by Mike Ryan
“I don’t know. I’ve tried to wrap my head around it but I can’t figure it out. Somebody fabricated Kurylenko’s existence and tried to kill my girlfriend. The meaning behind it is just something I don’t know. As for the person who set this up, I can only assume it is someone within this agency,” Cain stated.
“But who? Why would someone want to do all that?”
“I guess I pissed someone off.”
“So that’s how you knew Sanders wasn’t gonna catch him that night?”
“Yeah.”
“Which brings up the latest question,” Lawson said.
“How do they have information on the whereabouts of a man I killed a year ago?”
“Right.”
The two of them brainstormed for a little while and threw out some ideas at each other to try and figure everything out.
“So what’s the one constant in all of this?” Cain asked.
“I’m not sure.”
“Who’s the one person who knows me, Heather, where I live, both Kurylenko’s, the missions, everything?”
Lawson thought for a second before a surprised look overtook her face. “You’re not suggesting what I think you are?”
“Why not?”
“Director Sanders?”
“The only person other than him who knows everything and would have the means to do something like this…is you.”
“Well I hope you’ve put that thought out of your head,” Lawson told him.
“I have.”
“Well that’s a relief.”
“So we’re back to the same person as before.”
“I don’t know, Matt.”
“Who else would it be? Who else knew about Andrei? Who else could’ve created a fictional brother weeks later that nobody ever heard of? Who else knew where I lived so they could take pictures of us?”
“OK, even if I agree with all of that, and it does make sense, why would he go through all of that? You’re one of our best agents. Why would he want to do this to you?” Lawson wondered.
“I don’t know, Shelly. I just don’t know. Maybe I’ve become a liability somehow. Did something I wasn’t supposed to. That’s all I can come up with.”
“Well that’s all certainly plausible.”
“I feel a but coming on,” Cain added.
“But how are you going to prove this? I mean, this is a very delicate situation that needs some stroking. You need concrete evidence.”
Cain scratched his face as he thought for a minute. “Russia,” he blurted out.
“What about it?” Lawson asked.
“I need to go back. I’ll take this mission and see what I can dig up.”
“If this is all true then it’s quite possible, even likely, that it’s a setup.”
“I know. I’m counting on it. I can try to use it as a springboard toward getting some answers.”
“Well, you know you can count on me for anything.”
“I know. While I’m there I can see if I can track down Yushkevitch. If he’s Sanders’ contact, it’s possible he knows something about what’s going on.”
“I’ll ask Sanders if he could arrange a meet with you.”
“Good. If this guy knows anything, I’ll get it out of him. One way or another.”
Chapter 2
Moscow, Russia—Cain had just stepped off the plane when his phone went off. It was Lawson. She told him she’d call him as soon as she got confirmation about a time to meet Yushkevitch.
“What’ya got, Shelly?”
“Yushkevitch will meet with you in one hour on a bench inside the Moscow Metro,” she told him.
“Doesn’t give me much time.”
“I know. Hey,” she added.
“Yeah?”
“Be careful.”
“I will. You’re not gonna get rid of me this easy,” Cain said.
“Just be sure you come home.”
“I promise.”
The Moscow Metro was the second most heavily traveled subway system in the world. It opened in 1935 under the leadership of Joseph Stalin and his Communist Party. The system was actually mostly built by British engineers, who were later charged with espionage because they had learned so much about the city’s layout while working on the project. It opened with thirteen stations and a six mile line and has since grown to 190 stations and a 197 mile line. It is known for being one of the most beautiful subway systems in the world with marble walls, high ceilings, mosaics, stained glass, and chandeliers. It was almost like walking through a museum.
Cain spotted Yushkevitch sitting on a bench, wearing a hat, reading a newspaper. He quickly walked over to him and sat down next to him.
“Nice to see you again,” Cain mused.
“Mr. Cain,” Yushkevitch replied, still reading the paper, holding it in front of his face.
“So I hear you have information on Kurylenko’s whereabouts?”
“Of course.”
“So where can I find him this time?” Cain asked.
“I must say you’re a persistent man. Most people would not be so interested in finding a man so dangerous as him.”
“I guess I just love the danger.”
“Indeed. You Americans are always such thrill seekers,” Yushkevitch said.
“His location?”
“An apartment a few minutes from here.”
“So how do you know he’s there?” Cain wondered.
“I have my ways of finding things.”
“I’m sure. Are you sure he’s still there?”
“Positive.”
“When did you see him last?”
“He was there as of last night,” Yushkevitch told him, handing him a piece of paper with the address on it.
“Interesting,” Cain replied, thinking about telling him he knew the truth.
“What is so interesting?”
“How do you know Sanders?”
“We have mutual contacts.”
“I see.”
“Something bothering you?” Yushkevitch asked.
“Actually, there is.”
“What is it?”
“Well, I’m just wondering how it’s possible that you saw a fictional character?” Cain asked, figuring it was time to try to get the truth out of him.
