“The lights are out in the shed,” Marta said. She went to her father and gently placed the back of her hand on both of his cheeks, checking his temperature.
“Tatiana needed a break,” Kristof said. “I asked her a few questions, and she seemed somewhat forthcoming, but I sensed she was still holding out on us, so I thought she might need a little more time to sit in the dark and contemplate her situation.”
Marta momentarily locked eyes with Trevor, trying to gather any information on what he and her father may have discussed while she was gone.
“Kristof, what are Dmitri’s politics?” Lauren asked. “You said you’d known him a long time, and that he’d been a customer.”
“He started his intelligence career with the KGB, but he’s all SVR now. As far as his politics go, he’s what I would describe as adaptable, though he’s a devout Russian. In terms of our business transactions, I’d call him an opportunist. These days he buys weapons, pays top dollar, and I don’t ask who the end user is going to be.”
“Marta,” Lauren said. “Do you remember when we were interviewing Viktor in the helicopter, when he first told us about Tatiana?”
“Yes,” Marta said as she looked toward her father. “He said that Tatiana hates you because you supply weapons to the people that would keep Mother Russia from being great again.”
“Viktor said that?” Kristof asked with a frown.
“Is Tatiana a holdover, a hard-line communist from the old days?” Marta asked. “Is she involved in politics, or simply girls and trafficking?”
“I think we put that on our list of things to learn,” Lauren said as Kristof shook his head that he had no idea. “My other question is why Dmitri, an SVR operative, would be meeting with Tatiana? What’s the common thread?”
“Maybe it’s exactly what Dmitri said he was doing,” Marta offered. “Perhaps he sent for Tatiana to find out what was happening with the girl Donovan rescued—she’s clearly a serious loose end for someone.”
“Henryk,” Lauren said. “You mentioned in Wroclaw that Tatiana had Russian protection for her trafficking young girls. Is it possible that Sofya is one of Tatiana’s girls?”
“It’s a place to start,” Kristof said with a subtle nod of approval in Lauren’s direction.
“Dad,” Marta said. “Tatiana is clearly more afraid of you than anyone else. Walk in there and call her bluff. Tell her Dmitri is drunk and talking. She’ll cave.”
“You are the better poker player,” Kristof said. “She knows I’m here. Go introduce yourself as the new Archangel, which should serve as a surprise. My only request is that I don’t want Tatiana killed. I’m not sure what we’ll get from her on this first pass. We may need to go at her again with the drugs.”
“To what end?” Marta said as she cocked her head inquisitively.
“It would be nice if we were able to eventually dismantle a significant part of her business from what we learn here tonight,” Kristof said. “At some point, we’re going to need our friend Montero to deal with Interpol on our behalf. Tatiana’s operation might be a significant bargaining chip.”
At the mention of Montero, Lauren wished she could talk with Donovan. She’d been trying not to dwell on the fact that they hadn’t spoken in what seemed like ages. She continued to picture Donovan, Montero, and Michael on a frozen lake in Manitoba, but in reality, she had no idea where they were.
“Right now, I need to brief everyone on what we now know from our trip to Brody,” Marta said. “Lauren had an e-mail from Reggie, who explained that he was beside himself because Dad vanished without a word.” She paused and shot her father a look of disapproval. “Because of that, Reggie initiated a call to the American State Department, and as a result, Abigail, Stephanie, and Reggie are headed to Iceland to join William VanGelder under the protective umbrella of diplomatic security.”
“Lauren, I’m very sorry,” Kristof said. He lowered his head. “My actions were thoughtless.”
“Everyone is safe,” Lauren said. “That’s the main thing.”
“We also know that the solar storm is going to get worse, so we’re not going to have our usual channels of communication for the foreseeable future.”
“Was there any news out of Berlin?” Trevor asked.
