by Terry Toler
Apparently, that meeting wasn’t going to happen either. At exactly six fifteen, Denys decided to leave. He suddenly felt a presence behind him.
A man’s voice said quietly, “Don’t look back. Just keep your eyes focused ahead of you.”
“What time are services?” the man asked.
“The last one was at five o’clock,” Denys responded.
The code phrase matched Denys’s instructions. The man was the person he was to meet with. A slight grin came across his face. When he first became a spy for the US, he thought it would be like the movies. James Bond and the like. Phrases would be sophisticated like “the chickens have flown the coup.” The response, “The silver fox is chasing them.” Instead, the code phrases were simple, everyday simple sentences in case someone overheard them.
He didn’t get much training, only the basics. When he met with an operative, he was instructed to relax. Talk normally. Say phrases that most people would say in that setting. It made sense to him, but he thought his role would be more glamorous. It had all the danger for sure, except without the mystery and intrigue he expected.
“What is your name?” Denys asked, the question he was supposed to ask next.
“Mike Seaver. You can call me Mike.”
“My name is Denys.” He assumed the operative had given him a fake name. He wasn’t instructed to do the same.
“The girl I was supposed to meet last night didn’t show up,” Denys continued. “I need to get her a message. I think she’s in real danger.”
Denys wasn’t sure why he mentioned the girl first. The information he had for the man was even more important. Yet, he felt a real affinity for her. Wanted to protect her. Maybe because she was a girl, and he’d seen her picture. She was young and stunningly beautiful. Like a sister or a daughter, he never had. Perhaps, because of what he knew the KGB would do to her if they caught her as a spy. They wouldn’t care that she was a girl. Must be related to his own fondness for his mother and two sisters. All of whom were already gone.
“You should just wait for her to contact you,” Mike said.
“She doesn’t know who I am,” Denys said. “I know who she is and where she’s staying. I can contact her.”
Denys could sense the man move closer to him. The cathedral was starting to get crowded again. He was now inches away from his ear. A very clever move in a church. His lips could be moving, and most people would think he was praying, but also Denys could hear him more clearly.
He now understood why the man wanted to meet him in the church.
“You have information for me?” Mike asked.
“A Turkish businessman named Omer Asaf may be trying to buy a nuclear briefcase from us.”
During the breakup of the Soviet Union, four nuclear briefcases went missing. Three of them ended up in Belarus and were under Bobrinsky’s control. Denys knew where they were and had already given that information to his CIA handler. He’d been given instructions to contact them immediately if anything happened to them. They didn’t want them to end up in terrorist’s hands for obvious reasons.
“You said ‘may be.’ You don’t know for sure?”
“I’ve just heard rumors. I’m going to do more checking.”
Suddenly, the man was gone. Denys felt the movement but didn’t dare to turn around and look. A jolt of panic pulsed through his body. What happened?
He stepped to the side and back against the wall so he could look out over the entire Cathedral. He could see everything from there and scanned the small room for the man, even though he didn’t know what he looked like. He appeared to be tall from what he could tell from their brief encounter. The thought occurred to him that he might want to say an actual prayer while he was there in the church. Something had spooked the CIA man.
Am I in danger, too?
He saw what had startled Mike. Two KGB agents had walked in through the front entrance and were walking on the left side of the Cathedral. They were in traditional blue military dress. Their shoulder boards were marked GB meaning state security. Their hats had the KGB insignia on them. The men looked to be in their forties, meaning they were more senior officers.
For a KGB agent to enter an orthodox church was very unusual. Something brought them there. What was it? Denys didn’t want to draw attention to himself, so he continued to pretend to pray but kept his head up and eyes opened so he could see what they were doing.
The men walked to the front of the church and then down the right side. Their eyes scanned to the left and then to the right. It took all of his self-control to keep from running away as fast as he could. But that was the worst thing he could do. He could leave but was curious and wanted to see if he could figure out why they were there. Did they see him meeting with the American? It didn’t seem like it. Were they looking for him? He wasn’t sure but couldn’t think of why they would be unless they got word of a meet happening there.
He considered his options. He was, after all, the Minister of Transportation. One of the most powerful men in Belarus. Except for his life as a double agent, he had no reason to be afraid of the KGB. One call, and he could have them detained on his command.
He was doing nothing wrong. Just praying in his mother’s church. That’s what he would say if questioned. He came here often to remember her and pray for her soul.
Emboldened, Denys straightened his coat and tie and walked to the center aisle toward the men rather than away from them. The two agents were just a few yards ahead of him.
“Zdymi sapki,” “Remove your hats,” Denys said with authority. “You are in a place of worship.”
The two men looked at each other, then stared at Denys.
He took out his credentials and flashed them at the two men.
“Ciapier. Now,” he implored them.
The two men took off their hats.
Denys turned and walked out of the Cathedral, emboldened. His hands were shaking, but he suddenly felt confident. Important. He was a meek and humble man. He rarely used his authority over others. It felt good for a change.
