by Tim Tigner
Here’s to the New Russia. Long live the Knyaz—BUKTOP
Chapter 25
IRKUTSK, SIBERIA
There’s a thick black bag over your head, and your hands are bound tightly behind your back, securing you to a thick D ring riveted to a metal floor. Your hands are numb, your legs are freezing, and your jailer looks like the Hulk’s bigger brother. You’ve got information that could alter the global geopolitical landscape, but you’re thousands of miles from anyone who cares. What do you do?
It was not an easy question, but one that Alex was determined to solve. He began by asking himself what he knew. To manipulate a situation, he first had to understand it.
Alex knew that his captors were KGB and that the giant in charge was named Yarik. The first bit of intel came from the uniforms, the second from a slip of the tongue. Yarik had rewarded the loose-lipped soldier with a punch to the face so brutal that he had lost consciousness to the sight of spurting blood and the sound of snapping cartilage. Alex appreciated the sacrifice, and added Yarik to Victor on his list of names.
Alex also had a list of locations. The map left beneath the boardroom projector indicted that in addition to Irkutsk Motorworks they controlled factories in Krasnoyarsk and Novosibirsk. Best of all he knew that their headquarters was also in Novosibirsk, next to a crescent-shaped lake just east of Academic City.
Perhaps that was where they’d be taking him.
Regarding his present location, Alex’s best guess was that he was in the belly of a stationary cargo plane somewhere near Irkutsk. He had no way of telling how long he had been there—each minute beneath that hood seemed like an hour—but he guessed that it really had been hours. Surprisingly, they hadn’t removed his watch, although of course he couldn’t see it.
Oddly enough, they hadn’t tried to interrogate him either. They hadn’t spoken to him at all, other than a few barked commands, with one notable exception: “Now I’ve got your number.”
Yarik had uttered those words just after stabbing Alex in the ass with a syringe that looked more suited for a horse than a human. That had put the fear of God in him. Alex had seen what interrogation agents could do to a man’s brain.
Sitting in the dark, trying to mentally overpower whatever chemical cocktail was coursing through his veins by playing out his what-do-you-do game, the significance of Yarik’s five words finally came to him in a flash of understanding. A cold hand clamped his heart. The giant had not injected him with an interrogation agent. He had implanted him with the same device they had used on Elaine’s mother and daughter, the Peitho Pill.
Escape was now impossible.
Alex was bound by an electronic leash he could not outrun.
Those five words, spoken in that gruff voice, began to echo over and over in his mind like a catchy advertising jingle. Now I’ve got your number. He found it hard to think of anything else. He began to truly appreciate the tortured life Elaine had been living, and the awesome power held by the people he was up against.
Rather than continuing to churn desperate thoughts, Alex focused on funneling the nervous energy into formulating a solution. He forced his mind to return to unraveling the conspiracy that had killed his brother, enslaved Elaine, and imprisoned him in Siberia.
His visit to Irkutsk Motorworks made the grand plan clear. The KGB was using a diabolic device to commit industrial espionage. They were simultaneously sabotaging product development at US corporations while establishing parallel operations in Russia. Alex supposed it was a sound business tactic, if laws and ethics weren’t of concern, but it hardly fell under the purview of the KGB. This didn’t concern state security. Or did it?
Russia was in desperate need of a solid industrial base, one that would be competitive in a modern capitalist marketplace, one that could replace their military-industrial complex as the foundation of a restructured economy. Soviet factories were elephants—too big to maneuver, too slow to respond, and too expensive to maintain. But with the Iron Curtain now down, they were being forced to compete in a world of tigers. Crisis and bloodshed were imminent.
Still, it seemed to Alex an odd undertaking for the KGB. They were essentially a group of spies and thugs. What did they know about industry and economics? It was with that thought that Alex understood his mistake, his bad assumption. The KGB was no more a single organism than was the CIA. While the rank and file would be relatively homogenous, at the top they too undoubtedly had a series of interlocking power structures, each vying with the other for ultimate control. Politics surely drove the KGB just like any other large organization.
Alex probably wasn’t dealing with the KGB. He was likely dealing with a faction of the KGB, a politically ambitious faction.
If he was right and this group was doing what it looked like it was doing, his adversaries were attempting to fill an economic and political vacuum that would suck them right to the top of their transforming nation. This was Perestroika, but a very different flavor from Gorbachev’s.
Alex felt the scope of his mission growing a hundredfold, and with it the weight on his shoulders.
But he was still stuck there, bound, blind, and helpless. But not deaf . . . Someone had just entered the cargo hold.
The intruder walked toward him and paused. Then Alex heard something thump to the ground beside him, something heavy enough to cause the floor to vibrate. Another body? A cauldron of boiling oil? Alex braced himself for a kick in the chest, but instead he got a very different kind of wallop.
“Alex . . . Alex, can you hear me?”
It was the voice, the voice. He had only heard it once before, but he knew it like his mother’s. That same voice had said the words: “They’re about to kill your brother.”
