by Saul Herzog
“But we can continue to hunt for this guy?” Tatyana said.
“Continue hunting, ladies,” Roth said. “And get the information about the convoy movements to Lance. Under the radar.”
Roth left them, and the two women sat and looked at each other.
“We need to find something for Lance to work with fast,” Laurel said.
“There might be something here,” Tatyana said, squinting at her screen. “If I could just get these optics in a little closer.”
“What have you got?”
“It might be nothing, but I’ve cross-checked it with all the known convoy movements, and I think I’ve got a correlation.”
“What correlation?” Laurel said, leaning over her shoulder.
“You see that woman?”
“Pretty,” Laurel said.
“The red scarf,” Tatyana said. “School children used to wear them in the Soviet era.”
Laurel nodded. She’d studied Soviet customs in detail and knew all about the Young Pioneers.
“I don’t think I’d have noticed her but for the scarf.”
“What are you saying?” Laurel said.
“I’ve worked for these men,” Tatyana said. “I know the control some of them can exert over the women beneath them.”
“And you think this woman works for the albino?”
“She’s definitely connected. She comes and goes at the same time as the convoy. I ran her through the facial recognition system, and apart from a short stint at secretary’s college, her record has been purged. She never worked for the FSB.”
“So maybe she’s his secretary?” Laurel said.
“Something like that,” Tatyana said.
“Something?” Laurel said.
“No woman would dress like that by choice,” Tatyana said. “It’s an outfit selected by a man.”
“A boss?” Laurel said.
“A powerful, lecherous son of a bitch,” Tatyana said. “Believe me when I say I know what I’m talking about.”
76
The moment Lance left the room, Larissa began packing the few things she had. She had fresh clothes, and Lance had left an envelope of cash by the bed. She put the money in her purse, where she still had the pistol he’d given her, and slipped out of the room.
She didn’t forget for a second that she was a wanted fugitive, but if Lance’s only plan was to send her off on a train and wait for a CIA operative to come get her, she preferred to make her own way.
She needed to get her head straight.
She needed time to think.
Her mind was in turmoil, and every time she shut her eyes, the image of the soldier she’d shot came flooding back to her.
Her heart pounded as she got into the elevator.
“Your husband went that way,” the concierge told her as she crossed the lobby.
“Thank you,” she said, taking the opposite direction.
She knew the area she was in well, and by instinct, found herself walking in the direction of the club where she worked. It was something familiar. Something that belonged to her. She didn’t stop to think of the forces at work tracking her down.
When she first rounded the corner onto the street the club was on, she could almost imagine her previous life.
Life before she’d killed anyone.
As she got closer, she realized something wasn’t right. Someone should have been opening up already, putting out the awnings, turning on the signs, but no one was there.
She should have turned around, but something made her keep walking.
The club was quiet. There were no lights on, or music from the bar.
As she got closer, she realized the front door wasn’t closed properly. It had always been troublesome. Unless you knew what you were doing, the latch wouldn’t catch when you shut it.
She should have turned and run.
But something made her put her hand on the door and pull it open. She stood there, looking into the dark corridor, listening.
There was nothing. Just an eerie silence.
She reached into her coat and pulled out the gun.
Then she slowly made her way inside. She didn’t dare turn on the lights for fear of alerting someone. The only light came from the door, and she pulled out her cigarette lighter to use as a torch.
She took a few steps, then froze.
There was something on the ground in front of her. It was like a black disk on the linoleum tile, and as she got closer, she realized it was a pool of blood flowing from the office.
She fought the urge to turn around.
She walked to the door of the office and saw that the blood was coming from a body. On the ground in the center of the room, facing upward, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, was her fat, tattooed, stubble-faced boss.
Between his eyes was a single bullet wound.
On one of his hands, three fingernails had been removed. The fleshy remains of them were on the floor next to the body.
He’d been interrogated.
They were searching for her.
In her shock, she dropped her lighter. The room plunged into darkness. She bent down, searching for it and her hands reached straight into the sticky mess of blood.
She wanted to gag, but just as she found the lighter, the sound of breaking glass came from the back of the building.
Someone was still there.
She stepped over the corpse, revulsion crawling over her skin, and hid behind his desk. Footsteps were coming her way.
Then voices. Two men.
“Let’s get out of here before people start showing up,” one of them said.
Larissa held her breath as they passed the office.
They left, but she remained where she was for a long time, too scared to move. Eventually, she crept out from behind the desk. She gave her boss a final look as she stepped over him.
At the door, she checked carefully that no one was still there before leaving.
She got onto the street and hurried along the sidewalk to a small shopping plaza. Inside, she found the washrooms. She locked herself in a stall and began to hyperventilate. It took her a few minutes to calm down.
