Spector had been the most effective assassin in US history, he was henceforth to be considered persona non grata. He was to be permanently banned from the territory of the United States, his citizenship immediately revoked. He was also prohibited from working, directly or as a contractor, for any branch of the federal government.
Sandra raised an eyebrow.
That was a harsh punishment by any standard, but given the fact Spector had just single-handedly taken out one of Russia’s most dangerous leaders, it almost didn’t make sense.
That was, unless there was more to Spector and Roth’s relationship than the file revealed.
Maybe it was personal.
Sandra realized that the idea of meeting Roth face to face was making her nervous. She’d just spent the last six months studying his strategic concepts and operational doctrines. She’d been impressed by his ability to filter information and analyze situations. As a programmer, she’d always thought there was no way human intelligence could ever keep up with the rising generation of supercomputers.
Roth had shown her never to underestimate the value of human intuition.
She was grateful they saw eye to eye on the nature of America’s future threats.
He’d spent the better part of his career arguing that Russia and China were more serious adversaries than terrorists and Islamic militants could ever be.
From the secure terminal on her desk, she had access to possibly more information than any other person on the planet, and she typed Roth’s name into her search terminal.
There were literally thousands of classified documents containing his name, and she narrowed the search by cross-referencing Lance Spector.
It took a few minutes, but she found what she was looking for, a quantum-encrypted subnet containing secret communications between Lance and Roth. Just as she began to scroll through them, there was a knock on the door. It was her secretary.
“Ma’am, Levi Roth is in the visitor’s lobby.”
“Already? He’s early.”
The secretary shrugged.
Sandra exited the secure terminal and shut her laptop with a snap.
She made her way to the visitor’s reception, where Roth was sitting elegantly on the sofa. There was something about the way he held himself, his clothing, the designer sunglasses, the way his thick hair was brushed back, that made him look exceedingly sophisticated. He would have fit right in with the venture capitalists back in Silicon Valley. He was surprisingly athletic for a man his age, and she found herself wondering if he dyed his hair.
He wore a long, black raincoat, and she recognized its Burberry lining.
“Mr. Director,” she said, extending her hand.
“Madam Director,” Roth said, getting to his feet. “And please, call me Levi.”
“Only if you call me Sandra,” she said.
He followed her to the front desk, where she asked for an available conference room. She was given a keycard, and when the receptionist asked if they needed anything else, she asked for coffee and pastries to be brought up.
“You’re rolling out the red carpet,” Roth said as they walked to the room.
“Well,” she said, “the president did just call to announce your visit. That’s got to mean something.”
“He insisted I didn’t come down here unannounced,” Roth said. “He wants no ambushes while you settle in.”
“Well, that’s very considerate of him,” Sandra said, not sure where this was all leading.
They took their seats in the secure room. The receptionist brought in a fresh pot of coffee and a tray of pastries, then left, shutting the door firmly behind her.
Sandra pushed a button, and they heard a sound like an airlock being sealed. A green light above the door came on. It was now impossible for anyone to eavesdrop on them.
“Well,” Roth said. “I’m sure you’re dying to know why I’m here.”
“The suspense is killing me,” she said, pouring the coffee.
Roth picked up his cup and took a sip.
“You read the file the president sent you?” he said.
She nodded.
“Well, as you know, the Special Operations Group was a very important part of our covert operations.”
“I saw that.”
“The NSA looks at the big picture, gathers data,” Roth said.
“And the CIA gathers the human intelligence, fields agents, cultivates sources,” Sandra said.
“Exactly,” Roth said. “And the Special Operations Group, until we were targeted last week…”.
“Sends in the assassins,” Sandra said.
Roth looked at her. “That’s correct,” he said.
“Are you going to re-form the Group?” Sandra said.
“Well, before we get into that, I want to make sure you and I see eye to eye on things.”
“What things are those?”
“Assassinations.”
“Assassinations?” Sandra said, surprised. She hadn’t been expecting a debate of that nature. “Assassinations are your jurisdiction,” she said.
Roth looked at her. “All right,” he said, “but is there anything else you want to say?”
“What are you worried about, Roth?”
He looked very serious. “I can’t do my job without the data you intercept,” he said. “If you’re going to hold that back because you have qualms about my methods, I need to know now, before people die.”
Sandra thought about that. As far as she was concerned, assassinations had nothing to do with her.
“Roth,” she said, “the way I see it, my job is to send you and the president information. What the two of you choose to do with it, that’s on you.”
Roth nodded. He seemed satisfied with that.
“Well,” he said, “the Group is being re-established, but with a new leader.”