Chapter 26
NOVOSIBIRSK, SIBERIA
The Chaika limousine bounced along with Karpov’s emotions as he considered his oldest friend’s request.
Beside him in the back seat, Stepashin continued to make his case. “You’re far more charismatic than any of the other presidential contenders, but you are a KGB general. While Russians like, need, and respect strong leaders, the wounds inflicted by life under Stalin remain fresh. Voters are very wary of militant personalities.”
“Nothing I can do about that,” Karpov said.
“Actually, you can. We can put you in a whole different category, by splitting your personality.”
Karpov gave Stepashin an incredulous stare.
Stepashin ignored it. “With the right wife by your side, you’ll convey the proper balance of strong and visionary with charismatic and trustworthy.”
Karpov grunted noncommittally. He agreed but wouldn’t concede immediately. He wanted something in return. Something big.
“You’ve already fallen for the perfect candidate,” Stepashin added. “Anna Zaitseva is another Raisa Gorbachova in the making. A beautiful doctor from a common but respectable family, she’ll complete both your public persona and your private life.”
Karpov turned to look out the window at the snow-covered country landscape rushing by. “She’s not interested. I’ve asked her out. More than once.”
“People change. She’s older now, twenty-eight, and surely becoming aware that her biological clock is ticking. I could easily find other candidates, eager candidates who look the part . . . but I’ve never seen anybody but Anna get under your skin. I want you to be happy. The country needs you to be happy. And you deserve to be happy. Tell me you’ll try and I know you’ll succeed.”
Karpov turned back to face his friend. “You really like her?”
“I don’t know her, but she appears perfect on paper, and I like what she does to you. She adds sparkle to your eyes, and a surge to your stride. You should see your face when you mention her name.”
That was news to Karpov. He wasn’t sure he liked it. It gave her too much power. But that was beside the point of this discussion. “Okay. I’ll tr
y. And I’ll succeed. But . . .”
“But what?”
“I need a similar effort from you on a project no less crucial to our cause.”
“Name it.”
“Even with the people behind us, the KGB in our corner, and the economic power that will soon be at our disposal, there remains one unpredictable force that could still cost us the presidency.” He paused to let Stepashin think. “A force of which our opponents are sure to avail themselves.”
“The courts.”
“The courts. The Supreme Court in particular. We need to own it.”
“It can be bought.”
“We’re not the only ones with oil money. And the power of money is unpredictable. We need the kind of certainty only Peitho can provide. I need you to implant the chief justice.”
Chapter 27
IRKUTSK, SIBERIA
Alex’s hood lifted, and he found himself looking into the eyes of the man whose call had sent him to Frank’s house minutes after his death, the man who topped his list of murder suspects.
“I’m here to help,” the Russian said, producing a pocketknife and locking the blade into place.
Alex leaned forward to expose the ropes that bound his wrists.
“Name’s Andrey. I’m sure you have a hundred questions, but we’ve only got seconds. Here’s our situation. We’re in the KGB’s airplane hangar at Chulin Air Base. There is little to no chance of your walking out of here unobserved. The KGB’s lead enforcer, whom I believe you’ve met, is in the building, preparing to fly you out of here. His presence has everybody fearful, alert, and eager to impress. Can you handle a jump?” He nodded toward the parachutes on the floor beside Alex.
So that was the thump. “Yes, I can handle it. Now please cut the ropes.”
“I’m not going to cut them. Too risky. But I’ll loosen them to restore your circulation and leave you the knife so you’ll be ready when the time is right. Sit on the knife for now. Just make sure you can get to it when the time is right.” Andrey bent down and got to work.
“Who are you and why are you helping me?”
“It’s complicated. Suffice it to say that the people who murdered Frank also killed a dear friend of mine.”
While Andrey worked his bonds, Alex wrestled with the disconnect between what he was seeing and hearing, and what he had concluded upon hearing the familiar voice. Andrey struck him as stressed but sincere, not slick or subversive. Then again, Frank had clearly been fooled by his killer.
“I’m going to hide in that container over there,” Andrey said, pointing to a long cargo bench running along the opposite wall. “Once we’re in the air, I’ll come out blasting.” He tapped his sidearms. “You be ready to cut yourself free and lend a hand with the knife. I don’t know how much company we’ll have.”
Andrey then dropped the hood back into place, and Alex’s world became dark again. A moment later Alex heard the parachutes thunk into the cargo bench. Then Andrey cursed softly as he jammed himself in after them.
“I’ll keep an eye out; meanwhile we can speak softly,” Andrey said. “Tell me what you’ve learned.”
Whether he was a true friend or a subversive foe, Andrey’s question was right on cue.
“You still haven’t told me who you are.”
“This is not the place for that discussion; it’s . . . complicated. The knife in your hand should convince you that I’m your friend.”
“Given that you’ve got a gun, I’m more inclined to trust my ears. They recognize your voice.”
