Jackson had been quiet for several minutes, thinking about the situation. At David’s remark, Jackson softly said, “We have a conundrum.” Everyone looked at him. “We are witnesses as Russians test the loyalty of our employees by trying to scare one of them. We intend to use the results of this test to help brand one of our employees as a thief. What does that make us?”
The group members looked at each other in confusion. “I don’t know,” said David. “But what’s the alternative?”.
Jackson shrugged. “By the way.” He addressed the security chief. “What about the Westin lobby?”
Brownley smiled. “Video and audio. We have bugs we’ll place around the conversation area now we know where the meeting will be. Keeping an eye on this whole area really paid off. We can put people on the ground too.”
“They’re good?”
“They’re the best. Better than Spetsnaz any day of the week.”
“Then, they must be good.” Jackson returned the smile.
“Lunch,” Leona called out.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Zaytsev’s plan went into effect at 3:30 in the afternoon. His three men were positioned along the sidewalk on the way to the Westin. They had surveyed the hotel lobby and, at a few minutes to 4 p.m., they would converge on the lobby to monitor the handover of the SD card to Sokolov. They knew from The Voice that the card would be SanDisk’s newest 2 Terabyte SDXC card, with capacity for millions of lines of source code. But that card could be secreted almost anywhere on a human body or in a bag.
The three operatives would listen to Zaytsev through ear buds connected wirelessly to their special smart phones - like hearing aids. Tiny transmitters connected to their phones were integrated into their watches so the men could speak directly to their commander. Or they could simply use their phones, just as the hundreds of other pedestrians on the sidewalk were using their phones. Sokolov had been equipped with the same gear and was listening intently as he walked slowly toward the Westin. He would take up his post in the hotel lobby just before the 4 p.m. meeting time.
Ernesto, the Cuban in Zaytsev’s group, immediately spotted Fred Nbodo. He was hurrying as fast as he could through the throng on the sidewalk. He was carrying a laptop in a blue fabric case and was moving in the direction of the Westin. So… maybe…
Ernesto stepped in front of Nbodo. JPI’s technology head tried to move around the man but he sidestepped as well, forcing Fred to a stop.
“Please,” said Nbodo. “I am in a hurry.”
“Do you have a card?”
Nbodo looked closely at the man. “What did you say?”
Ernesto felt a surge of excitement. “Do you have a card?” He repeated the words returning the close look. Nbodo’s face was filled with confusion and impatience.
“A card? I have no card. Look, I’m really in a rush. I have to go.”
The Cuban’s excitement faded quickly. He held his short stack of hair salon cards in front of Fred’s face. “This card?”
Fred pushed past the man with a mild oath and continued along the sidewalk. Ernesto watched him go, still conflicted. But Fred got on a streetcar that had just discharged people at a marked stop. The streetcar’s doors shut and it moved on soundlessly.
The Russian nicknamed Niki tried the same examination of Rebecca who was on her way to a marketing meeting at Cisco Systems in an office building across from the Westin. She calmly brushed him off and went on her way.
Several other executives were tested and all passed. JPI’s people had a lot of off-site functions every day so there were employees of all levels going back and forth around H.Q.
Andrei had little to do. He kept checking his pages of thumbnail photos and names but none of the pedestrians passing him were matches. That is, until he noticed a woman approaching. He almost ignored this one. She was dressed in workout clothes, not business attire. Granted, it was nice clothing. New Balance, all in black. Like his own runners. That was what drew his attention. She carried a dark grey hoodie - nothing that she needed on such a hot, cloudless day. He looked carefully at her face and matched it with a thumbnail on Page 1.
The Russian reached into his pocket and took out his packet of Hair Salon cards. He held them in his hand, under the folded papers of photos and names.
“Do you have a card?” he asked as he blocked the woman’s path.
In battle or spy craft, a great plan lasts until the first shot is fired. In this case, the shot was the question.
“Oh.” The woman was clearly stupefied by the man standing suddenly in front of her with his question. “Oh, god.” Her voice grew loud and shrill and caused him to step back a pace.