He turned and walked two blocks to the Monastyrski Hotel. He got a piece of paper from the front desk and scribbled a note then took the elevator to the third floor and slipped the note under the door of Room 312. Allie Walker’s room.
Friday night. Same Time. Same place.
The Streetcar is not running.
The code phrase for danger.
For the first time since he started his life as a double agent, Denys actually felt like a spy.
***
Detective Fabi stood outside the Monastyrski Hotel drinking a cup of coffee. Lieutenant Petrov had told him to go home and end the surveillance of the American girl. He had defied orders. He felt certain Allie Walker wasn’t just an American tourist, and he was determined to prove it. So far, she hadn’t left the hotel for the evening, but he was going to stay for a few hours just in case she did.
He was so focused on looking for Allie coming out of the hotel, he almost didn’t notice the man walking in. The Minister of Transportation. One of the most important men in Belarus.
What was he doing at the hotel? At first, he dismissed the thought. Then his imagination took over, and he started contriving all kinds of scenarios in his mind. What if the Minister was an agent and was there to meet with Allie?
Fabi walked to the entrance of the hotel, careful not to be seen. The Minister was at the front desk, writing a note.
Was it for Allie?
The Minister turned and walked toward the elevators. Fabi quickly turned away when the Minister looked his way. That seemed suspicious. Like the Minister was nervous. Trying to make sure he wasn’t seen.
Maybe he was meeting a lover. It was a hotel, after all. Fabi started to go back to his spot and wait for Allie. Then he noticed the elevator stopped at the third floor. The same floor as Allie’s room. He started to go in and take the stairs but thought better of it.
The Minister of Transportation was an immensely power
ful man. Fabi wasn’t even supposed to be there on surveillance. His boss had told him to stand down and meet him in his office tomorrow morning. If he was right and the Minister was an agent for the CIA, Fabi would be a hero. If he was wrong, he’d be shot.
He decided to go back across the street and watch.
A short time later, the Minister walked out of the hotel, looked both ways, pulled his coat tighter around him, and walked down the street past where Fabi was hiding in the shadows and disappeared around the corner.
He thought through his options deciding not to follow the Minister. He was cold so he went into a coffee shop.
As he was leaving the shop, Allie appeared at the entrance of the hotel. She exited, looked his way, and then walked the other direction.
What do I do now? Adrenaline pulsed through him like electricity pulses through an electrical cord.
Were they going to meet? Do I follow her? Do I search her room?
Whatever he was going to do, he had to do it soon.
She was almost out of his line of sight.
15
Jamie sat on the edge of the bed in her hotel room thinking about the note she’d found on the floor. It must have come when she was in the bathroom drying her hair and didn’t hear the person slip the note under the door because of the noise from the blow dryer. Distracted, getting ready to go the nightclub, she almost didn’t see it. Fortunately, she had turned on the light in the hallway as she was leaving, and there it was. On hotel stationary. Strange.
The instructions were clear. Friday night. Liberty Square. Six o’clock. Danger was lurking.
All kinds of thoughts went through her head. Was it from her contact or was it a trap? Why would the contact risk being seen on the security cameras at the hotel to give her the note? How did he know a maid wouldn’t find it and throw it away, or worse, turn it in to her boss? What was the danger? He must have something especially important to tell her or he wouldn’t have gone to that much effort to contact her.
What could it be?
Before touching the note, she had checked it for “spy dust” to make sure it wasn’t tainted. Spy dust was a chemical compound the KGB used to mark a person for surveillance. Once it got on a piece of clothing, face, or hands, an infrared camera could pick it up, and the person would never even know they’d been marked. The note was clean. More evidence it was authentic and not from the KGB.
Jamie had already destroyed it. She lit it on fire and flushed the ashes down the toilet. A bit of overkill, but she wasn’t taking any chances that the note could be found. She’d studied the handwriting before destroying it. Definitely a man’s writing. No unusual marks. Nothing to give away that it was forged.
A contrived note had a certain look. Loops in the center of lowercase a’s and o’s, signified the writer was lying. Large loops that crossed identified a pathological liar. A slant variation from left to right in the same sentence showed a dual personality. In other words, the person was writing it as if he were someone else.
This writer wasn’t lying. He was just nervous. His hand was shaking when he wrote it.
A hint of anger rose inside of her. The contact took an unnecessary risk leaving the note in her room. Not the way she would’ve made contact. If discovered, it could’ve blown her cover. She was always so careful about every detail. She’d hate to get arrested because of someone else’s stupid mistake. At the same time, he deserved a break. He wasn’t a trained spy. This seemed like a move he would make. He was probably as freaked out about her not showing up as she was about missing the meet.
All evidence pointed to the note being from him. That’s what she needed to focus on. However clumsily he made contact, the most important thing was that he had. They could now meet. She could get the information. A name.
But the phrase gave her pause. “The streetcar is not running,” meant that there was an emergency. Jamie had memorized the phrases in her briefing.
