The Consultant

by TJ O'Connor

  “Precisely why I asked you here today, Alexei. Understanding.”

  The Russian spymaster held his counterpart’s eyes in a steady, stern gaze. “Perhaps I will call you late in the week. Surely, friendship will allow me that much?”

  “Two days, Alexei.” LaRue reached for the half-empty bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. “In three, I cannot be responsible.”

  General-Polkovnik Alexei Mikhailovich Fedorov nodded warily and looked down, offering a timid wave with his disfigured hand and missing ring finger. “I will do what I can, my friend. No more. No less.”

  CHAPTER 33

  Day 3: May 17, 1415 Hours, Daylight Saving Time

  University of the Shenandoah Valley, Winchester, Virginia

  “SHOW ME.”

  Bobby Kruppa inserted a USB drive he’d retrieved from its hiding place above the bathroom ceiling tiles into his notebook computer. Before rescuing him from Azar and Fariq for the second time, I would have called him paranoid.

  Not anymore.

  “Okay.” He tapped on the keyboard. “I encrypted the files so no one could steal them.”

  After Fariq and Azar left, Bobby and I had been going over what he’d witnessed the night Kevin was killed. We sat at his tiny kitchen table for more than an hour. Stacks of junk, college books, and old pizza boxes surrounded us. Worse, the smell of dirty clothes hung in the air like a gas attack in the Argonne. If this was what I missed by skipping college, I had no regrets.

  “This is the first photo.” Bobby tapped the screen. “I took this from the boat launch entrance. It’s an overall shot and the rest are close-ups.”

  The digital photograph was dark. I could see the front of Bobby’s car in the foreground, and in the distance, a pickup truck was parked with its driver’s door open facing the Shenandoah River. A faint image of an arm—at least it looked like an arm—showed over the side of the truck bed. The truck was unscathed at the point he took the photo. The scene flashed before me. Except that when I was there dodging bullets and Kevin was on the ground dying.

  “You always go on dates with your camera?” I asked.

  “I’m a journalism major. You never know when something crazy will happen. I have to be ready for a story.”

  Bobby must be an exciting date.

  The next image was a closer shot of the lifeless body lying facedown in the bed of the truck. The next was the stainless-steel case beside the front of the pickup. There was something else, too. Something I hadn’t seen that night.

  “What’s that?” I pointed to a dark form on the ground just below the pickup’s open door. It was irregularly shaped and about eighteen inches square. It looked as though it had fallen out of the cab when the door opened.

  “I don’t know,” Bobby said. “Let’s enhance it.”

  He clicked on a desktop program and worked the image. After three or four different processes were run over the photo, he guided the image into the center of the screen. “It’s a backpack like everyone at school wears.”

  “Start at the beginning.”

  Bobby’s face scrunched up. “I already told you three times.”

  “Make it four.”

  His monotone was slow and unhappy. “Lacey and I were down the road making out. We heard the shots, thought it was thunder, and started to leave. When we reached the boat launch, the truck was there with its doors open. We didn’t see anyone around.”

  “Skip to the photographs.”

  “You said start at the beginning. I am.” Bobby folded his arms. “I got out to see what was up and saw the body.”

  “You grabbed your camera and took pictures.”

  Bobby shivered. “Well, first I checked out the guy in the pickup. Lacey locked herself in the car. This could have gotten me a great story in the paper and a guaranteed A for the year. Maybe even a job after school.”

  It might also get him killed. “Did you search the area?”

  “No.” He cocked his head. “I’m not stupid.”

  “Right.” I remembered my deal with Victoria and Artie. “After taking the photos, you went for help?”

  “Yeah.” He hesitated for a moment. “Like I said, the cops took, like, forever. We answered questions for a while, and then they sent us to the station for a statement.”

  “Bobby, at the scene, you didn’t take anything?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Because that backpack wasn’t there afterward.”

  He stared at the computer screen. “Maybe you missed it.”

  “No.”

  “You could have missed it.”

  “No.” I tapped the image on screen. “I would have seen them take it. Everything was in place when the police got there, and I watched their every move.”

