by Saul Herzog
He drove around the block, back onto Chesapeake, and passed Lizzie and the friend a second time. The sidewalk on Lizzie’s street was lined with pruned cedars, giving some cover from onlookers. When he got back onto her street, he parked at a spot where they were particularly thick.
He got out of the car and looked up and down the street. He checked every house, every window. He didn’t see anyone.
There was no one in any of the yards.
There were no cars other than those crossing the intersection at Chesapeake every minute or two.
It looked good.
No security detail, no onlookers, no traffic.
He walked to the back of the car and opened the trunk. Inside was a plastic case. He took it out carefully and brought it back into the car. He set it up on the passenger seat and opened the clasps.
Inside the case was a bottle containing distilled water. There were also two glass vials and a pair of surgical gloves. He put on the gloves and opened the bottle of water. Then, very carefully, he took the two vials from the case and stuck a syringe through the lids. He extracted their contents and added them to the bottle of distilled water.
One of the vials contained carfentanil, and the other remifentanil, both of which were derivatives of fentanyl. They were extremely potent, completely untraceable, and could be purchased in every city in America.
When he was satisfied that the substances had mixed, he took the lid off the bottle and replaced it with a store-bought, plastic, spray-pump.
Then he watched the sidewalk in his rearview mirror and waited.
It was a few minutes before Lizzie finally rounded the corner. The friend was still with her.
That was not good.
With Lizzie, there was a plan. With this other girl, he didn’t know how long it would be until she was noticed missing.
He couldn’t take her.
If the secret service heard that the classmate of the daughter of the NSA director was missing, they’d be all over it.
That meant he couldn’t take Lizzie either.
He sat still and let them walk past his car. He watched them enter the house and checked his watch.
He didn’t know how much time he had before the mother returned, and he considered calling Kirov. He held off, hoping the friend would leave before Sandra got back. He sat another thirty minutes, but the two girls remained in the house.
When an hour passed, he finally dialed Kirov’s number.
“Do you have her?” Kirov said.
“No. She brought home a friend.”
“What friend?”
“I don’t know. A girl from school.”
“Where are they?”
“In the house.”
Kirov was quiet for a minute. Then he said, “You have to abort.”
“I could take them both,” Sergey said.
“No,” Kirov said.
Sergey said nothing. He lit a cigarette. He was fucked.
“Do you hear me, Sergey? Do not make a move. I’ll get further instructions from Moscow.”
“You’ll tell them I failed.”
“I’ll say the plan was flawed.”
“I’m going to wait,” Sergey said. “Maybe the friend will leave.”
“What time is it?” Kirov said.
Sergey looked at his watch. “Almost five.”
“The mother will be home soon.”
“I know,” Sergey said.
He hung up the phone and remained in his seat, watching the house. About an hour later, three black Cadillac Escalades pulled up to the gate. They waited for the gate to open, then entered the driveway in a procession.
Sandra Shrader got out of one of the vehicles, and her driver escorted her to the door. They exchanged a few words, and then he went back to the car.
She entered the house alone.
The three Escalades stayed about fifteen minutes before two of them came back down the driveway and left.
Sergey stayed where he was, watching everything. Sandra’s driver was the only secret service presence at the house. He sat in the Escalade for about forty-five minutes, until Lizzie and her friend came to the front door.
Sandra came out and spoke to him. Then the friend got in the car. It reversed down the driveway, the gate opened, and it drove off.
Sergey wasted no time.
He got out of the car and walked up to the pedestrian gate the girls had used. It was open.
He walked through it and up the path to the front door.
He rang the doorbell and took a step back.
He saw Sandra’s outline approach through the frosted glass and looked down at his watch nonchalantly. She was looking at him through the peephole. He sighed and turned around, taking a few steps away from the door as if giving up.
The door opened, and Sandra said, “Can I help you?”
Sergey turned immediately and charged right at her, knocking her flat on her back inside the hallway. He sprayed her in the face with the spray bottle, then kicked the front door shut behind him.
He put his massive hand over her mouth, keeping her quiet as she lost consciousness.
“Who was it, mom?” a voice said from upstairs.
Sergey crept up the stairs and could see by the lights which room the girl was in. He strode into the room, and as she turned to look, he sprayed her with the bottle and watched her collapse.
When she was out, he took a roll of tape from his coat and wrapped it around her wrists and mouth.
He carried her down the stairs and looked outside. The Cadillac hadn’t returned, and, stepping over the mother’s unconscious body, he brought the girl down the path to the gate.
He put her on the ground in the shrubs, went to his car, and pulled it up to the gate. Then he laid the girl on the backseat and covered her with a blanket.
He looked up the street. Still no sign of the Cadillac, but he knew he was cutting it close. If he left Sandra the way she was, she would die of an overdose. He had to go back and revive her.
