by Terry Toler
“That’s strange,” he heard the man say in the background. A few seconds later, he came back on the line. “The plane is no longer on the radar system. We can’t find it.”
“What do you mean you can’t find it? It didn’t just disappear. Where is the plane?” Bobrinsky said, his voice raised in ire.
“I’m sorry sir, but I have no idea. The plane is not on that flight plan anymore. It’s not even on the radar screen.”
Bobrinsky hung up his phone. Feeling fear for the first time in years.
***
Sunday morning, 9:00, a.m.
The following morning, about the time the transfer was to take place, Lieutenant Petrov and Detective Fabi Orlov walked into the President’s office.
Bobrinsky didn’t rise from his desk to greet his old friend. He wasn’t in the mood. He did shake Orlov’s hand after Petrov introduced him. Asaf was nowhere to be found. Neither were the briefcases. This was a disaster.
“What have you found out?” Bobrinsky asked, not offering the men a drink as was customary. He wanted to get to the bad news he knew was coming.
“Detective Fabi has been assigned to investigate the murder of our good friend Denys in Liberty Square on Friday night,” Petrov said. “What he has found is interesting. I will let him explain.”
The President nodded his head acknowledging Fabi. “What did you find?” he asked.
Detective Fabi pulled out some papers and set them in front of the President. His hands were shaking as he did so. But when he spoke, he did so with confidence.
“I discovered bank statements from a Swiss bank account in Minister Denys’s name. The payments appeared to come from the Americans. At first, I thought they were proof that Denys was working with the Americans as a spy. Turns out, the payments didn’t come from the Americans.”
Bobrinsky sat up in his high-back chair. He already knew about the bank accounts. Of course, the Lieutenant and Detective had no way of knowing that. He was extremely interested to learn why Fabi believed the payments hadn’t come from the Americans.
“The payments were traced to an account owned by one of Omer Asaf’s companies,” Fabi continued. “The bank statements you are looking at are from Asaf’s accounts.”
“Asaf brought these statements to me a few days ago, and said they were proof Denys was an American spy,” Bobrinsky said.
He threw the statements down in disgust.
“There’s one other thing,” Fabi said. “If I may?” Fabi stood and pulled one of the statements off of the desk and handed it to the President.
“What’s this?”
“It is a transfer of more than eight million dollars out of Denys’s account. It happened after he died, so Denys obviously couldn’t have made the transfer,” Fabi explained.
“Who did then?” Bobrinsky asked, already knowing the answer to that question.
“The money was transferred back to Asaf’s account. We assume it was done by Asaf.”
Petrov interjected. “It would seem that one Mr. Asaf was trying to make it look like our comrade was working with the Americans when, in fact, he wasn’t.”
Bobrinsky slumped into his chair. Solemn. With tremendous regret. He’d trusted Asaf. Now he learned his good friend was innocent. Wrongly accused. Killed over lies. Not only had Asaf stolen the nukes, but he had murdered one of his best friends. Besmirched his name in the process.
“Asaf is going to pay,” the President said, resolve returning. “I want a warrant out for his arrest. We will seize all of his assets. Close down all of his businesses.”
“Of course,” Petrov said.
“Well done, Detective Orlov. Give this man a promotion and a raise,” Bobrinsky said to Petrov as he stood and held out his hand to Fabi, shaking it strongly. “Let’s all have a drink.” He walked over to the cabinet and poured three drinks. The President raised his glass and said soberly, “Da nasaha zahinulaha tavarysa, Denys.” The other two men repeated the toast. “To our fallen comrade, Denys.”
25
Sunday Morning, 5:45 a.m.
Alex sat in front of a computer and dialed Brad’s secure number for a video conference. The screen flickered, and Brad and Director Coldclaw’s images appeared, staticky at first, but slowly coming into focus until they could see and hear each other perfectly. Alex had a big grin on his face. The tone was not reciprocated by the two on the other end of the call, who were about to demand answers.
“Hi Alex,” Brad said, in a semi-friendly manner.