  His face fell. “Someone took it after I left.”

  “Yes.” I watched his face turn to panic. “After you left and before Kevin arrived. There were only minutes between.”

  Bobby was pale now. His eyes roamed the photograph for another answer. “It was almost an hour before the cops met us at the gas station. A lot can happen in an hour.” He clicked through the photographs, one by one. With each image, he shrunk in the chair.

  Finally, he understood. “The killer was still there, wasn’t he?” I didn’t answer.

  “He saw me taking pictures. What do you think was in the backpack?”

  “I don’t know.”

  His eyes snapped on something on the screen. “Hey, there’s something in the background of this photo. I’ve never noticed it before.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll try to enhance it.” His fingers whizzed around the keyboard. “It’s a tiny glare of light. Maybe a reflection on the opposite bank of the river. It’s too far away. My software can’t do much.”

  I stared at the photograph with the pickup truck in the foreground. Above the hood, across the Shenandoah River, was a faint, ghostly smudge of light.

  “It’s probably a reflection off the river.”

  “Maybe.” He tried without success to improve the image. His fingers became heavy and demanding on the keys. He held his breath so long he had to gasp for air. “I need better graphics tools to clean this up.”

  I knew where to get better graphics tools. “Bobby, copy the USB and I’ll take it to some friends of mine. They’ll work on this.”

  He went in search of another USB drive in the clutter around the room. I clicked through the images one more time. They told a couple different stories. Only one of them was certain—Bobby had come very close to dying. He knew that now, too. Perhaps Kevin’s arrival saved him. Perhaps not.

  Time might tell.

  I pressed harder. “Tell me about Azar and Fariq. What’s with them?”

  “God, Mr. Mallory.”

  “Call me Hunter.”

  His face screwed up. “Hunter?”

  “Hunter.” No time for long explanations. “What about your pals earlier?”

  He found a spare flash drive in the small refrigerator in the alcove nearby. “Yesterday morning, Fariq and Azar were waiting for me outside in the alley. They roughed me up and told me to forget everything I saw.”

  “Did they mention your photos?”

  “No.” He returned to his computer. “Fariq said they were watching me.”

  “I’ve got friends. They’ll protect you until this is over.”

  His face lightened as he pushed the thumb drive into the computer. “No one knows about these photographs but Lacey.”

  “Relax. Maybe Azar and his pals don’t know they exist.”

  “They killed that guy. Maybe even your brother. If someone was still there when I took pictures, then I’m dead, too. Right?”

  Maybe. That backpack was missing. The busted stainless-steel case was empty. The body count was already at two. What difference would a scared, pudgy college kid make?

  “Where’s Lacey?” I asked.

  “She went home to see her parents in Maine this morning. Why?”

  Good. One less to wo
rry about. “Pack some things. I’m taking you somewhere safe until I get you into witness protection.” Artie and I had some negotiating to do before I turned Bobby over to him.

  “Okay.” His face was blank and staring.

  “I’ll take care of everything.” I scribbled my cell phone number on a piece of paper and slid it across to him. “Put that in your pocket for safekeeping. Do you have more copies of those photographs?”

  “Two USB drives and the originals on the computer. I erased the camera’s memory.”

  “Okay, you take the computer. Give me the two drives.” I watched his face puzzle up. “No one sees the photos. Not even the cops. Not until I okay it.”

  “What’s going on, Hunter? Why’s this happening?”

  Without thinking, I said, “It has to do with the terror attack at the mall.”

  “Terrorists? What are you talking about?” he stuttered. “What’s to stop them from killing me?”

  “Me.”

  CHAPTER 34

  Day 3: May 17, 1545 Hours, Daylight Saving Time

  The George Washington Hotel, Old Town Winchester, Virginia

  “EXTRAORDINARY.”

  Here we go again. “Oscar, before you say it, there is no coincidence.”

  LaRue stood near the windows again across the room. He’d listened to my update since our last meeting in this very hotel. I’d briefed him on Fool’s Lake and my discovery of Kevin’s stash of money and fake passports. He actually grinned hearing about my arrest and showed no surprise at the appearance of Artie Polo. After a few questions from him, I concluded with my discovery of Bobby Kruppa’s photographs.

