The Russia Account

by Stephen Coonts

  “The people at the embassy said they were sending a good man. I thought you would be older.”

  “I was the only one in the office,” I said, to take some of the starch out of him. “Why don’t you tell me about it?”

  “I’ve been all over it with the local police. Talked to the embassy people twice.”

  “Apparently your daughter is still missing. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to go over it again with me.”

  “They snatched her a week ago yesterday on her way home from school. This school. I had to stay late. She never got home. That’s it. That’s all there is to tell.” He set his jaw defiantly. I thought I saw tears in his eyes.

  I nodded.

  “Have you talked to my wife yet?” he asked.

  “Uh, not yet.”

  “Better not. She’s taking this really hard.”

  “Have you had a ransom note?”

  “Nothing at all. Not a whisper. And it’s not like we’re rich. My wife works in that piss-ant branch bank and I teach school. We pay taxes here. We live in a flat and are lucky to own a four-year-old car. Little piece of Italian shit.”

  “Why are you two here and not back in the States? Seems you might do better there.”

  He swallowed, set his jaw. Broke eye contact to control himself, then came back to my face. “My wife makes twice what I do. They told her she had a bright future at the bank, and next year we’d be moving to Stockholm. Big promotion. She’s worked hard for this.”

  I nodded to show I understood.

  His sandwich lay there untouched.

  “Mr. Rogers, whom do you suspect?”

  He simply stared at me.

  I tried to look sympathetic. “Sir, someone snatched your daughter. Was it someone here at school, one of your colleagues, someone in your neighborhood, a drug gang, a rapist? A pedophile? What do you think?”

  He broke eye contact again. Didn’t say anything.

  “Or was it someone from the bank? Something to do with the bank?”

  His face was cracking under the strain.

  I waited.

  “My wife has been writing letters to bank management in Sweden.” He had to force the words out. “Way too much money has been going through the bank. Huge transfers in, huge transfers out. The bank charges a fee for these. It is so much money… It is very profitable—for the bank.”

  “I see.”

  “This is the bank’s most profitable branch.”

  I nodded.

  “I’m not accusing anyone, Mr. Wilson. It’s Wilson, right? Not accusing anybody. You understand that? All we want is Audra back. Alive. Do you understand?”

  “How much money are we talking about at the bank, Mr. Rogers?”

  He got up and walked out of the room. Left his sandwich right where it lay, unwrapped.

  I stopped by the office, thanked them, and went off to find Leitz.

  Twenty-seven minutes after I’d called Joe Kitty, he called me back. I was still in the men’s room. “Tommy?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Two guys out here. Only two. One in front of the building, one in back.”

  “They armed?”

  “I didn’t ask.”

  “Do they look like cops?”

  “Ahh, might be, but I doubt it. Dressed too well. Nice ankle-length coats, leather shoes. Cops are on their feet too much for shoes like that.”

  “How old?”

  “Mid-thirties would be my guess. Fit.”

  “So, what do you think, Joe?”

  Joe Kitty took his time answering. “I think they are wearing ear pieces and talking. We can take out one, and you can run out and hop in the car.”

  “Don’t want him or his pal seeing us.”

  “Okay. Okay. Armanti will take care of the guy in front. Give us five minutes, then come out the door.”

  “Tell Armanti to be careful.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And tell him not to kill the guy.”

  Joe Kitty broke the connection.

  Leitz and I hustled out of the men’s room and took the elevator down to the first floor. Right outside the branch bank’s office was an atrium, so we could stand there in front of the bank’s office and see through the large window over the main entrance. Yes, there was the watcher, on the other side of the street standing inside the entrance to another building. He was against the west wall of the entrance, almost out of sight. If the dawn hadn’t been breaking—the spring days are long at this latitude—I wouldn’t have seen him. But he moved occasionally, and there he was.

  I waited. Beside me, Leitz stood motionless.

