by Skye, S. D.
Chapter 43
Thursday—Russian Embassy
Aleksey checked his watch as he rounded the corner to his office. 4 pm. Time seemed to drag this week, every second ticking by like pouring frozen molasses. But he was determined to reach Vorobyev and find out what he knew about the tennis shoes and, more importantly, whether he’d reported his find to Center counterintelligence.
He checked the residency floor thoroughly before taking a seat at his desk. Everyone who mattered was holed up in the conference room waiting for Lana’s father to return from the drop. He pushed aside the stack of operational reports awaiting his approval and grabbed the handset from the cradle. After swallowing hard and taking a deep breath, he began to dial. Three rings resonated in his ear before he got an answer.
“Comrade Stansilav Vorobyev, please,” he said. “This is Aleksey. Aleksey Dmitriyev.”
“Ahhhh, Aleksey. I’ve been expecting your call.”
It was his friend. Finally. “Brother! Why have you not returned my calls?”
“Things here have been quite hectic since my arrival. Paperwork. Bureaucratic bullshit. You know how it goes.” When Stan paused for a moment, a faint click sounded in the phone. He feared their conversation was being recorded. After a few seconds passed, Stan asked, “Those who matter have long memories, quite slow to forget. Especially General Stepanov, who has been a particular joy to work with,” he said, his voice molten with sarcasm. “I assume all is well in Washington? It’s all abuzz here with the pending return of the so-called Red Honeytrap.”
“Ahhhh, yes. She is due to travel Sunday. Won’t be soon enough for us here. All eyes are on us and, of course, we don’t work well in the spotlight,” he said. “Apart from that, it’s the same old story.”
“Ah, yes, and the stories you could tell,” he said. “The stuff Le Carre novels are made from, eh?”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. My son…he sends his regards and deepest appreciation for the tennis shoes. I asked him what is so special about Converse shoes. He says you can’t get more Russian than Keds. Indeed, if you knew how valuable these shoes were, I think you would not have given them away.”
Aleksey’s heart sank. Sweat flushed from his forehead and his hands began to tremble.
“Ahh, well, too late now,” Stan said. “I’ve got them and I plan to ensure they are put to good use. After everything that has transpired over the past week, I certainly deserve everything that’s coming to me. We all do, don’t you think?”
Aleksey gulped. “Listen, Stan, I—”
“Look at the time, brother. I must be going. I’ve got a very important event to attend.”
“A meeting with Golikov?” he asked.
Vorobyev lowered his voice and responded, “A date with destiny. I’ll be in touch soon.” Then he abruptly hung up the phone without so much as a goodbye.
Aleksey listened with dread at the dial tone. Although he wasn’t stunned by Vorobyev’s cryptic tone, he was certainly disturbed by it, still unsure as to whether Stan had divulged the depth of his treachery. Wondering if at any moment the Crooked Twins would crash through the door, snatch him up by the collar, and drag him kicking and screaming down the hall to the place where Vorobyev nearly lost his life just one week before. He froze in fear, panicked. Unsettling thoughts shook his mettle.
Dmitriyev questioned whether he should run, not walk out the embassy doors, call J.J. and start a new life in the United States. Problem was he realized he hadn’t provided the level of information necessary to receive a sizeable settlement from the FBI. There’d be no retirement; rather, he’d be forced to accept consultant work and speaking engagements whenever he could. He’d be a nowhere man, which was an unacceptable end. He’d slogged in the Service’s drudgery for too many years to be relegated to the status of a stepchild defector. No, for everything his family had suffered, he wanted fair remuneration. And he was determined to get what he deserved by any means necessary, even if it meant risking his life. After all, in his mind, a return to living in poverty would be a fate equal to death.