“Do you… uh,” he was stunned himself as the woman threw the hoodie into his face. She grabbed it back and turned, swivelling away from him. Her head turned in several directions as she sought her escape path. She began to run away, back in the direction from which she had come. Toward JPI headquarters. Her hoodie streamed out behind her as she ran.
The man raised his wrist to his face and began to whisper into it in rapid Russian. His other hand tightened around the package of folded paper. The stack of hair salon advertisements fell from the hand and scattered over the sidewalk to be trod on by a score of pedestrians.
In the A/V at JPI H.Q. David shouted. “We got her.”
Jackson, Brownley and Mariah had been sitting chatting on the brown leather couch in the room, biding time and idly watching the monitors. Gluing one’s eyes to a couple of dozen monitors showing crowds of pedestrian was not conducive to alertness. They were relying on David and Leona and it worked.
The three rose as one and moved to form up over the operator’s chair. “Hey back up guys, I can feel your hot breath.” David pointed with a stabbing finger at a large monitor onto which he had shifted the main action. He reran the recording so the group could witness the whole event.
Jackson and the others watched as one of the Russian GRU men stepped in front of a woman. She had long black hair tied in a ponytail. She was dressed in what looked like a black workout top with a small white logo low on one side and black pants with a white slash halfway down one leg. The woman carried a dark grey jacket that might be a hoodie.
“New Balance,” Mariah murmured. “Nice.”
“But not for the office,” Brownley observed.
They watched in awe as the woman threw her hoodie at the man. Leona turned up the volume on her audio array. Outside mics picked up the sounds of the sidewalk but the woman was in a full run by then, back in the direction from which she had come.
As the cameras on JPI picked her up in full face running straight for them - live - Mariah said in a loud, clearly distressed voice, “It's Carmen. Carmen Flores.”
“Still not enough,” said Jackson.
“You can’t get much better - or worse - than that,” Brownley said in a low voice. “Why else would she react like that?” Then Brownley asked Leona to play the recorded sound from a few seconds ago. Immediately, the sounds, synced to recorded video on a separate monitor, filled the room.
“Do you have a card?” Andrei’s question came with a slight Russian accent.
“Oh.” Then “Oh, god.”
David zoomed a shot to the hair salon cards lying on the concrete under a parade of footfalls.
The foot race in live action continued on the largest monitor. Flores was leading as the Russian dodged pedestrians.
“Okay. You can’t get much better,” said Jackson in a grim tone.
Leona turned and asked, “Would you like audio from the Russian coms?”
“You’re kidding,” Mariah looked at Leona in amazement.
Bill Brownley and Jackson just glanced at her. “Sure,” said Brownley.
“We just eavesdrop on the wireless transmissions,” Leona explained to anyone listening. “Not a big deal.” As she was talking, audio from the Russians’ network could be heard. Being in Russian the auto-translator kicked in; they didn’t get exact English but they got th
e sense of the calls. The Russian voices were not panicked but they certainly were urgent.
On the monitor, Jackson could see the Carmen Flores, the Chief Operating Officer, still running toward JPI. At least she was dressed for it, thought Jackson, noting the woman’s black New Balance shoes pounding on the pavement as she sped around and through plodding pedestrians.
Leona craned her neck to look at a small information box on a monitor. “We’re showing a break-out of something small and rectangular in her hoodie. I think it’s in a pocket. Is that important?”
“Wow,” enthused Mariah. “It’s that sensitive?” She looked at the control panel. “If this is 2.0, what will 3.0 be?”
‘Yeah, it’s important,” said Jackson. “And Mariah, you don’t have to write a news release on this, you know.” Mariah glanced at Jackson and saw he was grinning.
The Russians and the Cuban showed up on other monitors. Three men were moving, at fast walking speed, toward JPI H.Q. in the wake of Flores. They were converging now and Zaytsev was taking the lead.
“Look at this.” Brownley pointed to another monitor where Serge Sokolov could be seen. He was coming away from the hotel. There was a red line around Sokolov and his name was superimposed on the screen. “What’s up with him, Leona?” The letter ‘I’ showed up next to the name. Leona clicked it with her mouse. An extensive biography was now superimposed on the monitor over Sokolov’s image. It showed his history with the Russian Federation consulate.