He went back to the house and checked her pulse. It was very faint. He rolled her on her side and pulled a naloxone device from his jacket. He tore off the packaging and placed the tip in her nostril. He pressed the pump, and it administered a dose of the nasal spray.
Instantly, Sandra gasped for air as if she’d just been brought back from the dead.
He sat over her and watched her come to. She was disoriented, and when her eyes focused and she saw him, she panicked.
“Who are you?” she cried.
Sergey was sitting on his haunches, looking down at her, and as her maternal instinct kicked in, she realized immediately that this was about her daughter.
“Where’s Lizzie?” she said, tears filling her eyes.
“Listen to me very carefully,” Sergey said in his broken English. “If you ever want to see her alive again, you say nothing to no one. Your guard will be back soon. You tell him nothing. If anyone finds out we have your daughter, if the government finds out, we kill her.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Someone will be in touch with further instructions. Do what you’re told and you will get your daughter back. If anyone finds out we have her, she loses all her value.”
“Loses her value?”
Sergey stood up and walked out of the front door. He went back to his car and checked on the girl. She needed naloxone too, but just as he was about to give it to her, he saw a car turn the corner off Chesapeake Avenue.
He got into the driver’s seat, turned on the ignition, and pulled out onto the street. At the same time, the Cadillac passed right by him and stopped outside the gate.
As he drove off, Sergey prayed the woman had the wherewithal to follow his instructions.
He drove a few blocks, pulled over at a dark spot, and gave the girl the naloxone. As consciousness returned to her, her eyes grew wide with terror. She didn’t know where she was or what was happening, but couldn’t scream because of the tape around her mouth.
>
He grabbed her and wrapped more tape around her ankles and wrists. He made a blindfold by covering her eyes with it. She kicked and struggled but was soon reduced to passive whimpers.
He got on the highway toward Baltimore and dialed Kirov’s number.
“What is it?” Kirov said.
“I have the girl.”
31
The cab pulled up outside a hotel on the Garden Ring, directly across the street from the American embassy, and Lance and Larissa stepped out.
He put his arm around her as if they were a couple. A pretty Russian with an American wouldn’t arouse the slightest suspicion in this neighborhood.
They made sure to get a room on the top floor overlooking the embassy and said they didn’t know how long they were staying. They declined assistance with their bags and went to the elevator.
“We have to be ready to leave this place at a moment’s notice,” Lance said in the elevator.
Larissa nodded.
“We’re hiding in plain sight here. The slightest mistake, and we’ll be found.”
They made their way to the room, and only when they got inside did they realize how small it was.
“Don’t worry,” Lance said. “I won’t make you share the bed.”
Larissa looked like she was going to say something but stopped herself.
Lance went to the window and looked out at the embassy. It was formidable, designed to be one of the most secure places on earth. Getting in and out should have been next to impossible. High walls surrounded the entire compound, and the world’s most advanced security systems monitored every movement. Lance knew from classified files that there were underground sensors to protect against tunneling, surface-to-air missile silos to protect against aircraft, military-grade signal blockers to prevent surveillance, and full-spectrum sensors that could detect motion, temperature distortions, and sound with the sensitivity of scientific laboratory equipment.
The problem wasn’t in the design of the compound, it wasn’t even with the outfitting of the security systems, it was the fact someone in Washington had given the job of monitoring those systems to a Russian.
They should all be tried for treason, he thought.
The Moscow Embassy was more than just another government building. It had stood in the very center of Moscow through the entirety of the Cold War, during all those years when the specter of nuclear holocaust hung over the world like a low fog.
It was a symbol of America’s commitment during that conflict, and it was an insult to the memory of every serviceman who died in the Cold War that its security was being compromised now.
An attack on it was an attack on America’s Cold War victory. It would challenge the very notion of America as the world’s sole superpower.
Larissa was sitting on the bed watching him, and he said, “Do you want anything? Coffee?”
“I wouldn’t mind a drink.”
He went to the minibar. It had a selection of liquors in miniature bottles, some wine, a few bottled beers.
“What would you like?”
“How about wine?”
He took out the red and looked for a corkscrew. It was next to the TV. He opened the bottle and poured two glasses.
“Thank you,” she said, taking a sip.
She was wound up. He felt like he should reassure her.
He sat on the chair next to the bed and took a sip from his glass. He looked at her. It was the first time he’d had a chance to really look. Her eyes, her mouth, the shape of the lips. He saw Tatyana in every feature.
“What?” Larissa said, looking back at him.
“I was just…”.
“Staring.”
He smiled. “Tell me again what you heard the Chinese man say.”
She took another sip of the wine. “Well,” she said, “he told me where he was from.”
“Beijing.”
“That’s right.”
“What else?”
“He said he’d been in the Lubyanka.”
“Speaking to someone.”