“Not Berlin, Wroclaw. As you were quick to point out, we were photographed leaving the hospital, which has upped the ante on Interpol’s efforts to apprehend Lauren. Lauren is thought to be connected with the kidnapping there, as well as the mess in Innsbruck. She received an e-mail from the Defense Intelligence Agency, urging her to surrender herself at the nearest embassy.”
“What about Hannah?” Kristof asked.
“Who’s Hannah?” Trevor asked.
“The girl hired to take care of the horses at the chalet,” Lauren said. “She was a witness to the fact that I wasn’t involved in what took place.”
“That’s my question—where’s Hannah?” Kristof repeated. “Why didn’t Interpol interview her?”
“Because they don’t know about her,” Marta said with obvious irritation. “I dropped her off at the police station in Zirl, where her uncle is a constable. He must have decided to shield her from the investigation and insisted she remain quiet.”
“Leave him to me,” Kristof said. “He and I have had dealings in the past.”
“When we were in Brody, we also spotted a car that could have been driven by the ABW, Poland’s internal security. We left town without incident, but one never knows,” Marta said. “Trevor, be ready, we may have to leave in a hurry. Any other questions?”
Lauren, along with everyone else, remained silent.
“Good,” Marta said. “Now, let’s go chat up Tatiana. Lauren, I want you to come with me. We’ll be back shortly, and then we can start in on Dmitri.”
As they walked from the house toward the shed, Lauren noticed that the visibility had dropped, and the air had grown damp, as if it were going to snow.
“I’m going to work through this interrogation as quickly as possible. I want Tatiana to get the impression that I have little time for her, and that I’d rather just shoot her and get on with my night.”
“Do you have something in mind for me to do?”
“I want you to watch and listen,” Marta said. “If you see or hear something we need to know more about, don’t hesitate to act.”
Lauren followed Marta into the shed and squinted as a switch was flipped, and a harsh light erupted from above. Tatiana appeared as Lauren had seen her earlier, though her eyes were far less fierce, as if their wattage been dialed way down.
“Tatiana.” Marta walked behind the bound woman. Then she leaned in and whispered into her ear, “Kristof is busy and asked me to finish this up.”
“Please, I need something to drink,” Tatiana said.
“Answer my questions, and I’ll make that happen.” Marta pulled her phone from her pocket, pushed some buttons, and pulled up a photograph. She held the screen up so Tatiana could see. “We know her as Sofya. Tell me everything.”
“I have nothing to do with her. She was taken from me.”
“Everything,” Marta repeated.
“Sofya was one of my girls. She worked at a club in Warsaw until some wealthy Russian became infatuated with her.”
“You kidnapped her, forced her into sexual slavery?” Marta said. “And then gave her to some Russian?”
“I helped her, and then she was stolen from me,” Tatiana said. “The Russian didn’t pay anywhere near what she was worth, but he promised me favors to be named later. I got the feeling that he was not the type of man who reacted very well to being told no. So I let him take her.”
“Who was this Russian?”
“I don’t know. I never saw him before or again.”
“How long ago was this?” Marta asked.
“Two years.”
“Interpol,” Marta said. “How was the news of Sofya’s survival in North America discovered so quickly?”
“The SVR ha
s someone on the inside,” Tatiana said. “I was ordered to intercept a woman. Anna was her name. I was told she’d have details about Sofya with her.”
“Did she?” Marta asked.
“Yes.”
“Did she know she had the material on her?” Lauren asked.
“She maintained that the documents were planted on her, though I didn’t believe her. When she was confronted with the possibility that the information came straight from that American FBI Agent, Veronica Montero, I knew she was making up lies.”
“So you were there when she was killed?” Lauren asked.
“No.” Tatiana shook her head. “I took the materials she had in her possession and went to deliver them as directed.”
“So, you gave the order to have Anna killed?” Marta asked.
“No, I only collected the documents she carried.”