“What do you mean?” he asked, looking at Cain concerned.
“You and I both know Andrei didn’t have a brother. Dmitri Kurylenko doesn’t exist and never has. So I find it puzzling that you say you saw a man as recently as last night that doesn’t exist.”
Yushkevitch laughed. “I don’t know where you get your information, but he does exist.”
“Oh, he existed in the form of Brian Chapman, the American whose face was used to perpetuate this lie.”
“Well maybe you should talk to this Chapman fellow you speak of.”
“I did. I already killed him last year,” Cain revealed. “So again, tell me how you saw, and how I’m supposed to meet, someone that I killed over a year ago?”
Yushkevitch was deeply concerned at how Cain seemed to be piecing everything together. He simply looked at him, not wanting to reveal any more information. He got up to leave but Cain grabbed his arm to prevent him from standing up. Cain pulled out his gun and jammed it into Yushkevitch’s side, grabbing his paper to cover the gun.
“And considering there’s no record on you, why don’t you start by telling me who you really are?”
“I really don’t think you’re going to pull the trigger, Mr. Cain,” Yushkevitch said. “Right here in a public place would not be the best of options for you.”
“I got nothing to lose. If you feel like tempting fate, then you go right ahead and test me,” Cain warned. “Once again, your real name?”
Yushkevitch sighed, knowing he didn’t seem to have many options other than telling Cain what he wanted to know. He could tell Cain meant business and meant every word that came out of his mouth. Cain pushed the gun into his side a little more to spur him on.
“Mikhael Fedorov.”
“Why are you using an alias?” Cain asked.
“Standard procedure.”
“Standard procedure for who?”
“For who I work for.”
“Who is?”
“You really expect me to tell you that?”
“Whose idea was it to come up with Dmitri Kurylenko?” Cain wondered.
“I do not know,” Fedorov replied, Cain shoving the gun deeper to show his displeasure with the answer.
“Gotta do better than that.”
“I do not know. I just do as I have been instructed. The reasoning behind this maze was not made clear to me.”
“Who do you report to?”
Fedorov sighed again.
“I swear if I have to repeat myself again you’re gonna find yourself eating two pounds of lead,” Cain angrily stated. “I’ll leave your body in a pool of blood right here in this station. So who do you report to?”
“Sanders.”
“How did you meet up with him?”
“I work for him,” Fedorov defiantly stated.
Cain wasn’t expecting that answer as the shock on his face showed. “You’re a Project Specter agent?”
“No. I’m a freelancer. He hires me when he needs something.”
“Why would he do that?”
Fedorov shrugged. “Something you need to ask him. Those are reasons I do not know.”
Fedorov suddenly jerked his head up and looked past Cain as if he spotted someone noteworthy. Cain turned his head to look back which gave Fedorov the opportunity he needed to get away. He knocked the gun out of Cain’s hand and sprung off the bench as he ran towards the train. Cain quickly reached down for his gun before racing after Fedorov. Fedorov stood in the doorway as the open door closed just before Cain arrived. The two men stood there staring at each other through the glass, each having a stoic expression on their face. A few seconds later the train started moving and Fedorov was gone. Though he lost Fedorov, Cain was not unhappy with the developments. He at least felt like he was starting to get some answers. Though he only had Fedorov’s word, for whatever that was worth, he now knew that Project Specter, or at least Director Sanders, was behind the whole ordeal. He took out the paper Fedorov handed to him and looked at the address. Maybe there were some more answers there. He equally knew it could’ve been some kind of trap but it was worth the risk. Cain promised Lawson that he’d keep her updated every step of the way so he gave her a call to let her know what was happening.
“Did Yushkevitch tell you anything?” Lawson wondered.
“Quite a bit, actually. His real name is Mikhael Fedorov and he’s a freelance agent.”
“What?”
“He told me he reports directly to Sanders. Have you ever heard of that name before?”
“No. But handlers don’t usually know the agents outside of their own. He just volunteered this information to you?” Lawson asked, sounding unconvinced.
“Well, there might’ve been some persuasion with a gun,” Cain replied.
“Are you sure he was being truthful?”
“People have a tendency to tell you the truth when you threaten to kill them.”
“Wow. I don’t even know what to say to that.”
“Before all that went down, he gave me an address that he said Kurylenko was at as recently as last night,” Cain told her.
“Did you go there?”
“Not yet. I’m on my way now.”
“Maybe you should back off. This doesn’t sound right. If everything he said was true then this could be a trap,” Lawson worried.
“I know it. I have to go though. I have to see what’s there.”
“I know.”
