Red Square - An Action Thriller Novel (A Noah Wolf Novel, Thriller, Action, Mystery Book 9)

by David Archer

  She had met Colson only a few times, starting with a case where he was trying to find an information broker named Jeremy Pendergrast. She had helped him locate and abduct the man, which had then taken him to Russia, where he rescued the daughter of the president of Mauritania from some Russian agents who were holding her in order to pressure her father into a political alliance he did not want.

  The second time was when he was sent into London to impersonate an international assassin known only as Adrian. Adrian was scheduled to take a job for a quasi-terrorist organization, and Colson was supposed to identify and eliminate them. He succeeded in that mission, but then he learned that Adrian was planning to assassinate Prince Charles, and turned his efforts to stopping that from happening.

  The very last time she had spoken to Colson had been on the telephone, just after Adrian had killed her entire team and left her bleeding in the street. She had begged him to find Adrian and kill him, and then passed out. When she awoke a day later, she learned that a passing drug addict had picked up her phone and that Colson had convinced the man to call 999. If he had not, she probably would have bled out on the spot.

  She owed him her life, and her country owed him even more.

  Peterson returned a few minutes later, a smile on his face. “Miss Kerensky is awake,” he said, “and would be pleased to receive you. The hospital is only a few minutes away. Shall we go now?”

  “God, yes,” Catherine said. She grabbed her bag and was up out of the chair like a shot, then followed Peterson out of the embassy.

  Peterson snapped his fingers at Alexei and the chauffeur jumped to attention. He opened the back door of the limousine and waited as the two of them entered, then closed the door and got behind the wheel.

  “European Medical Centre,” he said to the chauffeur, and the man put the car in gear. He turned to Catherine. “Don’t let the name fool you,” he said. “The European Medical Centre is a typical Russian hospital. Actually, I should not say that, it’s truly a bit better than most. Miss Kerensky was probably fortunate to be taken there.”

  As Peterson had predicted, the ride seemed to take only a few minutes. Alexei pulled up in front of the main entrance and let them out, then went to park the car while they hurried inside. Peterson spoke to the information desk in Russian, and a moment later a young woman approached to lead them to Anya’s room.

  As the Queen’s Royal Ambassador, diplomacy required that Catherine could go where other foreign diplomats could not. Peterson was told he had to wait outside while Catherine went in to speak with Anya, but he didn’t seem terribly surprised. Of course, despite the fact that he was listed as an assistant agricultural attaché, it was almost certain that the Russian intelligence services would be aware that he was actually in the intelligence business, himself. It stood to reason they wouldn’t want him in a position to question someone who might have damning information.

  Catherine smiled at him. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I can manage.” She entered the room and immediately froze.

  The woman in the hospital bed looked like some sort of industrial plumbing experiment. There were pipes and hoses all around her, many of them going directly into parts of her body. A nurse standing beside the bed looked up at Catherine and smiled. “You are from the Queen?”

  Catherine tore her eyes away from Anya and looked at the nurse, relieved that the woman seemed to speak English. “I am,” she said. “Goodness, she looks to be in very serious condition.”

  “I'm Irina,” said the nurse. “Miss Kerensky was very fortunate. Most of her injuries are not terribly serious, though she'll be in some pain for a time. This equipment is mostly just to help her be more comfortable.”

  “I see,” Catherine said. “I was told she was awake.”

  “I'm awake,” Anya said. Catherine looked at her and saw that one eye was open and watching her face. “They told me you are from the Queen of England?”

  Catherine smiled brightly. “I am,” she said. “Her Majesty heard about your accident and asked me to come and extend her wishes for your speedy recovery.”

  “Really?” Anya asked. She turned to the nurse. “Irina, could you leave us for a few minutes?”

  The nurse glanced at Catherine for a second, almost looking nervous, but then smiled at Anya and nodded. She walked out of the room and closed the door behind her, and Anya turned back to her visitor.

  “Either you are lying,” she said, “or you are seeking information. Which could it be?”

  Catherine smiled and stepped up close to the bed. “You are quite perceptive,” she said. “In fact, I’ve been told that you and the gentleman who did not survive were in possession of a photograph of one of the alleged Russian sleepers, a photograph that was taken some time ago. I’m hoping you’ll tell me more about this photograph, and that you still have it.”

  Anya stared at her for a moment. “What is your interest?”

  “Her Majesty sent me here because she has reason to believe that one of the men is someone to whom our country owes a great debt. Based on certain knowledge of my own, I suspect it may be the very man in your photo.”

  “Which would mean that he is almost certainly not a sleeper agent,” Anya said, “but in fact an American spy. Would that not be the case?”

  Catherine only looked at her for a moment, then pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat down. It put her almost eye to eye with the young woman. “The man I’m speaking of was, as far as I know, an American. He came to Great Britain with the intent of putting a stop to a certain terrorist group, and he did do so. In the course of that effort, however, he learned that there was an assassin who was planning to kill one of the royal family. On his own initiative, because we were unable to find or stop this assassin, he did so, at great personal sacrifice. If it is the same man, I do not know why he is in your country. The only thing I can tell you is that he does nothing without being certain that it needs to be done. He operates not on the code of any government, but on a code of his own.”