  LaRue folded his arms and looked concerned. “Kruppa is safe? I will send a team.”

  “He’s safe. Right now, any more men running around this town will be noticed.”

  “Of course,” he agreed. “Keep him overnight and get any more you can from him. Shepard will bring a team to you and move him into protective custody in the morning.”

  “What about Artie?” Artie was gonna be pissed I didn’t turn Bobby over to him. “We go way back, Oscar. You know that.”

  He walked across the room to the small bar and poured us both a drink. I could count the number of times I’d seen LaRue drink this early on one finger. Something was troubling him.

  “Oscar?”

  After handing me my bourbon, his face twisted a bit. “I am well aware of Polo’s involvement. We must take care. If the FBI moves too quickly or incorrectly, we may lose the little edge we now have.”

  “What edge? What am I missing?”

  “Ah, everything, my boy. Everything.” He took a long sip of his drink. “Maya is not a person in Baltimore, Hunter. It is a thing. Perhaps the big attack. It is ‘Operation Maya.’”

  Operation Maya? “How do you know that?”

  “Grigori Sokoloff, of course.”

  Clear as mud again. “Who’s he? Can we stop playing ‘I’ve got a secret’ and move on?”

  Oscar wandered the living room and found an iPad on the coffee table. He tapped a few buttons and the large flat-screen TV powered up. He maneuvered around his iPad like a seventeen-year-old until the TV picture changed. He turned to me and just waited for my reaction.

  On screen was a man sitting on a metal chair in a very dark room. Actually, the man was shackled to the chair in the very dark room and he was naked. He was a young man and would have been strong and burly, but his body had been defeated and his shoulders drooped and his head lay down against his chest. When he lifted his chin and looked toward the camera, I recognized him instantly.

  “Oscar, that’s—”

  “Grigori Sokoloff. He is the man who attacked Noor Mallory.” Oscar tapped another button and the TV went black. “He is SVR. He is in my care.”

  “He admitted breaking into Noor’s place?”

  He shook his head. “We observed him do so.”

  What? “Care to explain that?”

  “That, sir, is irrelevant.” Oscar returned to the bar, where I stood still staring at the dark television screen. “What is relevant is that he is SVR.”

  SVR? Russian intelligence was running around Winchester? What happened to this little town? Terrorists? Russian operatives? The biggest things in town used to be the Apple Blossom Festival and Pancake Day.

  My brain ached. “What do the Russians have to do with all this? What did he tell you? What was he doing at Noor’s?”

  Oscar sat in a straight-back chair near the wall. His face turned a little grim, almost sad. When it did, I knew what he was about to tell me. “Sokoloff was there to clean up.”

  “Clean up? You mean the money I found at Fool’s Lake? The fake Canadian passports Kevin had in bogus names?”

  He said nothing. He didn’t have to.

  Deep down, I knew, and it churned my guts and threatened to come up. “Kevin was bad. He was working for the SVR.”

  “There is no evidence of that.” LaRue’s eyes softened. “Sokoloff was dispatched to retrieve any evidence Kevin had that might lead to the SVR. He did not know if Kevin was an asset or not. There is only a peripheral connection.”

  By peripheral connection, LaRue meant no hard evidence other than too much money, fake passports, and a Russian operative breaking into his house to clean up behind him. You know, nothing “hard” like an SVR Christmas card or a photo of him and Putin having drinks.

  I emptied my drink and refilled a very tall, very stiff second one. “What else, Oscar? Give.”

  He hesitated, cleared his throat, eyed the drink in my hand, and finally he continued. “He told us that Maya was going to take place in Baltimore within the next two weeks. As for the SVR’s involvement here, Sokoloff was not privy. He is a foot soldier. A low-level operative.”

  “Give me five minutes with him and you’ll know.”

  He shook his head. “He has been forthcoming with what he has. For now, you should return to your mission. Leave the SVR and Maya to me. All else is not important.”

  Wrong. “Kevin’s murder is important.”