Jackson looked over and asked Brownley, “CSIS?”
Brownley replied, “Nah. Sokolov is GRU but consulate-based. He’s one on the long list of spooks we ban from our conferences and sales meetings. We don’t want our stuff to be on their shopping list.”
Jackson’s lips turned up. “A little late this time, Bill. He was Petrenko’s handler and it’s looking like he’s the contact guy for Carmen.”
Leona poked a button and audio from the monitor screen could be heard. It was in Russian but anyone could guess what Sokolov was saying into his transmitter. ‘What’s happening? What’s happening.’ He wasn’t getting answers. The Russian handler began running along the edge of the sidewalk.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
“Clear the lobby.” Brownley giving orders into his phone. Announce a maintenance issue and ask people to leave the lobby. To go outside. Now!”
David pulled up video on a monitor. People were in the lobby looking around as they heard an announcement to leave. They were slow acting.
Brownley spoke into his phone again. “Tell them we have a maintenance issue in the lobby that could affect their safety and they should go outside immediately.” In a few seconds, the announcement boomed over speakers in the lobby. The slow pace of the people in the lobby quickened and the wide doorways became filled with the flow. The mass exodus pushed Zaytsev and his men back onto the sidewalk.
Inside the lobby, Carmen had reached the elevator bank and was repeatedly pushing the UP button to summon one of the cars.
“Take Elevator 6 to the lobby now.” Brownley’s eyes were fixed on the monitor showing Carmen.
The door of Elevator 6 opened to an empty car. Carmen ran in.
Brownley gave another order. “Close that door. Fast.” The monitor showed the door sliding shut. Another screen showed Andrei moving quickly into the lobby. The Russian ran to the elevator bank and just missed putting his hand into the closing door of Car 6. He pounded on the UP button on the wall to no avail.
“Check Elevator 6 and tell me where it’s going.” Within two seconds, Brownley announced “Executive floor. Her office, I would guess.” He punched another call into his cell phone. “Shut down the elevators, except 6. Put out a general broadcast that we have an unknown disturbance in the lobby. Do not use the elevator or stairs until we sort it out.” He paused. “Got it. No elevators, no stairs for a few minutes. No panic.”
With the mention of the ‘stairs’, Jackson shifted his look to that door off the lobby. Niki was opening it with Andrei hard on his heels. “They’ll be coming up the fire stairs,” said Jackson. “Bill?”
“Coming?” Bill Brownley took off at a run looking for Jackson over his shoulder. He needn’t have bothered. Jackson was keeping pace. The two men burst out of the A/V room and raced down the hall toward the door to the east fire stairs.
Slamming through the door to the stairs, Jackson and Bill stopped on the stair landing and listened. “I think they’re coming up. Yeah, here they come. You want to go up or down?”
“Let’s wait for them. Keep the high ground,” said the former brigadier general. “It’s four floors up to the executive floors. We don’t want them getting up there. We’re the front and rear guard.”
They didn’t have to wait long. Andrei charged up the stairs. He had his head down and was puffing after running up more than 20 floors. He didn’t expect to be met by the large and hard fist of Bill Brownley.
The Russian collapsed as though he were clubbed with a baseball bat. He tumbled back down the last half flight of concrete steps and bumped into Niki. Niki extricated himself from the tangle and looked up. He saw Jackson heading down the stairs. He ran up toward Jackson.
Jackson was a slim, healthy man but he didn’t look like a fighter. He would be no match for a trained operative. That’s what Niki was thinking until Jackson’s hard-toed shoe caught him in the throat. He gagged and his hands went to his neck.
Jackson was afraid that he had crushed the man’s trachea. He wanted to incapacitate the Russian, not kill him. He was relieved to see the man cough a few times and start taking breaths. He would have a sore throat but he probably wouldn’t die from the kick. But, Jackson knew his own knee would feel the kick in the morning. He also thought it was lucky he wasn’t wearing his sandals.