“Hello,” the Director added.
That was as friendly as the conference was going to get at the moment. They were probably dealing with all kinds of fallout from the shootout, and they had no answers to tell anyone.
“I guess the first question is, where are you?” Brad asked, in a serious, but not confrontational, tone. Typical Brad, he would withhold judgment until he knew the facts. He was also going to take the lead in the conversation, try to set the tone, although the Director would, no doubt, interject anytime she wanted. Brad was his supervisor. His neck was sticking out a mile as well.
“I am somewhere over the North Sea,” Alex answered. “I think I just passed over the Faroe Islands.”
“And what, exactly, are you doing there?” Brad asked. His eyes widened some in surprise, but he kept the same tone.
“I’m headed home.”
“You’re not on a commercial flight. From the background noise and what’s behind you, I’d say you’re on a corporate jet. A nice one, at that. Commercial too good for you now? I see my pilot must have shown up.”
Alex had sent Brad an urgent message late Friday night, early Saturday morning. The message had asked for a commercial pilot and a limousine to be at the safehouse by midnight Saturday night. Something Brad had managed to do, even though he wouldn’t have known why. Another good thing about Brad. He trusted the people in the field. If they needed something, he provided it, if at all possible, no matter how strange it seemed. Especially if the word urgent was associated with it. The officers weren’t to use that word unless it was a real emergency. It had been.
“Yes. I’m on a private jet. And yes, your pilot arrived on time. Thank you very much.”
“That wasn’t easy to do,” Brad said. “Do you care to explain, or do you want us to guess why you are on a private jet, flying over the Atlantic?”
“I borrowed it from a friend. He’d like to say hi.” Alex turned the camera to Omer Asaf laying on the couch. His hands and feet were tied, and his mouth gagged. Alex was in Asaf’s Bombadier Global 7000. One of the nicest planes in the world with a fuel range of 8500 miles. Enough to get him to America without stopping for fuel.
After Jamie and Alex kidnapped Asaf Saturday night, they brought him back to the safehouse. When the limousine and pilot showed up, they put him in the back seat, went to the airport, and Alex and the pilot boarded the jet and took off. Alex hacked into the computer controls and gave the plane a new identity number so it couldn’t be tracked. It was now traveling under an entirely different number and code that no one else knew. He took the most northern route, where there would be the least amount of traffic. Likely no one would even see his plane until it got to the destination. Which was something they needed to discuss. Where should he take Asaf?
“Who is that?” Brad asked.
“Omer Asaf.”
“The billionaire? You kidnapped him?” Director Coldclaw asked, her voice suddenly raised to a questioning tone. “Are you crazy?”
“The man is bad news,” Alex retorted. “He was trying to buy a briefcase bomb from Bobrinsky. We stopped him just in time.”
“You were told not to intervene,” Brad said. “Your mission was to gather information. You had no authority to act on your own.”
The Director glared at Brad. Her shoulders tensed. Alex could almost see steam coming from the top of her head. “I gathered the information,” Alex said, casually, knowing they wouldn’t be mad for long. “We learned that the transfer was going t
o happen this morning. We had to stop it. Before you say anything else, let me show you something.”
Alex had set up the camera to work wirelessly. He took it in his hand and walked to the back of the plane, opened a door in the floor and took stairs down to the cargo hold. A light was on in the area, and Alex hoped it was enough for them to see the reason he was acting so confidently. Four briefcases were lined up against the wall. Alex turned the camera on the nuclear briefcases he and Jamie had stolen late Friday night from the storage unit in Ekores.
“What are those briefcases?” Brad asked.
“Are those what I think they are?” the Director said right after him and before Alex could answer. Alex could no longer see them since he wasn’t by the computer, but he could hear them and was trying to picture their surprised faces.
“Are those nuclear?” Brad asked.
“You got it!” Alex answered excitedly, turning the camera on his face so they could see the wild grin on it. “Those are the four missing nuclear briefcases that Bobrinsky has been hiding.”