Before he could inhale a calming breath, harried footsteps pushed through the hall outside his office. Mikhaylov passed by Dmitriyev’s door at a determined pace in the direction of the conference room, without poking his head in for their usual greeting. Something had gone wrong. The op had failed. He hoped the FBI wasn’t the source of the problem because their involvement would only intensify suspicions of a compromise within the embassy and heat up the scrutiny on Dmitriyev, all but ensuring he couldn’t provide the information he needed to free himself from the bondage and deliver the ultimate blow to the Service.
He swept out of his seat and rushed down the hall, tapping on the closed door before entering. Lana’s father and the Resident were seated at the conference table and both bore intense expressions.
“Aleksey, please, come inside and close the door,” the Resident said.
Relieved at the invitation, Dmitriyev took the empty seat beside Mikhaylov in deference to his boss. He scanned both of their faces. Neither showed signs of mistrust, reassuring him that Vorobyev had not yet revealed anything damaging. “Judging from your expressions, I take it the drop did not go as planned,” Dmitriyev said.
“No,” Lana’s father said, shaking his head. “We evaded the FBI well enough; however, too many people surrounded the location. I couldn’t fill it without drawing undue attention.”
“What’s the alternate day?”
“Saturday. The freighter sails Sunday afternoon which means I need to fill the drop early if she’s to have any chance of leaving as scheduled.”
“Hmm. I see your problem. You risk drawing the attention of the police.”
“Precisely. The park police will have nothing better to do than disrupt this operation. I’m afraid I have to request your assistance again. I cannot trust this critical task to that nit Filchenko. Don’t you understand? Her life depends on my success!” he urged, his face creased with the desperation of a father terrified for his daughter’s life.
He found it difficult to empathize with Mikhaylov or his daughter’s troubles. He wanted her in an American jail where she could do no more harm to his family or friends. And if J.J. caught him participating in yet another operation, it would all but seal his fate with the FBI and ensure he never resettled in the United States as he’d long hoped. He must shirk the responsibility at all costs.
Dmitriyev turned to the Resident and narrowed his eyes, determined to reason his way out. After all, his boss was nothing if not pragmatic. So he turned to Komarov and said, “I’ve already—tell him, Comrade. As the Security Chief, my participation puts the entire residency at risk. As much as I would welcome the chance, I—”
“You’ll do as he asks,” Komarov demanded. “I understand your concerns, but we will stand-down most operations the minute Svetlana marks the signal indicating she’s cleared the drop. It is for that reason we cannot afford any mistakes. You have my word you won’t be asked again.”
“You word?” Dmitriyev said. “As I recall you made the same vow three days ago. May I get your promise in writing this time?”
“It’s settled then. Countersurveillance. Saturday morning,” the Resident said to Dmitriyev. “Until then, let’s see what Gusin can collect from RAPTURE. We haven’t submitted a single report of value to the Center this week and we need to know what the Americans have planned for Lebed’s visit.”
Dmitriyev nodded.
“That will be all for now,” Komarov said as he rose to leave. “Director Lebed arrives Tuesday. I’ll be busy coordinating meetings for his visit until then, but I’ll expect a full briefing on the outcome Sunday, noon.”
As the three men left the conference room and parted ways, Dmitriyev’s anxiety compounded exponentially. It was clear he could brook no opposition to the Resident’s orders, not given his precarious position. His only choice was to find a way to turn it to his advantage—ingratiate himsel
f with the FBI, while concealing his duplicity in the unlikely event that Vorobyev maintained his secret.
Divulging Lana’s pending activities was not an option. No, the secret he revealed must be valuable yet give him plausible deniability. And Lana had to fulfill her mission…or at least believe she had. No sooner than the idea flitted through his mind, the epiphany struck—the idea that would protect his present and secure his future.
And Komarov’s word had made it possible.
For the first time, he was thankful for broken promises.
Chapter 44
Friday Morning, November 13th —J.J. McCall’s Condominium
Tony moaned through a long yawn as warm rays and the sounds of Luke Skywalker landing in the Dagobah system yanked him from his slumber. Each morning renewed his appreciation for the hot, brown body spooned against him. His own limbs had gone limp and nothing short of a thousand volts of electricity could coax him from her grasp. He was not only shocked at J.J.’s undercover nerd tendencies, but her voracious appetite for him and her ability to drain every ounce of energy from his being.