As she was leaving, she saw some payphones by the food court. In her pocket, she still had the matchbook Tatyana had given her. She pulled it out and looked at it.
What if she’d never found it?
What if she’d never dialed the numbers on it?
She wouldn’t be in any of this mess.
She went up to a payphone and dialed the number, uncertain whether it would still connect. Tatyana had told her to get rid of the number, to never call it again.
But if she didn’t speak to someone soon, she was going to lose her mind.
The phone went through a number of sounds, like the clicks of an old internet dial-up system, before eventually returning a dial tone. She waited, holding her breath, and then miraculously, as if from a dream, Tatyana’s voice answered.
“Larissa,” she said, her voice full of concern, “this call will be traced. You need to hang up now.”
“I killed a man,” Larissa blurted.
“You did what you had to do,” Tatyana said. “Those men came after you.”
“I’m not like you,” Larissa said. “I don’t think I can do this.”
“All you need to do is get out of this alive.”
“Every time I shut my eyes, I see his face.”
“I know, Larissa. I know what that’s like.”
“Then how do you live with it?”
“Same way as anything else. One day at a time.”
Larissa nodded. She knew she was being foolish, weak, but she couldn’t help it.
“Lance wants to send me away,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“Put me on a train. Get the CIA to come pick me up.”
“Listen to me, Larissa,” Tatyana said. “You can’t let that happen.”
“He said it’s for my own safety.”
&nb
sp; “The only place you’re safe right now is with Lance Spector. No matter what happens, you stay by his side.”
“He doesn’t want me.”
“Then find a way to make him want you.”
“I don’t know…” Larissa said, grasping for words.
“You’re a resourceful girl, Larissa. Do not let him send you away. I’m speaking from experience.”
“What do you mean?”
“I had a chance once to stay with him, a chance to push the issue, so to speak, and I didn’t do it.”
“You mean you didn’t become lovers?”
“I let him slip through my fingers, Larissa, and horrible things happened later. Things that would not have happened if he’d been with me.”
“I’m not sure he wants me,” Larissa said.
“Then make him want you.”
Larissa shook her head. She knew men. She wasn’t afraid to use her body to get what she needed. But with Lance, she wasn’t sure she had what he was looking for. She wasn’t sure anyone did.
“Are you in love with him?” Larissa said.
“What?” Tatyana said. “What does that matter now?”
“Are you?”
There was the briefest pause, then Tatyana said, “Don’t ask me that, Larissa.”
Larissa was about to hang up when Tatyana stopped her.
“Wait,” she said with great urgency.
“What?”
“The albino. He has a secretary.”
77
When Larissa got back, Lance was packing.
She looked at him awkwardly, embarrassed, like a child who’d run away and come back.
She thought Lance would say something about it but what he said was, “We’ve got to get out of here.”
He kept packing. She wanted him to stop.
“Don’t you even want to know where I was?”
He looked up at her. “Where were you?”
“I went to the club I worked at.”
“Did anyone see you?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“I think so.”
“Were you followed?”
She shook her head. Lance went to the window and pulled back the curtain. “We don’t have time for this,” he said. “We need to leave.”
“My boss was dead on the floor,” Larissa said.
Lance nodded. “They know who you are now. They’re looking for you.”
He finished packing, and they left the room. In the corridor, he pushed the button for the elevator, and they waited for it in conspicuous silence.
“Aren’t you mad?” Larissa said.
“I don’t have time for games, Larissa.”
She nodded. “I see.”
They stepped into the elevator and watched the doors shut. Then Larissa said, “You were going to leave without me.”
He looked at her. “You were gone.”
“Maybe someone took me.”
“The concierge said you left.”
The doors opened, and she followed him across the lobby and out to the street. She felt like everything was unraveling, everything was out of control, and there was nothing she could do to bring it back to order.
On the street, Lance hailed a cab, and when they got in, he asked for the closest train station.
Larissa didn’t know what to do. She felt her heart pounding faster and faster, and the thought of him putting her on a train and abandoning her made her want to scream.
“I called Tatyana,” she said in a burst of confession.
“They’ll have traced the call,” Lance said.
She reached out for his hand and clutched it so tightly her nails bit into his skin.
“She said I should stay with you,” Larissa said.
“Did she?”
Larissa pulled his hand onto her leg. “She said to do whatever it took to stay with you.”
Lance looked at her. She could tell he was conflicted. He wanted her. She pulled his hand further up her thigh. She smiled meekly, nodded her head, encouraged him.
She felt the weight of his hand as if it was made of iron.
She leaned toward him.
“You can’t stay, Larissa,” he said. “It would be reckless to keep you here.”
“Tatyana said I’d be safer with you, no matter what you said.”
Lance shook his head.
“She said if she’d clung to you that first time you met, a lot of horrible things would not have happened to her.”