  He lifted his chin, began to put me in my place, and thought better of it. “Of course. But they are now one and the same.”

  Dammit. I started to sip my drink but dumped it into the bar sink instead.

  “Look, Oscar, this has been fun. You know, learning about Sokoloff and the SVR playing Perestroika in Winchester. I especially love that it’s all connected to my brother and a terror cell. Good times, right?”

  LaRue just watched me.

  “But there’s more you’re not telling me. I know there is.” Another thought hit me. “Hey, you ever heard of a spook named Mo Nassar?”

  A dead stare. “Should I?”

  “I think he’s Agency.”

  He thought a moment. A moment too long and too contrived. “Ah, yes, of course. I do know of him. Why?”

  “Because he’s hanging around the FBI task force.” I watched him, looking for a lie. Well, in LaRue’s case, it wouldn’t necessarily be a lie. It might be a clever sleight of hand or a fib. You know, fancy words for a lie. “Do you know him?”

  He never batted an eye. “Not directly. Leave him to me either way. It’s best you focus on your current task. We both know you don’t do well with multitasking.”

  Ouch. I thought about pursuing Nassar a bit more with LaRue, but all I’d get would be eyeglass polishing and a berating. So, I let it go. “All right, Oscar, I gotta go. I have dinner with Noor and then I have to meet G.”

  “I will dispatch Shepard to assist with the meeting.”

  I shook my head. “No. I can’t keep you guys out of this if you keep popping up everywhere. You stick out like a sore thumb. It’s a meet. I can do this alone.”

  “Can you? G’s value may be more significant than your ego.”

  Ego? Look who’s talking. “No worries, Oscar. I got this.” I started for the suite door when his next question turned me around and instantly put me on guard.

  “What do you know of Noor Mallory?”<
br />
  Noor? The way he asked me and the look on his face made me wonder what he knew about her. “She’s smart and strong. A former Iranian refugee. She and Kevin adopted a boy.”

  “Sameh.” A scowl darkened his face. “Yes. Sameh was in a boy’s home before the adoption. There was some trouble there.”

  I nodded. “Kevin found him during a homicide investigation.”

  “Yes, of which Sameh was a suspect. The true murderer was never identified.” Oscar looked down for a moment. When he lifted his eyes, they were brighter. “Noor is a very beautiful woman.”

  Sameh was a teenage murder suspect? Interesting.

  He held up a hand to silence any further discussion on Sam and Noor and went into the other room. A moment later, he returned with a black leather wallet. He handed it to me. “You’ll require these.”

  I flipped open the wallet and found a gold badge affixed to one side and an identification card on the other. The badge read “Special Agent” and the ID card declared me a Special Agent for the United States Department of Homeland Security—DHS.

  “Woo-hoo.” I polished the badge on my shirt. “Do I have to wear a cheap suit and dark sunglasses?”

  “Focus, Hunter. Your recent arrest by the authorities and your propensity at similar debacles require strategy.”

  “Debacles? Hey, I’ve only been in one or two.”

  He looked at me with a sour face.

  “Okay, maybe more.”

  He sighed. “There is a card inside the credentials for a Deputy Director at DHS headquarters. He’s our man.”

  I nodded and pocketed the credentials.

  “Understand, Hunter,” LaRue said with the tone of an angry parent. “The credentials are for complications. They are not for speeding tickets or to impress barroom hussies.”

  Hussies? Did the most powerful and brilliant man in the intelligence community just use the word “hussies”?

  CHAPTER 35

  Day 3: May 17, 1610 Hours, Daylight Saving Time

  Rural Frederick County, Virginia

  CAINE MOVED THROUGH the abandoned building’s darkness and emerged in a dimly lit, sterile room facing what had been the outer meat-cutting area of the old Safeway butcher shop. Halfway across the shop, a heavy plastic barrier sealed the back half of the room near the large stainless-steel freezer door. The plastic was opaque, and he could just make out a bulky figure working inside the freezer at a workbench constructed of abandoned butcher’s tables. The man’s back was to him and his head was down, concentrating on his precarious tasks.