After a pause Andrey said, “From the phone call?”
“That’s right.”
“I appreciate that looks bad. There’s a lot that’s not as it seems. The fact of the matter is that it’s about to get messy, and you might not survive. I need to know what you’ve learned but don’t have time to convince you to trust me or to prove that this isn’t some elaborate ploy. So let me ask you this: Do you think Yarik is someone who would need my help with an interrogation?”
Alex had to concede the point. He was processing other angles when Andrey continued.
“Look, Alex, I know you’re a pro. So am I. But there’s no time for the two-step. Bullets will be flying soon. Just tell me things they already know you know. That might suffice.”
“Fair enough. I have learned that a group within the KGB is stealing the blueprints of highly lucrative American products and then manufacturing them here in Russia. They are doing this at factories in Irkutsk, Novosibirsk, and Krasnoyarsk. Their headquarters is in Novosibirsk, near Academic City. Simultaneously, they’re sabotaging the American companies that invented those products, presumably so the Russian versions will have a monopoly on the world market. I do not know how they expect to get around patents. I do not know who they are or how long this has been going on. I do know that they are high-tech, and ruthless.”
“What members of this group do you know? What names have you come across?”
“I only know two names: Yarik and Victor.”
“If you learned Victor’s name, why are you suspicious of me?” Andrey asked.
“I already told you, I recognize your voice from the phone. And I don’t follow your logic.”
“It was me on the phone. But it was Victor who killed your brother. Victor Titov.”
“I didn’t know his last name. Or that he had killed my brother.”
“Actually, you do know his last name. His other last name. His American last name. Victor Titov’s cover name is Jason Stormer.”
Alex felt a surge of adrenaline. He had sensed it, even investigated it, but then had ruled Jason out. “I verified that Jason was on a plane when Frank was killed.”
“No, Alex, another KGB agent was on a plane disguised as Jason Stormer.”
Of course! Alex felt like a fool. That snapped one piece of the puzzle into place, but Andrey’s appearance had opened another, bigger hole. “Tell me why you’re helping me.”
“Because I need you to succeed.”
“From where I’m sitting, it looks like you do okay by yourself.”
“I’m just back-office support. Look, Alex, as a foreigner you can do things in Russia that I cannot do. My actions could have severe political ramifications.”
“What does that mean?”
“I hold a prominent position working for a very powerful man. One of Gorbachev’s cabinet ministers.”
“So find a Russian with a lower profile.”
“I wish it were that easy. I need somebody with two specific features: one, he has to be clever and resourceful enough to unravel and penetrate a very sophisticated operation. Two, he has to be someone I can be one hundred percent certain has no connections whatsoever with the group we’re going after.”
“Why are you so concerned about that?”
“They recruited someone very close to me. Someone whose loyalty and integrity the minister and I would never have questioned.”
Suddenly Alex understood. “Does the word Peitho mean anything to you? Peitho Pill?”
“No . . .”
“These people have a device that they implant in people. Apparently, once this Peitho Pill is in place they can kill a person with the flip of a switch. They use that threat to coerce people. With Peitho implanted in someone’s child, they can make him do anything. It is truly diabolical.”
“Oh my God. That must be how they got to Leo. This makes things even worse than we thought.” Andrey’s voice sounded strained. “They—”
Alex heard footsteps, and then his new friend said, “They’re coming.”
Chapter 28
PALO ALTO, CALIFORNIA
Piloting his Beamer toward the Sunset Palms Hotel and his rendezvous with one of Lucy’s Ladies, Victor found himself rehashing the stressful question that drove him to seek that kind of release. Could coincidence account for all his recent
problems? It seemed unlikely, yet the alternative—that someone was finally on to him after all these years—seemed impossible.
For seventeen years, half of his life, Victor had been living a lie so skillfully conceived and flawlessly implemented that he had sailed through the background checks required for a government security clearance. In fact, his placement had been so flawless that it had become the standard by which he judged all his future endeavors.
Victor was one of a dozen deep-cover Soviet moles the KGB planted in the US that year in an operation codenamed Immaculate Conception. None had been rooted out. He vowed he would not be the first.
Immaculate Conception began with the KGB placing an agent named Sparrow at U-Haul’s headquarters. Sparrow’s first job was to go through the reservations database, looking for families making one-way, long-distance moves. Then he called everyone that fit the general profile, and began narrowing down the list. The first criterion was children. He was looking for families with teenage children.
“Hello Mrs. Murphy, this is U-Haul Customer Service calling. I just wanted to check if any children would be accompanying you and Mr. Murphy on your move this summer?”
“Why yes, our son, Michael, will be with us.”
“I see. And how old is he?”
“He’s twelve. Why do you ask?”
“We just want to be sure your truck is equipped with the proper safety equipment. It’s just one more way U-Haul works to serve you better.”
“It’s kind of you to ask, but we won’t be needing any of that.”