She pressed her thighs against his hand, trying to keep it there.
The cab stopped. They were at the Yaroslavskiy train station. Lance looked at her, then pulled his hand from her thighs.
“Change of plan,” he said to the driver. “Take us to Sokolniki.”
They got out at the park, and Lance took her to a cafe. They sat outside and ordered coffee. The sky was clear, and light from the sun splayed through the trees.
“Thank you,” Larissa said.
Lance acted like he hadn’t heard.
The waiter came with their coffee. He also brought small silver bowls of olives and candied nuts on a tray.
Larissa knew it was a sure sign the bill would be astronomical, even by Moscow standards.
“The man we’re hunting works out of the Lubyanka,” Lance said.
Larissa nodded. She sipped her coffee.
“The CIA has a dropbox outside the city. I have to get some things from it.”
“What kinds of things?”
“Weapons.”
78
Lance felt a vibration in his coat pocket.
It was the phone, a message from Laurel.
“Wait here,” he said to Larissa.
“Where are you going?” she said.
She was jumpy now, shaken up. He understood that. What he didn’t understand was why he’d allowed her to stay.
Was it temptation?
Was it that he thought she’d be useful?
He had no idea if he could keep her safe. Whatever was coming could quickly get out of hand.
One thing was clear. He couldn’t bring himself to put her on a train alone.
“I have to make a call.”
Larissa nodded.
“Don’t go anywhere,” Lance said.
She smiled.
“From here on, we stick together.”
She nodded again.
He went into the cafe and asked the waiter for the phone. Laurel’s message had been sent in the clear, no encryption, and the return number was an open line.
He dialed, and Laurel picked up immediately.
“What’s going on?” Lance said.
“I got something for you.”
“Tell me you found him.”
“Do you know where the Russian president spends most of his time in Moscow?”
“The country estate,” Lance said.
“Novo-Ogaryovo,” Laurel said. “Armored convoys have been exiting a tunnel close to the Lubyanka and going straight there. From what we’ve seen, it’s got to be your guy.”
“Where did the intel come from?”
“Roth got them from Nasa and NSA satellites.”
“Roth told me to stand down.”
“He had a feeling you weren’t going to obey his order.”
Lance nodded. “Son of a bitch,” he said.
“Novo-Ogaryovo won’t be easy to get into, Lance.”
“I’ll figure out a way.”
“Be careful,” Laurel said.
He hung up the phone and went back to Larissa. “We need to get moving,” he said.
She took a final sip of her coffee and left money on the table. Then they got into another cab.
It took them across the city to a decrepit looking, Soviet-era apartment complex. It consisted of eight, sixteen-story, concrete apartment blocks, all identical, and they towered so high their top floors disappeared into the mist hanging above them.
Lance handed some cash to Larissa and said, “Wait
here. If I’m not back in twenty minutes, tell the driver to take you to the train station and get out of Moscow. Do you hear me?”
“Are you expecting trouble?”
“Only if someone’s found the stash. They sit here for years. Sometimes they’re discovered, and then the GRU watches them, waits for someone like me to come along.”
She nodded.
Lance entered Block H and checked the elevator. It worked, thankfully, and he took it to the twelfth floor. The apartment he was looking for was 1214, and when he found the door, he walked past it. There was no one in the corridor, no sign of GRU surveillance, and the door appeared to be untampered with.
Lance had memorized the locations of hundreds of these dropboxes around the world, and accessing them was always a risk.
He walked up to the door, raised his foot, and brought it down hard on the side containing the bolt. The door was solid with an upgraded deadbolt, but a few solid kicks and the frame around the bolt began to split. By the time he’d broken in, several neighbors had come into the corridor to see what was causing the commotion.
Lance ignored them.
He entered the apartment and found the setup he expected. In the center of the room was a pile of weapons cases. In full view of the neighbors, he began opening them, one by one.
He was familiar with the equipment and made his way to the Czech CZ 75 semi-auto pistols with silencers and ammo. He also wanted the sizeable M82 sniper rifle with accompanying bipod, scope, and ammo. The ammo included silver-tipped armor-piercing incendiary rounds and .50 caliber BMG ammo.
There was also a plastic folder containing blank documents that could be used to forge passports, American or Russian, and he grabbed that too.
He placed the cases for the M82 and the pistols into canvas carrying bags and heaved them onto his shoulder.
There was other equipment that would have been useful, flashlights, rope, wire cutters, tools, C-4 plastic explosive wrapped in Mylar-film, but the bag already weighed over forty pounds.
From what he knew of the Novo-Ogaryovo compound, his best bet was a long-range sniper shot.
Behind him, some men had gathered by the door watching him.
Lance turned to them.
“Help yourselves, fellas,” he said in Russian. “What have the police ever done for you?”