“Are you serious?” Director Coldclaw asked. “Do you have confirmation those are really the nukes?”
The CIA had been trying for years to figure out how to secure those nukes. Short of military action, they hadn’t been able to come up with anything. Director Coldclaw’s first concern would be deniability. Even if she was excited. Bobrinsky had claimed they didn’t have the nukes. Our stealing them could create an international incident. It was complicated.
They didn’t need to be concerned. Alex and Jamie had worked all that out brilliantly in Alex’s estimation. He couldn’t wait to tell them the whole story.
“I would open them and prove it to you, but I don’t want to risk any nuclear leakage,” Alex said. “But those are the real thing. Before he died, Denys moved the nukes from their location. We used his badge to go in and steal them from a storage locker where he hid them.”
Alex walked back up the stairs, closed the hatch, and sat down at his computer. He affixed the camera back on the top so they could see him. The Director still had a stunned look on her face. He could tell her mind was spinning as she tried to process all the ramifications. If steam was coming from her head, it was from her mind working too fast. The thought made Alex smile even more.
“If you used Denys’s badge, then he’s been outed,” Brad said with concern.
“Actually, Denys was already outed. Asaf outed him. He somehow got a hold of bank statements showing the CIA payments into Denys’s Swiss bank account. He showed those to Bobrinsky. Asaf had his men follow Denys, who had a meet scheduled with Jamie in the square. That’s when all hell broke loose.”
“What happened?” Brad asked.
“Jamie saw Denys was being followed. She tried to warn him. You know. Follow protocol. Let him know he was being followed. She approached him and used the phrase for danger. After she cleared the area, Asaf’s men came into the square to kill Denys. Jamie saw them come after him, reentered the scene, and that’s when the gunfire broke out.”
“That’s when Denys was killed,” Brad said soberly.
Alex knew Denys was a valuable asset. It had taken years to develop him. But the risk of the agent being outed came with the territory. Fortunately, Denys hadn’t died in vain. With the four nukes and all the classified information, he might go down as one of the most effective agents in history.
“That’s when he was killed,” Alex said. “Jamie did everything she could to save him. She was remarkable.”
“She shouldn’t have gone back in,” Brad said.
“It’s a good thing she did,” Alex retorted.
“There was a huge shootout in a tourist area,” Brad responded, in an angrier tone. “Our contact is dead. How could that be a good thing?”
“That’s how we got the nukes,” Alex said, defensively. “Along with a boatload of other intelligence. Brad check your files. Denys was carrying a briefcase with a lot of classified information. I downloaded them and sent them to you. He also had a key to the storage unit and a map where the nukes were hidden in the briefcase. Jamie grabbed it before she got out of there. Took a lot of courage to do what she did.”
“There was nothing she could do for Denys, I guess,” Director Coldclaw said. “In a way it’s better. If he was already outed. They were going to kill him anyway. Torture him until he talked. Then make him suffer more. Probably better that he died in the square rather than be tortured to death.”
“Here’s the most amazing part of it,” Alex said. “Denys isn’t outed. Bobrinsky thinks Asaf was lying about Denys.”
“What do you mean?”
“We made it look like Asaf was behind everything. I went into Denys’s bank account and made it look like the money came from him and not the CIA. Then I transferred the money, eight million dollars back out of that account, and made it look like Asaf stole it back.” Part of Alex’s training was on computer sabotage and surveillance. He had the reputation as one of the best hackers in all of the CIA.
“What happened to the money?” Brad asked.
“About that,” Alex said hesitantly.
“Alex… What are you not telling us?” Brad said, a little more sternly.
“We have a new agent in Belarus. I transferred the money into an account I set up for him.”
“Who did you recruit to be a new agent?”
“Actually, I didn’t do it. Jamie did. She recruited him.”
“Regardless of who did it, who is he… or she?”