“Anna wasn’t lying about former FBI Agent Montero,” Lauren said. “She’s coming, and she’s not happy. Right now, Dmitri is sipping Cognac with Archangel, explaining how you went off script, killed Anna so you could sell the information yourself. He’s pushing for you to be executed immediately.”
Tatiana’s eyes flared just long enough for Lauren and Marta to understand that they’d struck a nerve.
“Montero is going to go after everyone involved,” Lauren said. “As it stands now, you’ll be Montero’s solitary target. Everyone else walks. Unless you tell us who is actually responsible.”
“Dmitri is who I report to, the rest are all former KGB,” Tatiana said in a whisper, as if saying the words aloud were enough to end her. “They are each stationed at different embassies in Europe. Untouchable.”
“You supply them with girls, don’t you?” Lauren asked, then acted on a hunch. “In fact, you used to be one of those girls. The money, the parties and travel, how exciting it must have been for you, until they tossed you aside for younger and younger versions of who you used to be. Why would you take orders from the men who’ve used you so terribly?”
“If I were to try to quit, or run, they’d have me killed. I know far too much to be allowed to live. I control the girls, but Dmitri, along with the others, control the clubs.”
“Who does Dmitri answer to in Moscow?”
“I don’t know.”
“You could bring him down as well,” Marta said.
“If I could have taken them all down, I would have done it years ago.”
“What if we make it possible?” Lauren asked. “What if we turn Montero and Interpol loose on them? You may go to jail, but you’ll be alive.”
“What would I have to do?”
Lauren tipped a bottle of water to Tatiana’s lips and held it steady as the broken woman sipped. “You have to give us all of the information about your clubs, the girls, the trafficking, the books, the money, and the customers. Everything, and then maybe we can ensure you live to see the dawn.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
DONOVAN PUSHED UP both throttles and the Gulfstream thundered down Churchill’s longest runway. The dense, frigid air aided both the wings and the engines and the Galileo, despite being heavy with fuel, accelerated to flying speed quickly. He eased back on the controls and the nose came up, followed by the main wheels. When he raised the gear, all three struts tucked up into the airframe, and the sleek Galileo gathered even more speed.
As Donovan banked the Gulfstream toward their initial fix, the shimmering tendrils of the Northern Lights illuminated the vast expanse of Hudson Bay, frozen as far north as he could see. The Aurora Borealis was as vivid and alive as he’d ever seen it in his thirty years of flying. The fluttering colors reached to the horizon and the intensity ebbed and flowed as wave after wave of charged particles, ejected from the sun, collided with the atmosphere. He took a quick glance over his shoulder into the cabin. Montero sat holding hands with Sofya, talking, though their words were drowned out by the hum of the engines and the steady rush of the slipstream. Donovan turned, saw they were already through ten thousand feet, and lowered the nose to allow the speed to push up toward three hundred knots as the Gulfstream headed toward their assigned altitude of thirty-nine thousand feet.
“Was she able to tell you anything about the guy we found?” Michael asked.
“No, all she said was that they made her. We need to tread lightly and try to find out who they are.”
“But she remembers him, they’re connected, right? That’s what set her off?” Michael asked.
“I don’t know. Seeing the pictures Montero had taken may have initiated a flashback, an out-of-context memory that evoked her emotional response. Or, the reaction may have been to the larger picture, which we don’t fully understand.”
“So, the man we found in the forest, who fell, jumped, or was thrown from the Boeing, could be someone who threatened her, or hurt her, or helped her.”
“One of the oldest parts of the brain controls the flight or fight response,” Donovan said. “She may have been terrified and not knowing why made it even worse.”
“What about the other pictures?” Michael asked. “The ones from inside the plane that you and Jesse took? What if she looked at them? Is it too soon? Or would it help her put everything together?”
“I’m going to defer to Montero,” Donovan said as a seemingly random thought crossed his mind.
“What is it?” Michael asked. “You’ve got that look, you know, the one you get right before I have to save you.”