  Anya looked deeply into her eyes for several seconds. “I do not have the photograph,” she said. “According to the police who were present when I was taken from the wreckage, there was no photograph to be found. This tells me that one of them secured the photograph, and that I'm not supposed to have it. It tells me also that the photograph is what cost the life of my superior, Captain Fedorov.”

  “Why you believe that to be the case?” Catherine asked her.

  “Captain Fedorov had been in charge of the interrogation of these prisoners until this morning. Shortly after the news began running the story that they were Russian deep cloak agents, he was removed and replaced by an SVR officer, Colonel Leschinsky. I had been helping him with some of the research, and one of the men in the photographs looked familiar to me. Some time ago, I was assigned to Sheremetyevo Airport on a security detail, and I was on duty when an alleged American agent passed through the airport. When it was learned that several men had been killed in Kubinka, one of them the son of a ranking SVR officer, and that the description of the killer fit this particular man, his photograph was widely circulated. He had already escaped the country by then, but we did not know that at the time.” She carefully reached to pick up a glass of water with a straw and took a sip, then put it back. “I have a very good memory for faces. When I saw the photos of the prisoners, one of them looked like that man, so I went back and found the file from that time. I put the photos side-by-side on a computer and compared them. There's no doubt in my mind that it was the same man.”

  “And you showed this to your superior?”

  “Yes. He agreed with me, and said that we had to show it to Colonel Leschinsky. We drove out to Lefortovo prison and met with the Colonel, but he insisted that it was not the same man. He told us to go back to our offices and forget it, but then he sent someone to follow us. Both the captain and I were concerned, because Leschinsky refused to look at the evidence, but then we were struck by a freight truck. Captain Fedorov is dead, and
I've no doubt that my life depends on forgetting that photograph completely.”

  Catherine sat there and looked at her for almost a minute, nibbling gently on her own bottom lip as she did so. “Miss Kerensky, have you any idea why the SVR would want to keep this information from coming to light?”

  Anya hesitated, but only for a couple of seconds. “Colonel Leschinsky said that he had been ordered to move the prisoners because the Kremlin is concerned for their safety. As of now, no photographs of any of the prisoners have been released to the public. If it were possible to prove that one of those prisoners truly was an American agent who had been to Russia before to commit an assassination, the people would demand that they be publicly executed, as was originally intended. If the press ever gets to photograph them, then the photos that were taken at Sheremetyevo more than a year ago would make that clearly evident. My concern is that the SVR does not want those photos to come to light until they're ready.”

  Catherine’s eyebrows lowered. “Until they're ready?”

  Anya nodded slowly. “Until they can be certain that the photographs will not show that one of those agents had previously been to Russia. I've been thinking about this since I was brought to the hospital. The only reason I can imagine that they would not want that truth to come out is because they plan to replace the prisoners with agents of their own. The prisoners are being moved somewhere, may have already been moved. I would imagine that the SVR plans to interrogate them unobserved for a few days, and then replace them with Russian agents. The prisoners themselves will be put to death quietly, their remains destroyed or disposed of. A new narrative will begin, in which the president will almost certainly claim that the sleeper agents were activated by his opponents, his enemies in our government. Their purpose, he will claim, was to force his hand in a return to open hostilities between Russia and the United States.”

  “And what purpose would that serve?” Catherine asked. “There's already talk of the UN imposing sanctions against Russia; wouldn’t that only guarantee them?”

  “Not if the president and the prime minister were unaware of the plan,” Anya said. “In that case, the State Duma would have no choice but to rule that they would have clear justification to remove opposition members from the government, including from both the upper and lower house. This would effectively make Russia a dictatorship, with the prime minister in absolute control of the government until such time as new councilors and ministers could be elected. That would take at least a year, and would mean that the prime minister would have plenty of time to affect massive changes in our constitutional law. If this is done slowly enough and cleverly enough, the people of Russia will welcome the changes, they will not realize soon enough that they're simply being returned to the shackles and chains of communism.”

  Catherine stared at her. “And it wouldn’t be long,” she said softly, “before there would be a new Russian Empire, starting with the former members of the USSR but probably spreading even further. Am I correct?”

  “Without any doubt,” Anya said. “It will all happen if they manage to replace those prisoners with their own agents. I would even dare to guess that the new agents will testify before the State Duma and identify those opposition members whom they claim gave them their orders. If they do this, they will be hailed as heroes of the Russian Federation.”

  “Is there any way to prevent this from succeeding?”

  Anya closed her eyes for a moment, then snapped them open and looked into Catherine’s own. “The only way I could imagine is if photographs of the current prisoners can be found and exposed. That would warp the plan, since it would then be impossible to substitute other agents. The only problem with that is that it may already be too late.”

  Catherine nodded. “Why are you telling me all this? If anyone in your government learns that you've figured this out, you run the risk of being killed.”