“What time is the train leaving the station?” Either of them could start with that line.
A response, “It has already left” meant the coast was clear.
“It leaves at three o’clock” or whatever time was said, meant they were being watched at that position on the clock, and the meet was cancelled and he or she should keep going. “The streetcar is not running” meant something horrible had happened, and time was of the essence and there was a change of plans.
The person who wrote the note obviously knew the code phrases. Did the contact write it, or did he give it up under torture? The note wasn’t the context to use the phrase. Was he trying to warn her about something, or was it just his way of saying he had something important to tell her?
Either way, Jamie had to find out.
She suddenly wished she hadn’t thrown away the gun. If she was walking into a trap, the KGB would be armed, and she would be helpless against their overwhelming force. Even if she had a gun, she would be outmanned, but at least she’d have a fighting chance.
Jamie rued the fact that nothing about the mission was going as planned. That wasn’t unusual. Missions seldom went as planned. But she’d been there for several days and had no leads and nothing to show for her efforts. She was no closer to finding the pipeline than when she arrived. Now, she might be walking into a trap with no way of knowing until she got there.
She thought about calling Brad, but she didn’t have the satellite phone and couldn’t really talk that freely. She didn’t have anything else to report anyway. The conversation played in her head.
“Have you gone to the casinos and strip clubs?” he would ask.
“Not yet. I’m going there tonight.”
“Then why are you calling me?” he would say dismissively. “Go to the clubs and then call me. When you have something.”
He probably would want to know about the note. But the meet was in two days. She’d have time to tell him. After she found something. That was another reason to meet with her contact. Hopefully, he would bring the phone and the name of the person running the pipeline. That would make her job so much easier. So, she’d quit chasing a ghost.
“I’ll go to the meet; I’ll just be careful,” she said to herself.
Satisfied with her plan, Jamie exited the room, looking both ways down the hall. She went downstairs and out the front entrance. She decided to go to Splash nightclub first, and then tomorrow night, she’d go to the California Casino. They were both owned by Omer Asaf, the Turkish businessman.
Though a flimsy lead, it was all she had, and she was going to go with it. Jamie knew from experience that even if chasing a false thread, she sometimes fell into the right intelligence just by doing something. If she did nothing, then she was guaranteed to find nothing. If actually doing something, she usually benefited from the fruits of her labor. Jamie hoped that was the case this time.
Jamie was the type who needed to be doing something. She was at least confident she would find something at the nightclub or casino. Prostitutes for sure, at both places. She just didn’t know if they’d lead her to the pipeline. She wasn’t optimistic. The girls at those establishments were high-end call girls who were not forced slave labor. It would be hard to keep a girl in slavery in a casino with thousands of people around. Most girls in sex trafficking were kept in dark, seedy, underground establishments, isolated from the rest of the world. They ate, slept, and worked in the same place and were watched every minute of the day.
As she exited the hotel, she looked around for Moe but didn’t see him. She wondered if he finally gave up or had taken the night off. Then she saw him out of the corner of her eye, frantically exiting the coffee shop across from the hotel, spilling coffee or tea on his shirt. Obviously caught off guard by Jamie’s sudden appearance. She felt sorry to interrupt his break. Not really. She was enjoying playing this game with him. If only in her mind.
Surveillance was a difficult mind game and hard to keep focused. Jamie had always admired secret service agents who guarded the President and had to pay
maximum attention to their surroundings for hours at a time. Of course, they were never alone and had other agents who could give them breaks. Poor Moe was on his own.
Jamie had a long walk to Splash, so she decided she’d take the time to call Alex back. She pulled out the phone and started to dial the number, but then paused. “What am I going to say?” She thought through the conversation.
“Hi Jamie. What are you doing?” he would ask.
“I’m on my way to a strip club in Minsk.”
“Where is Minsk?”
“Belarus.”
“Where is Belarus?”
“It’s a communist country right next to Russia.” She put the phone back in her pocket.
She pulled it out again and took a deep breath. She didn’t want her first conversation with Alex since the cruise to be awkward. The answer would be that she was in Virginia, and her week had been uneventful. Not exactly true as a smile came over her face. She’d been attacked by four guys, her room and person searched by communist police, followed for three days by a member of the Militsia, and she disposed of a stolen gun in the river seconds before she would have been arrested and thrown in a prison for fifteen years. Other than that, she’d had a very uneventful week.
Jamie was trained to lie, so this would be a time when that skill would come in handy. If she was going to successfully make it sound believable.
She dialed the number, and on the second ring she heard a recorded voice say, “The person you are trying to reach has a voice mailbox that has not been set up yet. Please call back another time.”
That was strange.
Jamie checked, and she’d dialed the right number. He had a voicemail greeting the first time she had called him. She hung up the phone and tried to put it out of her mind. If he had caller ID, he would see she called. Maybe Alex didn’t like getting messages.
Or maybe he didn’t want his wife to hear them!