“You couldn’t possibly continue to head it up in your new public office,” Sandra said.
“No I couldn’t,” he said. “That’s why I’ve assigned the role to one of my brightest young specialists, Laurel Everlane.”
“I see,” Sandra said.
“You’ve heard of her?”
“I read her report last night.”
“The one about us losing a war?” Roth said.
“The one and only.”
“And your thoughts?”
“I’m a realist, Roth. If someone’s got an advantage on us, I want to know that sooner rather than later.”
“There are people who call this new doctrine defeatist,” Roth said.
“Well,” Sandra said, “if they want to go around playing make-believe, telling themselves we have nothing to worry about, building our foreign policy on nothing more th
an rainbows and lollipops, that’s up to them.”
Roth nodded. “You know,” he said, “the main reason I came here in person was to size you up.”
“Oh really?” Sandra said. “And how do I measure?”
He thought for a moment, then said, “There’s always been a rivalry between the CIA and the NSA.”
“Well,” Sandra said, “I hope that’s not something that will affect our working relationship.”
“I can assure you,” Roth said, “if you’re looking to play nice, you won’t find any resistance from me.”
“I’m looking to identify the wars we might have to fight,” Sandra said, “and ensure we’re in a position to win them.”
Roth nodded. He looked impressed. He finished his coffee stood up.
“Before you go,” she said, “there’s one thing I’d like to ask you.”
“What’s that?” Roth said.
“It’s about Lance Spector.”
“Lance Spector?”
“Yes,” she said. “Lance Spector.”
“What do you want to know?” Roth said.
“Why do you have half the government trying to track him down if you already know where he is?”
22
Tatyana sat in the back of a black Cadillac Escalade and waited. She’d called Roth from Paris before getting on the plane, and his driver was waiting for her at Dulles when she landed.
“You ever brought anyone here before?” she said to the driver.
He looked at her in the rearview mirror but said nothing.
He wore a driver’s uniform. The car was official, black with tinted windows, bullet-proof glass, enhanced communications equipment.
“This is a nice car,” she said, giving the driver a hint of her accent. “We don’t have cars like this in Russia.”
“It’s the boss’s personal vehicle,” he said.
She pressed the window button, but it was locked. She knew if she tried the door, it would be locked too.
“Fancy place,” she said.
“You should see his house,” the driver said, then stopped himself from speaking further.
“I have seen it,” Tatyana said.
The driver said nothing.
They were on an old cobblestone street in Georgetown, about a mile west of the White House and just off Wisconsin Avenue. Outside, wrought iron lampposts lit up the stately entrances to colonial townhouses. They were among the most expensive homes in the city.
Someone walked up to the car and rapped their knuckles on the window. The driver opened Tatyana’s window, and a woman stood there.
“Tatyana Aleksandrova,” the woman said. “I’m Laurel Everlane.”
“I remember you,” Tatyana said.
“Last time we met…” Laurel said.
“We were both shot,” Tatyana said, finishing her sentence.
“Well, let’s hope that doesn’t happen tonight.”
Tatyana nodded.
She got out of the car, and Laurel led her through the gate. Two french doors led into one of the grandest hallways Tatyana had ever seen.
“What is this place?”
“This is where the magic happens,” Laurel said.
They walked across a checkered marble floor into a large sitting room decorated with exquisite antique furniture. The room extended to the back of the house, where another set of french doors led to a formal garden with illuminated plants around a stone swimming pool.
“This is a nice house,” Tatyana said.
Laurel nodded. “You should see the suites upstairs. It’s like a five-star hotel.”
“So, are you going to tell me why I’m here?” Tatyana said.
Laurel nodded and told Tatyana to sit on a sofa that looked like it had been purchased from Sotheby’s. Laurel went to a glass wine rack that covered the far wall of the room, floor to ceiling, with LED illumined wine bottles.
“Bordeaux okay?”
“Bordeaux would be perfect,” Tatyana said.
Laurel opened the bottle and placed it with two wine glasses on the table in front of Tatyana. There was a fireplace, and she flicked a switch, bringing it instantly to life.
“This is starting to feel like a first date,” Tatyana said.
“Wait until you hear what I have to say,” Laurel said, sitting across from her.
Tatyana poured the wine, and they each took a sip.
“To new beginnings,” Laurel said.
Tatyana raised her glass. “I’ll drink to that.”
“I’m sorry we left you behind,” Laurel said.
Tatyana looked at her. They’d both been in Moscow. Laurel was flown out by the CIA from a secret airfield outside the city. Tatyana’s route had been a little more circuitous.