Every day, his feelings for her strengthened. He was the best version of himself when in her presence and she knew it, which is why her apparent jealousy over Gia perplexed him. Sure, he found Gia attractive. Okay, sizzling. Any man with two working eyes could see she’s hot. Didn’t mean he’d sleep with her. Okay, he would if J.J. didn’t exist in his world. But she did. J.J. had become intertwined in the fabric of his life and he could no longer picture his life without her. His heart was firmly in her grasp, whether she realized it or not.
She stirred, arousing from a deep slumber. She turned to him and smiled, careful to cover her mouth and avoid blasting him with hot morning breath. “Good morning, you.”
He pushed her hand aside and kissed her lips anyway. “Right back atcha,” he said. “I feel like a wet noodle, thanks to you.”
“I’m trying to earn a reputation around here,” J.J. said, sitting up with her eyes glued to the TV screen. “This is my favorite part,” she said, watching Yoda teach the young Jedi to hone his skills.
“What is it with this movie?”
J.J. shrugged. “I dunno. Gotta feel bad for the Luke, right? I mean the poor guy loses his parents, the only two people in the world genetically disposed to love him, and while he’s living under this cloud an incredible power is thrust upon him. And rather than shrink and disappear into his small, quiet life in the hot dirt on Tatooine, he answers the call. He fights the dark side. What’s not to love?”
“Hmmm. I never thought of it that way. Sounds a little like you.”
“No, my father is still alive.”
“So was Luke’s.”
“And I don’t have a superpower.”
“You sure? I mean, I didn’t think anyone could detect a lie better than my mother. I’m startin’ to think you’ve got something more powerful than female intuition.”
She looked at him with her mouth agape. “Crazy, that is,” she said in a pathetic Yoda imitation that sounded more like Grover from Sesame Street. She reached over and felt his forehead. “Sick, are you?”
His stomach tightened with laughter. “Get outta here. You’re funny. And not just a little bit nerdy. But I like it.”
“Good!” She glanced at the clock, slipped out of bed, and into the bathroom. “We need to get a move on. Big day. Six is meeting us at the West Wing for Kendel’s interview in an hour.”
“You think she’s dirty?”
She appeared in the doorway with her toothbrush, layered a bead of Crest along the bristles, and disappeared again. “I don’t think she put the bug in the wall. I’m not even certain she knew it was in the wall.” The sound of water streaming into the muffled her voice. “But she knew Maddix was dirty. Something tells me that may be the reason for their break up.”
“Yeah, she seems to be coming apart at the seams lately, too. I mean, the first time we saw her she was so sharp and reassured. Now, she comes in looking like she ran to work in her suit. Sweating. Clothes wrinkled.”
She appeared in the door again. “Yeah, I told you. It was as if she was coming off of a….”
“High,” Tony said. “You said that before and now I’m beginning to think you’re right. I swear to God you’re brilliant.”
J.J. gurgled, swished, and rinsed before making her way into the closet. “That would explain a lot, wouldn’t it? If she closed a blind eye to his activities, she certainly aided and abetted, if not committing espionage herself.”
“Do you think she’ll rat him out?”
“You’ve seen her. She’s not a willing participant, and she’s all but melted in front of us. If we pull the right trigger, so-to-speak, she’ll give up anything to make this all disappear.”
“Now, what can I do to make you come back to bed?” Tony asked.
J.J. chuckled and slinked toward the bed. “Pull out your light saber. And make it quick. We’ve got a meeting on the dark side.”
