by L. Todd Wood
Hi, It’s Connor from the train. Can I meet you for a drink somewhere tonight? I need to find out about the town. You’re the only one I know. I’m staying at the town hotel.
A few minutes later she responded.
Sure, I’m free tonight. There is a bar in the lobby. I’ll meet you there in an hour.
Connor was waiting for her as she strolled into the somewhat empty bar about ten minutes late. The only people there were a couple of security guards having a few vodkas after the end of their shift, their AK-47s casually laid on the bar as they downed shot after shot.
“Thanks for meeting me,” Connor said as she approached his table.
“Sure, you didn’t tell me your name until your text. Hello Connor,” She said with a deadly sexy accent.
“Can I buy you something to eat? Drink?”
“I’ll just have tea, green.” Connor waved to the bartender and ordered the tea and a glass of wine for himself. “What do you want to know?” she asked.
“Who are the power brokers here in town?” asked Connor.
“That’s easy, my chief, Vasilovich. He runs the town. Nothing goes on here without him giving approval. That’s the right word in English right? Approval?”
“Yes, it’s the right word.” Connor thought a moment, then continued speaking. “I want to meet him. Can you arrange?”
“No one just meets Vasilovich. Why would he want to meet you? Just some terribly dressed American?”
“Is it that bad?” Connor asked. “Sorry, it’s been a rough week, believe me.”
“You need a stylist. You should hire me.”
“I’d love to. But some first things first. Can you arrange a meeting or not?”
“Yes, I can arrange. I’ll let you know tomorrow. I have a meeting with him in the morning to discuss the children.”
“That would be very helpful.” They made small talk for another fifteen minutes before she rose to leave.
“Thank you. I appreciate your assistance as I know you don’t have to. I will try and repay you some way if I can.”
“Just get some nice clothes. That will make me happy! I’ll talk to you tomorrow Connor,” she said teasingly and quickly left the bar.
As she left his phone buzzed. He looked at the screen.
We heard everything. You have one more week before you die. You had better work faster. We want to know about the weapon. Find this Anatoly and make him give you the information. Make him talk.
Connor had another glass of wine, went back to his room, and then passed out in the very comfortable bed after the long train ride.
“The weapons transfers are going as planned Mr. President,” said the aid as President Chahine sifted through the morning intelligence briefing in the Oval Office. “The S-300 systems bought last year are now fully operational in multiple nuclear sites throughout the Iranian Islamic Republic and beyond. Iran has now fully paid for these purchases. Next on the list is the additional acquisition of the longer-range S-400 components from Russia. Since the S-400 is a much more powerful and deadly system for Western fighter aircraft, the transfer is a little more sensitive. However, we do believe these weapons sales will go through as well. Russia desperately needs the foreign currency and Iran really wants the capability these sophisticated systems can give them. It’s a match made in heaven. Israel will have an almost impossible task now to destroy the Iranian nuclear effort. We don’t believe Israel has the capability alone to defeat Iran’s air defense net once the S-400 is in place. That is, without our help.” The aid stopped talking for a moment to allow the words to sink in. He thought he detected the hint of a smile on the president’s lips.
“Thank you William. That will be all for this morning.” The president closed the briefing folder. “Leave these with me. I’ll review further after a few phone calls.” The intelligence community aid smartly understood the president wanted to be alone and immediately exited the Oval Office through a side door. The president sat by himself and pondered the situation.
The noose is tightening, he thought to himself. It was time again to pray.
Connor was in deep REM state when the door was kicked in. It took him a few seconds to realize someone was in his room. Not just someone, several very large men. They dragged him out of bed before he had time to react and threw him against the wall. At that point, he became wide awake.
“Who the hell are you?” he managed to get out as the punch hit him in the gut. He doubled over. As the lights came on in the room, he eventually made out four men, dressed in leather jackets and jeans. They were not the welcome party. Another punch landed in his abdomen and he fell to the floor.
“Get dressed!” they ordered in broken English. Connor slowly climbed off the floor and did as he was told. Soon they were ‘escorting’ him out the door and into a waiting SUV. The proprietor of the hotel behind the desk in the lobby did his best to ignore the entire episode. The vehicle sped off down the road in the middle of the dark night. Connor was sandwiched in between several very large thugs. Nobody said a word.
Eventually the SUV entered the gates of a large estate. The guard checked the occupants of the vehicle and waved them through. It was quite a long drive to the main house. However, the vehicle kept driving past the residence to some type of barn which was a few hundred yards to the rear of the compound. There were armed guards everywhere. Connor was pulled out of the vehicle and taken into the barn where his hands were tied together above a large crossbeam. His shirt was ripped off. Several of the men took turns punching him in the gut a few more times, in a way that would not leave a mark of course, at least not yet. Connor felt himself pass out. When he awoke, the barn was dark and he was alone. However, he was sure his tormentors were just outside. He could hear them laughing.