  Anya gave her a sad smile. “Because you might be one of the few people who will believe me. Please understand, messenger of the Queen, that I do not wish to live in the Russia that we would become. If this plan is allowed to succeed, I would prefer to die.”

  “And I would prefer to see you live,” Catherine said. “I will do what I can to prevent this from happening, but it will mean sharing this information not only with our own intelligence service, but with our allies. The only thing I can promise you is that I will not use your name. Let us hope that no one connects the information to me, or to my visit with you.” She got to her feet and gently patted Anya on the shoulder. “I do wish you well, and I can assure you that I speak for the Queen, as well as for myself. Perhaps one day we can talk again. I think I would like that very much.”

  Anya smiled up at her. “As would I,” she said.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Prime Minister Viktor Petrov pressed the intercom button on his phone. “Boris,” he said. “Come to my office, please.”

  Boris Petroski felt his hands go clammy and sweat broke out on his upper lip. Petrov rarely called him over the intercom; he usually stepped out of his office and simply called out to him. Boris pressed his own intercom button and said he would be right there, then got slowly to his feet and walked down the hallway. It occurred to him that anyone watching might think he was walking like a condemned man on the way to the gallows.

  He reached the prime minister’s office and stopped just outside the door to compose himself. He quickly ran his hands over his face, wiping off the obvious traces of sweat, then opened the door and stepped inside.

  “You wanted to see me, Prime Minister?” Boris said.

  “Yes,” Petrov replied. “Boris, we have intelligence agents from all over the world coming into Moscow. It’s necessary for us to sequester those individuals who seem to have been involved in the assassination of Minister Kalashnikov, but I'm concerned that our plans have already been leaked. I was going to put them in a safe house near Novinki, but Colonel Leschinsky has expressed some concern about it. It has been used quite often of late, he says, and suggested that we find a more remote location, somewhere that has not been used for housing prisoners like this before. I recalled that your family has an estate near Stolbovaya. Would it be available? There would be compensation, of course, but I need to know that no one besides you would be aware of our purpose in using it.”

  Boris felt a flood of relief so great that he had to clamp his sphincter shut to avoid pissing himself. He drew himself up proudly and smiled. “Prime Minister, it would be an honor to provide the estate. Only the staff are there at this time, to keep the house fresh. My family will not even know that it is being used.”

  “And your staff? Can they be trusted?”

  “They are only three, Prime Minister. The butler and housekeeper are man and wife, and the gardener is their son. I can inform them that they must be discreet, or I can send them away for a time, whichever you desire.”

  “They can stay,” Petrov said. “I'm going to send you along with the prisoners and their guards. You can explain to the staff that they will not be allowed any contact with the outside during this time. There should be no telephone or Internet that they can reach, and none of them will be allowed to leave the grounds for as long as the prisoners must be housed there. It shouldn’t be more than a week or two, but it is possible that resolving these issues will take longer.”

  “Yes, Prime Minister,” Boris said. “When will we be going?”

  Petrov leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. “I've just ordered Leschinsky to prepare the prisoners for transport immediately. I want you to go directly to Lefortovo and ride with them. You do have your travel bag in your office, do you not?”

  There were occasional times when Boris was needed to travel on short notice with the prime minister, so he had developed the habit of keeping a packed bag in his office at all times. “I do,” he said. “May I have permission to let my wife know that I will not be coming home tonight?”

  The prime minister smiled. “Of course. Give her m
y best, but do not tell her where you are going or the reason for the journey.”

  Boris was dismissed and went back to his office. He quickly called his wife and told her that he was being called away on diplomatic business and did not know when he would be home. She expressed concern, but he assured her that he was in no danger and would be home as soon as he could.

  When he got off the phone, he picked up his bag and stepped out of his inner office. His secretary, Vasily, looked up at him, saw him carrying the bag, and raised his eyebrows. “Are you going somewhere, sir?”

  “It’s these prisoners,” Boris said. “The president wants them taken out of Lefortovo to somewhere safe, so he has conscripted my family’s country estate. I’ve been ordered to go along to make sure the staff does not give them any problems.”

  Vasily nodded. “Yes, sir. Will you be returning in the morning?”

  “Probably not. I’m not sure when I will be back, so cancel my appointments until further notice. With any luck, I won’t be gone more than a few days. The president is simply concerned that, with all this attention, someone may try to do harm to the prisoners. We can’t afford to let anything happen to them until these allegations are all sorted out.”

  “Yes, sir, I understand. Please let me know if I can do anything to assist.”

  Boris smiled and thanked him, then walked directly out to his car. He was still relieved that the prime minister had not asked about his earlier visit to Lefortovo, but it was highly unlikely that he knew anything about it. Petrov was very transparent and had a tendency to speak exactly what he was thinking. If he had any question about why Boris might have gone to the prison, he would have simply asked.

  The late afternoon traffic was worse than it had been earlier, so it was just after six when he arrived at Lefortovo prison. He was greeted inside the front entrance by an SVR officer who escorted him directly to the rear exit, where two large vans stood waiting at the gate. Colonel Leschinsky was standing beside one of them and broke into a smile when he saw Boris.