“He’s a he. His name is Fabi Orlov. He’s a Detective in the Minsk Militsia. He’s meeting with Bobrinsky in a few hours. Giving him the proof that Asaf was lying about Denys. Bobrinsky will put two and two together. Asaf lied about Denys, had him killed, used his badge to steal the nukes, and then left the country in his jet before he could get caught. Denys is going to be a hero in Belarus as far as Bobrinsky is concerned. He’ll get a martyr’s funeral. Fabi will be a hero too, for that matter. And a rich man. Bobrinsky will have no idea what happened to Asaf. He’s in hiding as far as Bobrinsky is concerned.”
“You weren’t authorized to give him eight million dollars,” Brad said.
“Don’t worry about it,” the Director interjected. “The money was already spent. Well spent. Sounds like we are getting double use out of it.”
“And this jet I’m on is worth at least seventy million dollars,” Alex added. “It’s now the property of the United States of America. And Asaf’s got bank accounts with billions of dollars in them. I’ve already looked at most of them. All of which we can freeze or seize. Just say the word, and I’ll take it out of his account right now.”
Alex looked over at Asaf. A final look of resignation came over him as he slumped into the couch and let out a moan, probably realizing life as he knew it was over.
“I don’t know what to say,” Director Coldclaw said. “I should be mad at you for disobeying our orders. But how can I argue with the results. You deserve a lot of credit.”
“Jamie’s the one who really deserves most of the credit. She’s the one who got the briefcase so we could steal the nukes. She flipped Fabi. And she arranged it so we could kidnap Asaf. By the way, we have his computer and cell phone. There is a treasure trove of intelligence on it. Bank accounts. Money laundering. Terrorist contacts. He’s into all kinds of things. He’s the one behind the sex trafficking as well.”
“How did Jamie arrange it so you could nab Asaf? We’ve been trying to get close to him for years.”
“She got him to ask her out on a date.”
“A date!” Director Coldclaw said with exasperation. “That’s against the rules. Are there any rules in the handbook that the two of you didn’t manage to break?”
“I’ll get back with you on that,” Alex said with a grin. “There may have been one, but I’ll have to try to remember.” Brad and the Director both laughed. Their moods had improved considerably since the beginning of the conversation.
“Anyway. She had a
date with him. In his hotel room.”
“Dear God!” Director Coldclaw said. “I don’t know if I want to hear this.”
“Here’s the story. Jamie goes to his room. Saturday night. About 9:30 in the evening. Big suite. Asaf owns the California Hotel and Casino in Minsk. So, he’s got the whole top floor. Of course, she gets by security. Because she has a date. Asaf is expecting her. They order room service. I dressed up as a waiter and brought the food and champagne up to the room. Jamie proposed a toast and he drank it. The drink had a sedative in it that put him to sleep. Why wouldn’t he drink it? He thinks Jamie is going to have sex with him after they eat.”
The Director put her hands over her eyes.
“She didn’t have sex with him. Obviously. He fell asleep. When I came back to get the trays, I put him in a compartment underneath the cart. The guards didn’t think to search it. Why would they? I’m leaving the room, not bringing anything in. I took him out to my car and to the safehouse. Jamie walked right out the hotel entrance. Just like normal. She told the guards Asaf left and went to Splash. A nightclub he owned.”
“Ingenuous plan,” Brad said.
“You said Asaf was behind the sex trafficking,” the Director said. “How’s that?”
“I meant to ask about that too,” Brad added. “Do you know what Jamie found out?”
“Asaf owns a company called Belles of Belarus.” Alex could see Brad looking down and could hear him typing something—probably pulling up the website.
“It’s a mail-order-bride business. A front for sex trafficking. They recruit women. Promise them a husband in America. Then they load them on buses and take them to Russia, where they sell them into the sex trade.”
“How are they not discovered?” the Director asked. “I would think the families would report the girls missing.”
“The girls sign an agreement that they won’t contact their families for one year. They tell them it’s part of the confidentiality agreement. They can’t contact their families until they become US citizens. The girls don’t know any better. They’re just trying to get a better life.”