Chapter 45
Friday Morning – Irving Street
Hopper and Kyle wheeled their Charger into the lone empty parking space in front of Mr. O’Leary’s place. His was the last on the list of rooming houses that had withdrawn advertisements from the Washington Post within a day of Lana’s escape. The sound of rakes dragging through leaves echoed as early risers began the annual gathering of yard waste. High clouds cluttered the sky, allowing the sun to filter into spike-shaped rays. After scanning the street left and right, they exited the car and ascended the steps, craning their necks to eye passersby.
Kyle rang the doorbell, then attempted to peer through the sheer curtain covering the window from the other side. No movements, no lights, only the sound of a faint bump overhead.
“You hear that?” Hopper asked.
Kyle nodded. “Yep. Doesn’t look like anybody’s home, though…unless they’re hiding inside.”
Hopper backed away from the door, stepped down from the porch and gazed at the second-story windows. “I don’t see any movement. Maybe it was next door.”
“Maybe.” Kyle scratched his head in confusion.
“Can I help you?” a baritone voice called from across the street.
They both turned around to face the tall, dark-skinned older gentleman in a track suit.
“Sir?” Kyle responded.
“Can I help you?” the man repeated.
“Hello. I’m Special Agent Kyle Oliver and this is Special Agent Hopper Mack. We’re from the FBI.”
They presented their credentials and returned them to his pocket when he finished
“Max McCall.” He held his hand out for both to shake. They offered firm responses in return. “My daughter’s an agent. She told me about what’s going on…son’s inside.”
“Glad to hear it. It’s just a precaution for now,” Kyle said. “We’re going to finish up our interviews today. Hopefully we’ll get a new lead. Do you know if any of your neighbors have rented out a room in the last week?”
“I’ve only seen one new face in this neighborhood,” he said. “But she doesn’t look anything like that girl on the T.V.”
“She?”
“Yeah, O’Leary took her in about a week ago. He rents out the other side of his duplex. She and another gentleman stay there.”
“You say she bears no resemblance to Lana Michaels?”
“Maybe she’s around the same size. But definitely not the hair and eye colors. No way. I know blue from green and black from blond,” he said. “Besides I doubt someone trying to kill me would save my life.”
Both Kyle and Hopper were taken aback. “Save your life?”
“Yeah. Last Saturday. Some young hoodlum with a gun came in trying to rob my store. Before I knew it, he was flat on the ground. The woman took him down and walked out. Wouldn’t even accept free groceries.”
“You wouldn’t by any chance have security cameras in your stores, would you?”
“Sure do. Although before the woman left, she
told me to get a panic button installed. I saw her a couple of days later.”
“Mr. McCall—”
“Max, please,” he interrupted.
“No problem, Max. We’d like to take a look at the video, after we speak to your neighbors here. The O’Learys. You wouldn’t happen to know if anyone’s home.”
“Claire dragged him kicking and screaming on a two-week cruise to the Caribbean. They won’t be back for another week,” Max said. “The tenants should be around, though. I’ve been up since five and haven’t seen either of them leave, but I’m not exactly keeping watch by the window.”
“We’ll walk over and grab you when we’re done.”
“All righty,” Max said, making his way back into the house.
Kyle turned to Hopper and said, “You think it’s coincidental this mystery woman saved him during an armed robbery?”
“No. But, if she’s Lana, why wouldn’t she just kill him herself? Or let the robber do it?”
“Good questions. I’ll be interested to check out the video. In the meantime, let’s see if Barbie and Ken will answer.”
Kyle rang the doorbell, then attempted to peer through the sheer curtain covering the window from the other side. No movements, no lights, only the sound of a faint bump overhead.
“You hear that?” Hopper asked.
Kyle nodded. “Yep. Doesn’t look like anybody’s home though, unless they’re hiding inside.”
Hopper backed away from the door, stepped down from the porch and gazed at the second-story windows, again. “I don’t see any movement. Maybe it was next door.”
“Maybe.” Kyle scratched his head in confusion.
They rang the doorbell and knocked several times before hearing the staircase creak under heavy footsteps. A large, olive-skinned man opened the door and said, “Yeah?”