What the fuck have I got myself into now? He thought as he strained to see in the darkness. The rope that bound his wrists dug into his flesh. The weight of his body partially held up by the beam which put additional pressure on his arms. It was extremely painful. These fuckers know what they’re doing alright. I guess I’m not the first person that’s enjoyed their hospitality. He waited, for the additional pain that was sure to come. It might be over this time.
At some point, the lights were turned back on and someone entered the room. He was an older man, around fifty, heavy set and very mean looking. He pulled up a chair and sat down in front of Connor as he stared at him, inquisitively. Connor could see the stubble of his thick beard that was smeared with something he had been eating. He was an enforcer. He was not the brains of the outfit, whatever outfit that was.
“What is your name?” he asked in a thick Russian accent. Connor gave his Russian name given by the terrorists. The man seemed to think on this for a moment and then said, “Don’t lie to me. We have found that passport. It is a forgery. Tell me your real name.” Connor was quiet.
“Let me explain something to you,” the man continued. “You are an American who has been found snooping around a Russian, Siberian weapons plant. You have fake documents. You’re lying about your true identity. I think you are a spy. Spies can be shot on sight” He let that sink in for a moment. Connor was still quiet.
“In addition, you are out at a bar in the middle of the night with the mistress of the man who controls this entire area. A woman he has not seen in a month. Yet, she goes to the bar to see you first. Why is that? Either you are stupid and ignorant, or you are simply a truly incompetent spy. Which is it?”
Connor finally spoke. “I am neither.”
“What happened to your arm?”
Connor looked at his upper forearm where the wound had torn open and blood was dripping down his chest. With all of the other pain he had not even noticed. The wound looked nasty and infected. He decided to tell the truth. He had nothing against the Russians, although he was sure they had something against him. It was probably all over now anyway. No one knew where he was, nor could anyone could help him. And, he was going to die in a few days by the Iranians whether
or not the Russians killed him. “My name is Connor Murray. Yes, I am an American. Believe it or not, I am not a spy. At least, not in the normal sense. I came here because I was forced to, because in this wound on my arm there is a capsule full of poison, and if I don’t give them what they want they will kill me.”
“Who will kill you?”
“Some fucking Iranian terrorists, I think anyway.”
“What are you looking for?”
“I am looking for Anatoly. I need to find information on the bio weapon.” With that comment, the man’s eyes widened. He immediately jumped up, knocking over the chair, and left the barn, slamming the door behind him. Connor was going nowhere.
The Iranian operative Ahmed had left Gaza and now was back in Tehran. His superiors were happy with the operation so far but were impatient for results. His team was monitoring the whereabouts of the phone they had given the American, and therefore his current location. They were doing the best they could to garner as much as possible from the audio and other sensors on the device and from smaller tracking devices planted in the materials given the American. However, several hours before, there had been some unexpected commotion and noise picked up by the phone and now all the signals had gone dead. The operation may have turned into a failure. This would not be good for his future. Ahmed’s thoughts now turned to how to salvage the operation. They had gained a lot of info and now knew the location of the Russian scientist who was working on the weapon. Or, at least they knew where Murray thought he was in Siberia. Soon Ahmed would have to activate the poison in Murray’s arm. He could not let the Russians know that Iran had sent someone into their interior to spy on their weapons complex. Yes, he would have to kill Murray soon. However, he still held out some hope that communication could be reestablished. “A few more hours,” Ahmed said aloud.
The lights came on again full blaze in the barn. Connor had lost feeling in his arms but his shoulders burned with pain. He tried to make out the person who had walked in with several bulky bodyguards behind him. The man focused on Connor for about a minute, studying his face. He was dressed in an expensive suit along with a very expensive gold watch. He was well groomed and obviously powerful. He was a small man but a man that carried with him much authority and stature. That was obvious by the attentiveness by the guards to his every word.
“Cut him down! And then leave us!” the man ordered. The group of bodyguards swiftly followed instructions and soon Connor was sitting in a chair across from the man, drinking a bottle of water. The fluid drained down his cracked throat. They were alone.
“Mr. Murray, my name is Andrei Vasilovich. I run this town. Nobody tells me what to do, not Moscow, not anyone. Do you understand me?”
“Yes,” Connor said dryly as the fluid slowly brought him back to life. The wound on his arm had long ceases bleeding as he was seriously dehydrated. “I understand you.”
“You are a very lucky man. I say this because you are lucky I found you and not the Russian intelligence services. They would like you dead you see. Shacking up with the Russian president’s ex-girlfriend is not a way to ingratiate yourself to the Kremlin. Yes, I have done some research on you with some comrades in very sensitive areas of the government. However, the FSB does not even know you are here. The factories you see all around you as you drive into the city, they are all mine. I guess I am what you would call an oligarch.” A thin smile creased his lips.
“What happened to your arm. Tell me the truth. I mean you no harm. You see, we have some of the same certain friends, in the Negev. I am a Jew. Yes, I am a Russian patriot but I am also a friend of Israel. That is between you and I you must understand. So I know who you are and what you have been up against and what you are trying to do. You can fill in the details for me later but I am here to help you. You need to trust me or you will die.” Connor decided to do exactly that and told him the story of the last few weeks. He had no choice.