  In less than a minute I saw a big guy coming from the west, along the sidewalk. He was obviously drunk, swaying, staggering, and he was the only person in sight. At this hour of the morning the streets were still empty. The big guy put his hand against a wall and paused to retch. Then he resumed his journey toward the watcher, who may not have seen him yet.

  The guy heard Armanti Hall coming, I think, because he stuck his head out in time to see the big man staggering along. Armanti was as tall as I am, but bigger through the chest and shoulders. A black man, he never cut his hair or beard, so all that hair added to his imposing presence. I was glad he was on our side, because if he just scowled he scared the crap outta me—and I’m fearless.

  He didn’t scowl at the watcher, who tried to back off a step or so as Armanti passed. He wasn’t expecting what happened next. In one swift motion, Armanti grabbed the man’s head and smashed it against the wall. I saw him go limp. He would have collapsed if Armanti hadn’t lowered him gently to the concrete.

  Leitz and I shot down the stairs and out the door and were on the sidewalk when Joe Kitty stopped to pick us up. As we jumped in the car, Armanti was still bent over the watcher.

  “Come on, Goddamnit,” Leitz muttered. He was worried about the guy behind the building, or any other guys he might have missed.

  Then Armanti was trotting across the street. I threw open the back door, he climbed in beside me, and we were rolling. He handed me a wallet, a pistol, a cell phone, a passport, and a headset.

  As we rolled, Hall gave the door a good hard pull and it latched.

  I looked at the passport. Swedish.

  “Nice job,” I said to Armanti and Joe.

  “I may have cracked his skull,” Armanti said, stripping off a pair of medical gloves.

  “It’s a tough business,” Joe Kitty observed.

  Chapter Two

  I used the secure satellite communication system in the SCIF at the embassy to call Sarah Houston in Virginia. She answered warmly. After a few delightful boy-girl moments on Uncle Sam’s dime, I got down to it.

  I gave her the information on the passport and from the documents Armanti Hall had stolen from the watcher. “Anything you can tell me.”

  “When do you need this?”

  “We’ve been up all night doing that branch bank. I’m going to bed. By the way, are you getting anything from their server?”

  “Oh, yes. We’ve been working it for a couple of hours. A river of money flows through that bank, mostly from Russia. It doesn’t stay long. Then it flows all over the world. About half goes to South America and a big chunk comes to the States. Another nice chunk goes to the UK. We’ll be trying to figure out where it comes from and where it goes.”

  I grunted, trying to fit these revelations into what I knew of the world of finance and money laundering. We said our goodbyes and I walked the old streets to my hotel.

  I kept thinking about the kidnapped little girl, wondering where she was, why she was snatched. Since there had been no ransom note, I wasn’t optimistic.

  I examined the pistol Armanti had taken from the guy outside the bank. A Walther in 9 mm, loaded. I took out the magazine, thumbed out the cartridges, cocked the pistol and dry fired it, then wiped off each cartridge with a hanky and reloaded the magazine. Kidnapping, loaded guns, a billion dollars a week through a branch bank in Estonia… I pocketed the piece and decide
d it was time for food and bed.

  The city was alive, bustling, a tourist magnet. My hotel was on the edge of the Old Town. I ate a continental breakfast while watching my fellow diners. I noted two men, sitting apart but both in their thirties, dressed in similar business attire. I committed their features to memory, ensuring I would recognize them if I saw them again. Then I went upstairs and crashed.

  Two hours later, I was wide awake. Got to thinking about the kid, Audra, and about the interview with the father, Frank Rogers, and how he had suppressed his emotion. He obviously knew something.

  But why had there been no ransom note? That had me stumped. Only perverts grabbed kids without ransom notes. Kidnapping is a business. It’s done for money. Or revenge. Or something.

  I kept coming back to the bank. A river of money. There was the cash, right there, Tommy, you twit.

  That interview with Frank Rogers. Had he been lying? Fact is, I am a professional liar. I know all the tells. Recalling Frank Rogers’ face, I suspected that the emotion had covered up some of the tells. On purpose. Perhaps.

  Maybe I should find out.