Cain left the subway and started walking to the apartment. It was about twenty minutes away on foot. On his way there he tried to think of the possible scenarios he might be walking into. He also realized that it was possible that Fedorov might’ve alerted whoever was there that he was on his way, making it an even riskier event. Once he got there he wished he was James Bond with an arsenal of hidden, powerful weapons that he could use to his heart’s content. But as it was, he had his gun and his fists. That would have to be enough. Cain waited outside the building for half an hour, hoping to see some type of movement to give him an indication of what was in store for him, but there was nothing. Finally, his impatience got the better of him and he figured it was time to make a move. He went up to the sixth floor and immediately walked to the apartment door. He listened at the door for a few moments as he gripped his gun. He took a big sigh before taking a step back and then kicked the door open. Ready to fire, Cain was surprised to find himself alone, no guns looking back at him or staring him in the face. He walked through each room to make sure there was nothing hiding or waiting for an opportunistic moment. He looked for any papers scattered around, or pictures hanging, anything that would give an indication that the place was actually being used. But there were no signs that anyone had lived there at any point in time. Dejected for the moment, he was startled when he suddenly heard a phone ringing. He looked over to the desk along the wall and walked over to it. After the fifth ring he picked it up and answered.
“Mr. Cain, I’m sorry to disappoint you if you expected a little something more for your troubles,” the voice said.
“Who is this?” Cain asked, not recognizing the voice.
“That, I can say, is of no importance. What is important is that I can be of assistance to you.”
“In what way?”
“If you go into the bedroom and look under the bed you’ll see a box. The combination is 221. Open the box and you’ll be blown away by what’s inside,” the man told him, laughing hysterically as he hung up.
Cain put the phone down and walked into the bedroom, looking under the bed. He saw a small grey box and pulled it from under the bed. He intently looked at it, wondering what could be inside. He knew it could’ve been a trap but the curiosity of possibly finding some answers was greater than the fear of the alternative. Cain closed his eyes for a moment and then reopened them. He punched in the code and slowly opened the lid. The soft beeping upon opening told him all he needed to know without actually seeing it.
He raced out of the room and through the apartment, rushing down the hallway and running down the stairs. He wasn’t sure how much time he had but he assumed it was only a few seconds before the building was leveled. It seemed like an eternity, but he made it to the ground floor and sprinted out the door. As soon as the door closed behind him he heard a blast coming from the apartment, flames shooting out the windows as they shattered. The building started crumbling within seconds as Cain was catapulted across the hood of a nearby parked car, landing on the pavement on the other side of it. He laid there motionless for a minute as he tried to shake the cobwebs loose. He slowly blinked his eyes and turned his head side to side as he licked his lips, not sure where he was at for a second. After a few more seconds he began to get the feelings back in his limbs. A nearby onlooker rushed over to him to make sure he was OK and helped him to his feet. Cain assured the concerned citizen that he was fine and brushed himself off, thanking the man for his assistance. Parts of the building were still standing but the side of the apartment the bomb was in was torn apart. Cain wondered how many people were inside and had lost their lives as a result.
New York—Cain had just stepped off the flight and was getting his bag when his text message ringer started going off. He assumed it was Lawson, wanting him to check in, or even Heather. He was surprised to see it was a number that he wasn’t familiar with. He was almost floored when he read the message.
It read, “I know everything. Your real name, the girl and kid in the photo, Kurylenko, why your girlfriend was shot, and the person behind it all. I’ll be in touch shortly.”
Cain stopped walking and sat on a bench to try and comprehend everything. He tried to send a return message but it came back as blocked. He called Lawson to see if she could run a trace on the
number.
“Hey, can you run taps on this number?” Cain asked, giving her the number.
“Sure, what’s up?”
“I just got a text message from that number saying they knew everything that was going on.”
“Really? What else did they say?” Lawson wondered.
“That was basically it. They said they’d be in touch shortly. Might help if we can figure out who it is ahead of time to see if they really know or if it’s just someone blowing smoke up my ass.”
“I’ll get right on it.”
“Thanks.”
Lawson got right to work on tracking down the phone number. She used every means the agency had at their disposal to find who it belonged to but it was a worthless effort. Whoever it was had used extreme caution and knew exactly how to remain untraceable. By the time Cain got home she called him with the regrettable news. He’d just barely gotten himself settled, not home for more than five minutes, when he eagerly took her call.
“So it looks like whoever it was is pretty sophisticated,” Lawson stated.
“How so?” Cain asked.
“Well, it’s a prepaid number that I tracked to a New York location. The message was sent from a shopping mall, not much chance of finding him.”
“How bout surveillance from the mall?”
“We can tap into the surveillance feed and feed it through the facial scan but that won’t tell us much. Even if we get some hits it doesn’t mean they sent the message,” she explained.
“Figures. What about a trace on other calls or anything?”
“No, it’s no good. It was bought two days ago at a Staples store, paid in cash, and there’s no video in that store. There’s no history of any other calls or messages that we can tell. Looks like it was purchased just for you.”
“Well, at least we know it’s someone local,” Cain said.
“True, but we don’t have anything else to go on. We’ll have to wait until he makes his next move.”
