SAVE THE GIRLS: A JAMIE AUSTEN SPY THRILLER (THE SPY STORIES Book 1)

by Terry Toler

  He intended to follow Allie back to the hotel where he’d confront her. He now had proof she was behind the attack on the boys. His plan was to interrogate her until she admitted it. Instead, she left the nightclub and got immediately into a taxi. He guessed she went back to the hotel because there was no sign of her when he arrived back there. He hung around for a few minutes but then went home and went to bed.

  He wouldn’t tell any of this to the Lieutenant until he had a confession from the girl. He figured the Lieutenant wanted to meet with him to give him another assignment. He hoped it didn’t take too much of his time. He was this close to solving the beating of the boys. He was going to go over to the hotel and confront the girl this morning.

  He walked into the Lieutenant’s office and was immediately hit with the musty smell of stale cigarettes.

  “The boss says we have to back off the girl,” Lieutenant Petrov said.

  “Why?” Fabi asked. “I know she’s up to no good. Now I think she’s involved in the beating of those two boys.”

  “The one kid called me yesterday and left a message saying he looked at the picture and it wasn’t her.”

  The boy was lying. Fabi knew it was the girl who attacked those boys. Yesterday, when he was following her to the nightclub, he saw her look over to where the boys were beaten. It was a quick glance, but it was apparent, nonetheless. Why would she look down that alley unless she’d been there before? He was determined to confront her. He started to tell the Lieutenant but thought better of it.

  “What if he’s lying?” Fabi asked. “Have you talked to the other boy? The one in the hospital.”

  “No, but a nurse said there’s no way those damages were caused by someone kicking him. She said they had to be from a baseball bat or a lead pipe. Nothing like that was found at the scene. And I doubt that girl’s been carrying a lead pipe around with her. I think it was another gang.”

  Fabi started to answer, but the Lieutenant gave him a stern glare.

  “Go back to doing what you were doing and leave the girl alone. That’s an order.”

  Fabi left the office and went back to his desk with no intention of leaving the girl alone.

  ***

  Thursday morning, 10:00 a.m.

  Denys sat at his desk in the Republic Palace trying to stay busy and trying equally as hard to keep his mind off last night’s meeting with the CIA operative interrupted by the two KGB men who had entered unannounced into the church. He was still spooked by how close he came to getting caught, meeting with a CIA officer.

  He also wondered if the girl had gotten his note. He’d have no way of knowing until tomorrow night at 6:00 when she either showed up or she didn’t. This whole thing was getting really complicated. He was beginning to wonder if the risk was worth it.

  The good news of the morning was that the Militsia no longer considered Allie Walker a suspect in the beating of the boys. Word was that they were pulling surveillance off of her. That would make it easier for them to meet and easier for her to do her mission. She had to find a way to stop Omer Asaf.

  His thoughts were interrupted by the antiquated telephone ringing. It sounded more like a buzzer or an alarm than a ring.

  “Zdravstvujtye,” he said matter-of-factly. The Belarusian word for hello.

  The secretary from the office of the President said in a monotone voice. “The President would like to see you in his office.”

  “Right now?”

  “Yes sir. Right away.”

  Denys hung up the phone. “What could that be about?”

  He suddenly felt like he’d been hit by a truck. He’d been called into President Bobrinsky’s office with no explanation. Did it have to do with last night? The church. The KGB. The meeting.

  His imagination was playing tricks on him. Creating all kinds of scenarios in his mind.

  Relax. These meetings happen all the time. Sometimes he was called into Bobrinsky’s office just to share a glass of vodka.

  For some reason, he had a bad feeling about today, certain it was more than to share a drink. He stood from his chair, adjusted his tie, and brushed off his suit. He walked slowly down the hall like a man walking to his execution through the doors into the lobby. The secretary motioned for him to go in.

  The office was a large and stately room. The President sat behind his desk. He motioned Denys in and said, “I have someone I want you to meet.”

  Denys hadn’t seen the man sitting in the huge high-back chair in front of the desk. A man stood and turned to greet him. “Hello Comrade. My name is Omer Asaf.”

  18

  “Hello, Comrade. My name is Omer Asaf,” the man said as Denys’s heart started doing what felt like somersaults in his chest.

  Even with the fear, his first thought was, you are not my comrade.

  His emotions were mixed. Vacillating between extreme disdain for the man who was a terrorist working against everything he believed was good for the world, and utter fear as to why he was in the President’s office summoned to a meeting with the man. The best course of action, he decided, was to take his cue from the President and match his tone and manner. Bobrinsky was smiling, so he did the same.

  “Hello, Sir,” Denys said, as he walked across the room, put his hands on both of Asaf’s shoulders and kissed him on both cheeks. “I am very pleased to meet you,” he added. “Our distinguished Leader has many good things to say about you. What brings you to Minsk?”

  “We will get to business soon,” the President interrupted the usual greeting. “First, we must have a drink.”

  No meaningful business ever commenced in Belarus before a drink. President Bobrinsky walked over to a cabinet filled with bottles of various liquors. He poured three glasses of Vodka. The drink of choice in Belarus.