  I gave the watcher’s documents, wallet, and cell phone to the station chief at the embassy to put in the diplomatic bag for delivery to the company in Langley. I kept the pistol. Dulcie Del Rio wanted a debrief, so I told her how it went down.

  She said, “Isn’t it an interesting coincidence that they tried to get into the bank the same night you did?”

  I didn’t believe in coincidences. Oh sure, random chance rules the world, but always bet on cause and effect. A little paranoia will take you a long way… and keep you alive.

  The Rogers lived in a two-bedroom flat on the second story of a five-story building in a new section of town. At least the plumbing was modern, and they had electricity. The place had no doorman and a self-service elevator. No security cameras. With Armanti Hall and Joe Kitty standing guard front and back, I went in during the afternoon and took a look around.

  The first things I found were wireless electronic bugs. The tiny microphones were transmitting, according to my hand-held receiver. Uh-oh.

  I went out twice as fast as I came in and started searching for the booster. There had to be one someplace nearby, but I didn’t see it.

  The three of us held a huddle by the embassy car and I told Joe and Armanti about the bugs.

  Armanti whistled softly. “Oh, man.”

  “It isn’t just the snatched kid,” Joe Kitty said. “These people are in trouble to their eyes.”

  “And they’ve been lying to State and to me,” I said. “Let’s get the dad first when he gets out of school, and intercept the mom coming home from work. Then we can have a quiet little prayer meeting, just the five of us.”

  “Not together,” Joe Kitty said.

  “Oh, no,” I agreed. “One at a time.”

  We went back to the embassy to check out another car, and while we were there I again visited with Dulcie Del Rio. “I need three guns and shoulder holsters.”

  “Who is the opposition?” she asked flatly, just like that.

  “Don’t know yet, but I kinda doubt it’s Estonians.”

  “Check their identity papers before you shoot them.”

  “Of course. And we need a safe house.”

  “For Christ’s sake, this is Estonia.”

  “So I’m told, but we need a secure place to have some interviews.”

  She didn’t ask who we planned to interview, which was a credit to her. She dug in her purse and gave me the key to her flat. “Check for bugs, don’t mess the place up, stay out of the liquor, and don’t let the cat out. Her name is Oreo.”

  “We may need it all evening.”

  “I’ll spend the night with a friend. Feed the cat.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  We ended up with old Baretta Nines. The U.S. government bought them by the millions. I gave Dulcie my liberated Walther for her collection. We loaded the Barettas, put them in holsters and went to get the other car.

  I sent Bill Leitz to check Dulcie’s apartment for bugs. As a tech support guy, this was his area of expertise. “We’ll meet you there,” I told him, and repeated Dulcie’s instructions about the liquor and the cat. “Make sure you aren’t followed,” I added, “and that there aren’t any eyes on the place.”

  “Got it,” he said, took the keys, and went back into the embassy to get his gear.

  I was waiting beside one of the cars when Frank Rogers came walking along. He was going home. This was probably near the place where someone snatched his daughter.

  I was friendly. “Mr. Rogers, Jim Wilson. We met the other day.”

  He looked me over, obviously was not glad to see me. He edged around as if he wanted to walk on.

  “I was hoping that you and I could spend another few minutes together.” I opened the car door and held it.

  “I don’t think—” he began.

  “You haven’t been thinking—that’s the problem. Now if you want to ever see Audra again, get in the car.”

  He got in the passenger seat. I went around and settled myself behind the wheel, snapped my seatbelt. “Put on your seat belt,” I told him as I inserted the key in the ignition and fired up the tiny motor.

  “What—”

  “Save it.”

  I put the car in motion and pulled into traffic. I was paying attention to the mirrors and saw another car pull out as we passed. I made the second turn and it followed. Terrific.

  Two turns later and I was sure: we had a follower. I stopped at a light and checked the rearview mirror. He had hung back, but I could see that there were two guys in the car and one was on his cell phone. When the light changed I headed for Old Town, with its traffic and narrow streets. We crossed a few bridges, then we were there. I didn’t know the street pattern, but apparently neither did they, because they followed me into a narrow street where only one of us could turn around—and that was me—before getting wedged in by traffic.