“I gather you’ve seen all the pictures from inside the plane?”
“Yes, Jesse showed them to me.”
“The man in the forest, what was he wearing?” Donovan asked.
Michael had to think about it for a moment. “His clothes were pretty shredded, but I’d say dark slacks and a sweater. Why?”
“What color?”
“Black, but everyone wears black.”
“Hear me out,” Donovan said as he formulated his thoughts.
“We know for sure that the pilots were killed after landing. The 737 was obviously under control through the entire approach and landing.”
“Absolutely.”
“Sofya was alive and escaped,” Donovan said. “The man you and Montero found had evidence of burns, as did some of the people in the plane. In fact, we found evidence of a fairly severe fire. So much so, that the pilots had on their oxygen masks.”
“Standard procedure for the crew.” Michael shrugged. “If you get a fire warning, the first thing you do is put on your mask.”
“How do you start a fire on an airplane? It wasn’t an electrical fire; it didn’t start somewhere below the floor, or behind a panel. It looked like a fire that was started in the forward salon. Almost everything is flame retardant. How was the fire started? Right now, if you wanted to start a fire in the passenger compartment, how would you make it happen?”
“There’s no fuel, there’s oxygen, a match or lighter provides the ignition, but as we both know, nothing much in an airplane burns very well.”
“What does a corporate 737 have that the Galileo doesn’t?”
“A full galley,” Michael said instantly. “With a complete liquor cabinet, and alcohol does burn. Sofya had no burns, and she was wearing black slacks, a white blouse, and a black sweater. You’re saying that Sofya was the flight attendant?”
“I’m just thinking out loud,” Donovan said.
“She was the only one to make it out of the plane,” Michael said. “A flight attendant would be able to keep it together long enough to evacuate the plane. Though, like any flight crew, it would be unlikely for her to evacuate the plane if any passengers were still alive. Maybe that’s why she didn’t wait for the passengers. She jumped out of the plane because there was someone with a gun shooting members of the flight crew.”
“Or because she’d already killed everyone on board and knew the plane was sinking,” Donovan said. “I went back to where I found her in the snow. It didn’t occur to me until after we’d been inside the Boeing when I saw all the g
unshot victims, but Jesse and I didn’t find a weapon.”
“You found one?”
“A Glock, and it had been fired.”
“I remember the doctor at the emergency room in Minneapolis told you she suspected that Sofya was drugged. How does a drugged person do all of that, function in that environment, and still manage to evacuate and survive?”
“Coming up,” Montero said as she appeared in the cockpit.
“We were just talking about Sofya,” Michael said. “How is she?”
“She’s sleeping for the moment, but she managed to tell me a few things.” Montero took a deep breath and began. “She’s very fragile and fragmented, but her memories are starting to push through. Nothing in any organized timeline. She told me she was taken, kidnapped while traveling in Poland years ago. She kept talking about they, and I don’t believe that she doesn’t know who they are. She claims they made her do things. I’m assuming they were sexual things, though she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, explain—and I didn’t push the subject. Sexual slavery is typically brutal—violence is used as a weapon to control the women. It’s possible she spent a great deal of her time in brothels, held as a captive, and probably drugged. We may never get to those memories.”
“Is she withholding information?” Donovan asked. “Does she possess the capacity to lie to you?”
“I’m not sensing that,” Montero continued. “I think she’s seeing bits and pieces, like flashbulbs going off in her head. With each flash, she understands more about her past, but like I said, she’s all over the place. Nothing is linear, so it’s impossible to piece together anything coherent yet.”
“Has she said anything about being on the plane?” Michael asked.
“It’s hard to say. Again, she says ‘they found out’ without it being clear who they are,” Montero said. “I did hear one name. Andrei. It’s possible he was the man Michael and I found in the woods. She managed to say something about him leaving. That’s when she broke down again, hard, and then she finally went to sleep.”
Seconds to Midnight Page 23