Brownley pushed past Jackson and went to the two men. Andrei was still huddled on the landing crippled by a damaged ankle and holding his bleeding mouth. Niki was on his hands and knees on the landing trying to get more air into his lungs.
Brownley yanked the guns out of the small holsters at the men’s backs. He handed them up to Jackson He pulled a handful of plastic ties out of a pocket. “Always carry them,” he told Jackson who stood above him on a stair. He moved to the man with the injured throat and, as though he were hogtying a steer at a rodeo, he secured the man’s hands behind his back, leaving him to hack and cough to clear his breathing tube. He pushed the man aside and did the same with the other.
There was quiet below them. Two of Brownley’s men, called by David, arrived to take the guns from Brownley and to keep watch on the Russians. Leaving Andrei and Niki nursing their injuries but able to go down the stairs with their escorts, Brownley and Jackson headed back to the A/V room.
“Where’s Mariah?” Jackson was looking around for the PR woman as he entered. Leona told him Mariah had left, saying she was going to Carmen’s office.
“Oh, damn.” Jackson took out his phone and called Mariah’s number. There was no answer.
Bill and Jackson checked the monitors and found that Zaytsev and the Cuban were still in the lobby. Sokolov was there as well but stood away from his colleagues holding his hands in the air. There were a few other people in the lobby.
As Jackson and Bill looked more closely, they saw, with dismay, that Zaytsev and his companion seemed to be in some kind of confrontation with Brownley’s security people. No guns were being flashed but Jackson knew the GRU men were armed. Brownley’s staff also included armed guards.
Jackson and Brownley issued instructions, then left the A/V area and went to the elevator bank on the floor. Brownley called security control and ordered an elevator car to be put back in service. He and Jackson took the car to the lobby and, after stepping out, Brownley ordered the elevator shut down again.
The men walked through the lobby and stopped at the large security desk. It was more a pillbox than a desk, a circular, waist-high affair that could seat five guards in its centre. There were a number of panels in that centre along
with a bank of monitors that oversaw the garage, the outside grounds and much of the inside of the whole structure. While the building housed more companies than just JPI, most were small so JPI provided all security needs.
Brownley spoke to his men and women. Three male guards were inside the ‘desk’ while two women and two men had faced off with the GRU duo.
As Jackson and Brownley stood at the desk, the handful of civilians left in the lobby moved, as a group, toward the exterior doors. Ernesto, the Cuban suddenly reached out and grabbed the arm of a young woman. She wore a company card on a ribbon around her neck identifying her as a JPI employee. She swore at the Cuban and tried to pull her arm back.
Before anyone else could move, Serge Sokolov quickly lowered his hands and went the several yards to the pair of GRU men. He stopped by Ernesto. “Let her go.”
The Cuban sneered at Sokolov and held on to the woman’s arm. She was squirming and trying to pull away.
“I am a representative of the consulate. You will let her go, now.” Sokolov’s voice was not loud but it was firm and seemed to have all the authority of the Russian Federation behind it.
The Cuban looked at Zaytsev who shrugged. He dropped the young woman’s arm and waved his hand toward the doors. “Go.” She ran the few steps to the doors and ran out as a man from the departing group held one open for her and followed her out.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Brownley made a chopping motion with his hand. There were various noises that amounted to the lobby doors being locked and blinds between the panes of glass in the huge windows lowered to make activities in the lobby invisible to those outside on the sidewalk.
“Okay, Captain. We’re all alone. Now tell me what the hell you think you are doing?” Jackson was furious but kept his voice level but loud. He grinned inwardly as he saw Zaytsev’s shock at the fact Jackson knew the Russian’s military rank. But the captain recovered quickly.
“I must admit,” said Zaytsev in a confident, almost insolent manner, “My men got a bit carried away. We were chasing a woman who has stolen millions of dollars from our government. We were just trying to apprehend her.” Inwardly, Zaytsev was seething; Niki and Andrei, the impetuous ones, had charged ahead of him, caught up in the chase. Zaytsev would have abandoned the effort once Flores escaped into the building. After all, she was theirs once they knew her identity.
The Russian Crisis Page 19