“You didn’t leave me behind,” she said. “I never made it to the extraction point.”
“Because you were looking for Lance.”
“He told me where he was. Krasnye Vorota. A park by the metro station.”
“But you didn’t find him?”
Tatyana took a sip of her wine and looked out toward the pool.
“The water is heated?” she said.
“All winter,” Laurel said. “Now, getting back to Lance.”
“I can’t talk about what happened,” Tatyana said.
“I’m not asking as a friend,” Laurel said.
“He wasn’t there,” Tatyana said. “I went to where he said. All I found was a puddle of blood.”
Laurel looked at her. Tatyana had a feeling she knew more than she was letting on.
There was a sound, and Laurel looked toward the door.
“Are we waiting for someone?” Tatyana said.
Laurel hesitated and Tatyana grew apprehensive.
“You don’t think…” Tatyana gasped.
Laurel shook her head, getting up from her seat and reaching out to her.
“You don’t think I did something to Lance?”
“Of course we don’t, Tatyana.”
“I looked everywhere for him.”
“I know you did.”
“I risked my life,” Tatyana said
“Tatyana, calm down. We know that. We know what you did. We know everything.”
“Then you know I can never go back to my country.”
Laurel looked at her watch.
“Who are you waiting for?” Tatyana said. Then her voice dropped, and she said very clearly, “Laurel, if someone’s coming here to kill me, have the decency to tell me.”
“Tatyana,” Laurel gasped. “We’re not trying to kill you. We’re trying to recruit you.”
Tatyana took a breath. She had to calm down before she made a fool of herself.
“Roth wants me in?” she said.
“It doesn’t matter what Roth wants,” Laurel said.
“What does that mean?”
“I’m the one recruiting you.”
“What are you saying, Laurel?”
“I’m the new director. The Special Operations Group. Roth gave it to me.”
“To you?”
“What’s so strange about that?”
Tatyana shrugged, and a sly smile stretched across her face.
“What?” Laurel said.
“You know what they say,” she said. “Hell hath no fury.”
Laurel smiled. “I can’t imagine what Roth could have said to get them to give a team of assassins over to a woman.”
“I’d have thought they’d rather see it in the hands of the Russians,” Tatyana said.
Laurel nodded. “Me too.”
Tatyana took a breath. “Did you find Spector?” she said.
She knew she was on shaky ground. Roth might already know she and Lance had been together in Moscow, and even if he didn’t, keeping a secret was an even bigger cause of death than bullets in their line of work.
She would have preferred to come clean to Laurel, but she’d given Lance her word. Also, she’d sent Larissa to him. Whatever he was up to, she needed him to keep doing
it. If Larissa didn’t make it out, she’d never be able to forgive herself.
She also knew that Lance was done with the CIA. He’d said if he never saw Levi Roth again as long as he lived, it would be too soon.
Tatyana had said he’d reconsider, but Lance was adamant he’d made up his mind for good. When he got back to the States, the only thing he wanted was to go back to his home in Montana. He’d found peace there. And, he’d said, he had someone waiting for him there.
“We’re still looking for him,” Laurel said. “But between the two of us, I have a suspicion Roth knows more than he’s letting on.”
“And you’re working out of here now?”
Laurel nodded.
“Not Langley?”
“The Group was burned pretty bad.”
“I know it was.”
“All assets but Lance are dead.”
“And you think there was a leak from Langley?”
“I don’t know,” Laurel said, “but one thing is clear. Roth doesn’t want the same mistakes being made a second time. This time, everything is off the grid. We work out of this house. We sleep in this house. We give up all personal and social connections. We go deep. We have no connection to Langley, we’re outside the CIA’s chain of command, and the only person we answer to is Roth.”
“I see,” Tatyana said.
“It’s daunting, I know.”
“It’s not daunting,” Tatyana said. “My life is already off the grid. Now that I’m a defector, I’ll be looking over my shoulder until the day I die.”
“You might as well do it from the inside then,” Laurel said.
Tatyana took a sip of her wine.
“Does that mean you’re in?” Laurel said, unable to hide her excitement.
“I won’t come cheap,” Tatyana said.
“I didn’t think you would.”
“I may cost more than you had in mind.”
“Name your price.”
“Not now,” Tatyana said. “When the time comes, I’ll name my price. And it will be nonnegotiable.”
23
When Sergey got back to the Lubyanka, he was in a foul mood. His pants were ruined, the leather on the backseat of his car was stained, and as he was driving home to change outfits, the boss called.