“Someone he called a real-life polar bear, with skin so pale he looked ill.”
“And what did he say about the embassy?”
“He said there was going to be an attack. He said it would change the world. Make the world realize that the American age had come to an end. Something like that.”
“Did he say when?”
She shook her head.
“Did he specifically say it was the Moscow embassy?”
She thought a moment. “I don’t remember. Maybe he just said embassy and I assumed.”
“All right.”
“Could it be another embassy?”
Lance shrugged. “Moscow is a fair assumption.”
She nodded. “He said something about throwing dirt in both eyes.”
“Both eyes?”
“Like in a fight. Throwing dirt to blind the enemy.”
“I see,” Lance said.
“His Russian wasn’t that good,” she said. “He was very drunk. He could have been talking about anything at that point. Maybe it was all in my mind.”
“I’m sure you heard what you thought you heard.”
She shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe he was crazy.”
Lance nodded. “But you went to Tatyana immediately?”
“As soon as I could.”
“And what did she say?”
“She said to go to you.”
Lance leaned back and took another drink. He prayed Larissa was right in what she’d heard. Otherwise, he was about to create a whole lot of trouble for nothing.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier,” he said.
“What did I say?”
“That it’s not fair to treat the embassy as bait. That we have to warn them.”
“So you’re going to do that?”
“I’m going to try.”
“You don’t look happy about it.”
“Right now, I don’t know if I’m someone they’ll even listen to.”
“They won’t believe you?”
“They won’t believe me. They won’t know who I am.”
“And you won’t tell them?”
“I guess it doesn’t matter,” he said. “Bottom line is, if they receive word of a threat, they’ll have to step up security.”
“Will that be enough?”
He shrugged. “It will make whoever’s plotting the attack adjust their plans.”
“They’ll postpone?”
“Postpone. Change targets. It’s no way to catch them, which is why I don’t like it.”
“But you don’t have a choice?”
He shook his head. “I don’t think we do.”
Larissa stood up and looked out the window. Then she turned to him. “Lance,” she said.
“Yes.”
“You said you’re a fugitive.”
“I might be a fugitive,” he said. “That depends on Roth.”
“What if you don’t come back out?”
“I’ll come back out.”
“If you’re a fugitive, a criminal, and you go in there talking about a bomb, lying about who you are, telling them all these things. What if they just arrest you?
“I’ll come back out, Larissa.”
She didn’t look convinced.
She stepped toward him and leaned forward. For an instant, he thought she was going to kiss him, but then she picked up the bottle of wine by his side.
“If you don’t come back out,” she said, “I’m as good as dead.”
He nodded. He hadn’t thought about it from that angle. He’d thought she was worried about him.
She filled her glass.
“I should go,” he said.
“All right,” she said, turning to the window.
He got up and went to the door. As he opened it, he turned back. “If anything were to happen to me,” he said.
“You just said nothing would.”
“Larissa,” he said, “if anyt
hing does, if I don’t come back, for whatever reason, you have to get out of Russia.”
“And how do I do that without you?”
“You keep a low profile. Leave by train. No airports. Don’t run. Don’t panic. Go west. Get to Germany. Get to the American embassy in Berlin. Once you get there, tell them you need to speak to Levi Roth at the Central Intelligence Agency. Tell him I sent you.”
32
Lance flashed his credentials and entered the embassy compound. Roth was meticulous in providing all documents that might be of use in a mission. He said the papers were more important than the weapons in most missions. Lance wasn’t sure he agreed with that, but this wasn’t the first time he was glad to have them.
The embassy compound was quiet. It was getting late, and most staff had already left.
The Diplomatic Security Service was located in the new building across the courtyard, and Lance made his way to it.
The building was impressive, like the offices of a tech company, and a wall of glass stretched four stories above him at an oblique angle.
Inside was an additional security check, complete with x-ray scanners and a metal detector, and Lance was relieved to see that this job at least was still in the hands of the marines. The Marine Embassy Guard, as far as Lance was concerned, was the only proper security force for an embassy as important as Moscow. A long-standing memorandum between the State Department and the Marine Corps said the same thing.
“Evening,” one of the marines said to Lance, motioning for him to step forward.
“You guys still performing building security?” Lance said as he entered the scanner.
“That’s correct,” the marine said.
“But they gave perimeter security to a private contractor?”
“A Russian company, that’s correct, sir.”
“What do you fellas think about that?” Lance said.
The marine looked at his supervisor.
“We’re not paid to think,” the supervisor said.
Lance nodded. He walked past them to the elevators and swiped a magnetic card. The keycard was CIA property, issued by the Special Operations Group, and its use was monitored closely by a branch of the agency that liaised closely with the NSA. Using it was like sending up a flare, telling everyone in Washington exactly where he was, but he had no choice.