  He handed each of them a glass, his filled slightly above the others.

  They stood in a circle.

  The President raised his glass and said, “Vashe Zdorovie.”

  The three men raised to toast to their health as the President suggested.

  They each downed the glass in one swallow.

  The President walked back to the cabinet and poured another shot into each of their glasses. Then he filled his own beyond a shot. Omer raised his glass and said, “Za Milyh dam.” “To lovely women,” the other two repeated.

  “And to our wives,” Omer added as they all laughed heartily. “May we have good health so we can enjoy all of them,” he continued.

  Bobrinsky roared with approval. Denys hated those kinds of toasts which were commonplace. Obvious jokes meant to disparage wives and toast mistresses. Particularly offensive because his wife was dead, and he had been a loving and faithful husband to her for the forty-five years they were married. A rare feat in Belarus. He did what he always did and ignored the barroom banter.

  The President topped off the glasses for one last toast from Denys. He set aside his anger and raised his glass high in the air and said robustly, “Za vstrechu!”

  “To our meeting,” the other two mimicked Denys’s toast. They downed what was left of their drinks in huge gulps. Apparently satisfied, the President screwed the top back on the bottle, and walked back behind his desk and sat down. Their cue to do the same.

  Denys sat in the other high-back chair next to Asaf and across from the President. The President’s manner and tone turned serious. “Gentlemen. Providence has brought us to this moment in time. The Americans are trying to destroy us with their economic sanctions.”

  Denys wanted to correct the President. The sanctions are against Russia, not against us. He dared not open his mouth. Bobrinsky made no distinction. He considered the American sanctions against Russia an act of war. Any war against Russia was a war against Belarus as far as Bobrinsky was concerned.

  “The homeland has stood up to their aggression. President Yokov refuses to give in to their demands. Mr. Asaf has provided us with an interesting alternative that will bring America to its knees.”

  Denys didn’t like
where this conversation was heading. All he knew were the rumors he’d heard that Asaf was trying to buy the briefcase. Would he still be able to set up another meet with the American to give him the information from this meeting. Information they’d pay a handsome sum for. Not that it mattered to him. A nuclear bomb in the wrong hands was the most important thing. He’d give that information away for free if it would stop the madman.

  He guarded his mannerisms. He couldn’t act anything less than enthusiastic while in the presence of the foreigner. He could speak somewhat freely with the President in private, but he knew to never contradict the President in front of a guest.

  “Mr. Asaf has agreed to purchase a briefcase.”

  Before he could stop himself, Denys said, “One of our nuclear bombs?”

  During the breakup of the Soviet Union, four nuclear briefcase bombs went missing. They were hidden in Belarus. So well hidden that only a few people actually knew where they were. Denys knew because he was in charge of transporting them across the border. At the time, it seemed like a good thing to do. Get them out of the hands of Russia and into safekeeping. The location was some of the intelligence he had given to the CIA, and he’d been rewarded handsomely. Of course, he was the only one in the room who knew anything about that.

  The President continued, “Mr. Asaf has been transporting three buses of women out of Belarus every month. He has been selling those women to American men. While I don’t approve of the practice, I have looked the other way. Mr. Asaf has made it well worth our while by making significant investments in Belarus for which we are incredibly grateful. And now he is making an even greater investment by buying one of our bombs.”

  “What do you intend to do with it?” Denys asked Omer, afraid he already knew the answer.

  By the look on his face, the President seemed annoyed that he was interrupted, so he provided his own answer, “He’s only going to use it as a threat. He’s going to smuggle it through Mexico and hide it in an American city. He’s then going to demand that they leave the Middle East and remove the sanctions against Iran and Russia, or he will activate the bomb.”

  “America will have no choice but to capitulate,” Asaf added. “They have dominated the world for too many years.”

  “That will start a nuclear war that will result in the annihilation of all of us,” Denys said, nervously.

  “We have no intention of detonating the bomb,” Asaf explained. “Just using it as leverage. As a threat. We’ll give them proof we have it and the resolve to use it. That should be enough for us to get the sanctions removed.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Denys asked.

  “Make sure they have safe passage with the briefcase through our border into Russia,” the President said.

  “When are you going to transport it?”

  “The handoff will happen on Monday,” the President said. “They’re going to move it out of Belarus and into Russia the following Friday night in one of the buses with the girls in it.”

  “Aren’t there three buses leaving tomorrow night?” Denys asked.

  “Yes,” Asaf responded. “We will have another group the following Friday night. They will go through the border between five and six o’clock.”

  “You can count on us,” Denys said, trying to process all the information in his mind, including trying to determine if there was anything, he could do to stop it. Probably not, but maybe the Americans can. He’d tell the girl about it tomorrow.

  “It’s settled then,” Bobrinsky said as he stood from behind the desk. He then went to the liquor cabinet and poured three more drinks. This time the glasses were nearly full.

  He raised his glass and said, “Давайте выпьем за успех нашего дела!” A toast to the success of their project.

  Asaf lifted a glass and said something in Arabic Denys didn’t understand until he gave them the translation.