  I worked the car around as the guy behind me laid on his horn, then drove back the other way. As I went by our pursuers, I looked them over; they didn’t look at me. The passenger was glued to his phone and the driver stared straight ahead. But there was a car in front of him and a delivery truck behind, and it was going to take him a while to get turned around. Tough luck for him.

  Out on the boulevard, I headed out of the district. Four turns later, I was sure I was clean. I used the map feature on my phone to direct me to Dulcie Del Rio’s apartment.

  Frank Rogers started talking as we left Old Town. He was chattering as we crossed the bridge and chattering as we entered Dulcie’s neighborhood.

  “I’ve told you everything I know. Told the people at the embassy. We’re Americans… for God’s sake, you can’t treat us like this.” There was more, a lot more, about his wife knowing a senator and the fact they had written their Congresswoman.

  “Can it,” I said and concentrated on my cell phone.

  At one stoplight, he popped the buckle on his seat belt and reached for the door handle. I backhanded him gently across the chops. “Put the damn belt back on,” I said harshly. If I had had any doubts that he had lied in our previous interview, they would have evaporated then. But I didn’t. He was frightened. Scared. Whatever he and his wife had gotten themselves into, he knew the stakes were blood. His, his wife’s, and his daughter’s. He knew it and now I did.

  Leitz let us into Dulcie’s pad. He handed me the keys, glanced at Rogers, and walked out, pulling the door shut behind him.

  I took Rogers by the elbow and guided him into the little living room. “Sit.” He did, in a little couch just big enough for two bottoms.

  I checked out the apartment. Two bedrooms, one bath, a kitchen with a dining area that doubled for a home office. As if Dulcie Del Rio had stuff she could work on at home. She had a little laptop, however, probably to send emails to the family back in the States. Maybe check on how the investments in her IRA were doing. I hoped she was gett
ing rich.

  I opened the refrigerator. Dulcie had beer.

  “You want a beer?” I asked Frank Rogers. He shook his head.

  I sat down opposite him in a stuffed chair and made myself comfortable. Dulcie’s cat climbed up on the couch beside Frank and presented itself to be petted. He stroked it once, mechanically, and eventually it wandered away.

  “Frank, we have a problem. You’ve been lying to the folks at the embassy, and perhaps the local police. You haven’t given us a damned thing that will get us to Audra. How are you going to feel if Audra shows up dead? If the local cops find her corpse in some alley? Knowing that you told a bunch of lies when the truth might have saved her, knowing you didn’t tell all you know? How are you going to feel?”

  Big tears leaked from both eyes. He began sobbing and finally buried his face in his hands. I felt like a jerk. Still, if he ever wanted to see his kid again, we were his main chance. In fact, probably his only chance.

  “I’ve never had to deal with anything like this. I don’t know what to do.”

  “You have heard from the kidnappers, haven’t you? What did they say?”

  “That if we made any more noise about that bank they’d kill her. Told us to shut up and Penny was to keep doing her job.”

  “Un-huh.”

  “It was those letters to the big honchos in Stockholm that Penny wrote. The bank is making a lot of money from the deposits and withdrawals flowing though the bank. The fees are a fraction of one percent, but the amounts are so large…”

  “How large?” I instantly regretted that question. His wife knew, but Frank would only know what Penny told him. Hearsay. And Sarah Houston was going to have it chapter and verse very soon.

  “Some days it’s more, some less. Never less than a hundred million U.S. dollars. Sometimes three or four times that.”

  “A day?” I was incredulous. It was as if the bank were a depository of the Treasury Department, collecting tax checks after the 15th of April.

  He nodded. After a bit he stopped sobbing. I went to find Dulcie’s liquor cabinet. She liked vodka and bourbon. I poured some vodka on the rocks and brought him a tumbler full.

  “Let’s go back to after Audra was snatched. Did they call you?”