“Well, we will fix your little problem. My scientists will see to that. Then we will talk in the morning, after you’ve had some rest. Do not try to escape, you will be shot immediately. That is all I have to say for now.” Vasilovich got up and left the barn. Immediately the burly men came back in but with an entirely new, pleasant attitude.
Soon Connor was transported to a facility several kilometers away and whisked into a secure area of some type of laboratory. Several men met him and examined the wound. They asked questions in English which Connor answered truthfully.
“The issue with the capsule is keeping it in similar surroundings. We need to get it out immediately, as you are no longer in contact with those who put it there and they may try to activate the poison at any moment. I have seen this type of operation before, so I know what to expect. We are going to submerge your arm in a gelatinous liquid which simulates human tissue, and remove the capsule. Hopefully there will be no problems with the extraction. However, just in case, please write down any final thoughts on this paper and we will see they get delivered.
The last comment shocked Connor but he did as he was told, writing a short but moving letter to Natasha, with instructions on how to handle certain financial affairs. It was a strange thing to do, a morbid undertaking. A few moments later, Connor was entering his arm into a vat of liquid inside another one of the laboratories under the roof of the large facility. There was a divider so he could not see what was happening. He felt the anesthetic shots go in and then some tugging on the wound. It should have been the most stressful moment of his life but he remained calm. What is meant to be is meant to be. The procedure took all of about five minutes.
“There, it’s out,” said the Russian scientist in English. Connor felt a wave of relief wash over him. His optimism returned immediately. Now all he wanted to do was contact Natasha.
Chapter Twelve
Connor sat next to Sofiya in the SUV as it sped towards the local airport outside of the town with no name. She was dressed in a fashionable jacket with tight pants. Connor had to admit she looked really good. However, the only thing on his mind was getting back to Natasha. He just wanted to hear her voice on the phone, to hear she was okay. He missed her. They had been together through thick and thin over the last few years. He hadn’t realized how much she meant to him until now.
A private jet awaited them. A body guard was driving along with another in the front seat, guns bulging from underneath their dark jackets. Another black Mercedes SUV followed closely behind, also filled with large Russian men with weapons. This SUV darted back and forth erratically behind Connor’s vehicle to ensure no other vehicle could even get close. He felt like he was in Chicago during the 1920s, riding with Al Capone. As they shot around a sharp turn in the road, Sofiya tumbled into him. They made eye contact. She looked away sheepishly and picked up her phone to make a call.
Connor was tense. He wanted to contact Natasha but all of them decided it was too risky to call from inside the Russian Federation. Now that the device was out of his body he was impatient to return to his normal life, whatever that was. At least he would see his friend Peter again soon. Vasilovich had instructed Sofiya to accompany Connor enroute to Moldova, to smooth out any problems that might arise with the Russian authorities. The oligarch had one of his men call Peter in Moldova with the number Connor provided and set up the reunion at a predetermined spot in Chisinau. The only hurdle was to clear Moldovan immigration. No one even checked Vasilovich’s plane as it departed from the small Russian airstrip outside the weapons factories. It’s nice to have almost unlimited power, thought Connor as the wheels retracted into the aircraft and they climbed high above Siberia. The Russian authorities would never mess with Vasilovich as long as he turns out outstanding weapons and brings the Kremlin lots of hard foreign currency. That was plainly obvious.
Connor had discussed with the oligarch the bio weapons program and his target, Anatoly, before they had left the facility enroute to the airport. Connor had rested well overnight and his arm was sewn back up professionally this time. They
also gave him antibiotics for the infection that had raged over the last week. He felt better than he had since he had been so rudely forced to leave Israel and Natasha. His arm was now just very sore and the infection was wilting.
“Anatoly is gone,” Vasilovich had said when Connor asked about the whereabouts of the old scientist. “He was kidnapped. It happened several years ago. I don’t know where he is. So, your trip here was a waste. But not entirely, at least I got rid of that little device in your arm for you.”
“Yes, thank you for that. I mean that sincerely. But, who took him? And where do you think he is?” asked Connor.
“We don’t know. It was a big problem. Maybe it was the Islamic State, or some variant of it. They desperately want these weapons of mass destruction to use on Russia as well as the West. The fact that security was lax enough that he was exposed shook the foundations of the Kremlin. Heads definitely rolled. I’m lucky to still be here; but, as you say, I have friends in high places. We had FSB all over the place for months, digging into everything we do here. But they found nothing. The Russian government hushed the entire episode up. They don’t want anyone to know he is gone or that they have made significant progress on the bio weapon. To have the ability to target a certain race or one individual with a bespoke virus is the ultimate assassination tool.
“Now the weapons development continues, but without its leader. It set the effort back years. He was the driving force behind its research, even at his advanced age. He truly believed in the research and the effort, to protect the Motherland. Russia is still some time away from developing such a weapon, but not for lack of trying.”