  “May our sons have rich fathers and beautiful mothers.”

  They all drank with a hearty laugh.

  It was Denys’s turn. “Давайте выпьем за то, чтобы мы испытали столько горя, сколько капель вина останется в наших бокалах! May we suffer as much sorrow as the number of drops we are about to leave in our glass.”

  ***

  “Are you sure?” President Bobrinsky asked Asaf.

  “Positive,” Omer Asaf answered.

  The meeting was over, and Denys had just left the room. Asaf stayed behind to talk to the President alone.

  “Denys has been my friend and confidant for more than forty years. No one has ever questioned his loyalty to the motherland before. I can’t believe he’s a traitor.”

  “Two of my men saw him last night. Meeting with an American. At the Holy Spirit Church.”

  Asaf didn’t mention that his men were Russians dressed in stolen KGB uniforms.

  “The American could have been anyone,” Bobrinsky said. “Why do you think he was meeting with the CIA?”

  “The man he was meeting with left the church as soon as my men walked in.”

  “I need more proof than that.”

  “I have more proof. It pains me to bring you this information, my friend. I’m sorry the bad news must come from me.” Omer pulled some papers out of his suit jacket. He handed them to President Bobrinsky.

  “What are these?” the President asked.

  “Bank records. For a Swiss bank account. In Denys’s name.”

  “How did you get these? The Swiss don’t give out this information. How do I know these aren’t fabricated?”

  “Let’s just say that the bank values my business more than they do his. I have considerably more money there than he does. But look at the balance. He has more than eight million dollars in the account. A million was deposited just this past week. Do you know where else he might have gotten that kind of money?”

  “No. I don’t.” Bobrinsky slumped into his chair and stared out the window.

  “I was wondering if you might let me handle this for you,” Asaf said. “It could be very embarrassing to you if it came out.”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “With your permission, I’d like to have my men follow him around. Let me see if he meets with the American again. If he does, I’d like your permission to capture him and question him.”

  “Just don’t kill him. I want him to pay for his treason.”

  Asaf nodded in understanding and agreement.

  “Kill the American, though,” Bobrinsky said with anger in his voice. “Of course.”

  ***

  Thursday afternoon, 12:15 p.m.

  Jamie sat on the patio of the hotel, having finished eating and paying for her lunch. She picked a table against the wall so she faced out where she could see everyone who entered and exited the restaurant. She had no reason to believe anyone would bother her, but she always took every precaution. Her philosophy was to always take care of the little details. The simple things. Fundamentals. It helped put her in the right mindset when she faced challenges that required split-second decisions.

  She had a map in front of her opened to Liberty Square. Her meeting with the contact was tomorrow night, and she wanted to be as prepared as possible. She was mapping out every entry and exit point into the square. There were many. After lunch, she’d go there and see them in person. For now, she wanted to get as familiar with the area as possible in case it was a trap. She tried to get into their minds, determine what she would do if she wanted to surprise someone and take them down. She was so engrossed in her thoughts she didn’t notice the figure approaching her until he sat down at the table.

  Moe!

  “Hello, Allie.”

  She tried to look surprised, which wasn’t hard since she was. “Do I know you? You obviously know me.”

  “My name is Detective Fabi Orlov. I’m with the Minsk Militsia.”

  Moe flashed his badge. He put both elbows on the table and l
eaned toward her. Jamie made a quick glance around the restaurant to see if he was alone. A sigh of relief when she realized he was. He hadn’t come to arrest her.

  It’s nice to finally put a name with a face, she wanted to say.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Detective,” she said instead. “If you’ll excuse me, I have someplace I have to be.”

  Jamie started gathering her things together to leave. She put her hand on the map and took it off of the table and put it into her backpack. She didn’t want him to see what she was doing with the map.

  “It will only be a moment. I have a few questions for you.”

  “Can it wait? I’m in a hurry. I answered a lot of questions when I came into Belarus.”

  “Some boys were attacked over by the library,” Moe said.

  He would always be Moe to her.

  He was eyeing her closely, almost comically staring at her to see if there was any recognition in her eyes. It was a good way to check to see if someone was lying, and Jamie had used the technique many times before. They were called “tells,” and Moe didn’t know that Jamie spent hours training on how to lie without giving it a way.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Jamie said sincerely. “I hope the boys are okay. What does that have to do with me?”

  “The boys said that they were attacked by an American woman with blonde hair.”

  “That certainly fits my description, so I can see why you’d want to talk to me, but I know nothing about it. When did the attack happen?”

  “Last Sunday night around six p.m.”

  “That was my first day in Minsk. Let’s see…” Jamie pretended to be thinking. “I had dinner and then I went shopping. I bought a few things.”

  “I know. I was following you.”

  “What?” Jamie said, feigning anger. “You’ve been stalking me? I need to see your badge again. I’m going to report this to your supervisor.”

  A look of fear flash across his face as his eyebrows furrowed at the mention of his supervisor. That either meant Moe was under a lot of pressure from his boss to solve the case, or he had gone rogue, and the surveillance was without his supervisor’s permission.