by Alan L. Lee
Looking like she belonged, Nora had already done a quick assessment of the Marriott’s lobby. She kept moving, utilizing her peripheral vision. The elevators to the guest rooms were fronted by high decorative pillars, and there were two restaurants on the level. Judging from the noise, one was probably more of a bar than a sit-down restaurant. There was one thing she couldn’t account for, so she did the only logical thing when one needed information in a hurry: ask someone who would know. She sauntered over to the front desk and explained she was expecting a friend who was going to park in the garage and, not having a car herself, wondered if there was access to the hotel from there. The female clerk was most helpful and pointed to where the bank of elevators let out from the parking structure. Just as the clerk was asking if there was anything else, Nora’s cell phone chimed with a text message
“Excuse me, this is probably her.” Nora backed away and read the message from Duncan. She took a moment to text him back and then calculated her next step. Beating the man to the guest elevators presented a problem because most likely, he’d allow her to enter first. At that point, she would either have to punch a floor button or wait for him to ask “Which floor?” She settled for a riskier option that would require precise timing.
She hung back upon first noticing Duncan’s imposing figure exiting the parking garage elevator. His size blocked her view of the target that followed a few steps behind him. Nora slowly moved toward the guest elevators, and when Duncan peeled away toward the lobby area, there was the man from the cathedral. He increased his step to get an elevator that was there, waiting. Once inside, he quickly pushed his floor button. Nora hoped she had timed correctly the rate of closure for the elevators. She accelerated her pace as the door began inching to a close. Six inches of opening was all that remained when she stuck a hand in the elevator door, forcing it to reopen.
“Whew, that was close,” she exclaimed, appearing a bit out of breath. The man was slightly startled at first, but upon inspecting Nora, he relaxed his posture. He was still standing close to the buttons.
“If I may, what floor?”
“Fourth…” Nora began, before realizing the number was already punched. “Looks like we’re on the same floor. Thank you.” Her accent revealed a Russian influence.
When the doors opened again, the man waited for her to depart first. Either he had manners or was being cautious. Getting her bearings straight, Nora turned left, and she could feel him do so as well. Any minute, she said to herself, her purse already slightly open in anticipation. Hopefully, his room wouldn’t be at the end of the hall. She was relieved when her phone rang. As per her text instruction, it was Duncan calling exactly a minute and a half after she entered the elevator.
She answered and made sure her side of the conversation was heard. She slowed down, stepping aside to give the man room to pass. She protested into her cell that she really didn’t feel like joining the person on the other end for a drink in the hotel bar. She instead wanted to freshen up before dinner, but she finally relented and agreed to come back down. She did so, though, only after taking note of which room the man entered.
CHAPTER 41
They’d been traveling for nearly thirty minutes, the lights of Tbilisi proper fading from view. From briefly studying a map, Alex surmised the treacherous foothills of the Trialeti Range were to the right. To his left, he was able to follow the Mtkvari River before it snaked away from the city.
There was little conversation between the two men, except for the occasional directions given by the passenger to Alex, who was behind the wheel of the compact car. As instructed, Alex had been waiting outside of the Opera and Ballet Theatre, which was just letting out after a performance. The location was within walking distance from the Marriott, and Alex had taken the opportunity to clear his head as he’d walked along Rustaveli Avenue. He had arrived early on purpose and found a bench across from the Rustaveli National Theatre. The majestically lighted building was right next door to the Opera and Ballet Theatre meeting place. He had been in place when his appointment pulled up to the curb in the compact. The driver’s side door was swung open, and Alex was told to drive.
When Alex asked what name the man should be called, he received a terse response. “You can call me Mr. Green.”
Alex guessed it was meant to be a coy reference to his expected payday. “Mr. Green” was definitely packing a sidearm in his right jacket pocket. Once settled in the passenger seat, he sat at a slight angle that would allow him to use the weapon, should it become necessary.
Alex’s attempt to learn where they were heading had been rebuffed with a simple, “Just follow my directions.” Alex hoped that by this time, Nora, Sara, and Duncan were well into the process of retrieving information about Mr. Green.
Getting access to the man’s room without a key or name presented a problem, but they’d brainstormed and felt confident there was a way.
Duncan purchased an envelope from the gift shop, filling it with a few sheets of blank paper to add bulk. He then proceeded to the front desk, explained to the clerk that his friend and wife weren’t in their room as expected, and asked if he could check one last time. If they were still out, he’d appreciate it if the envelope were left in their mailbox. Since he also provided the room number, the clerk called to make sure, but got no answer. Aside from confirming what he already knew, the clerk gave Duncan a valuable piece of information upon accepting the envelope.
“Mr. Janko isn’t picking up, but I’ll certainly put this in his mailbox.”
Duncan expressed his gratitude and made his way to the hotel bar. That was twenty-five minutes after Nora had walked up to the hotel desk, inquiring whether a room was available since her company had failed to make a reservation due to a last minute scheduling change. She had also expressed her preference for something on the fourth floor, away from the elevator, and she didn’t care about a view. The clerk checked and was able to accommodate her request.
While Duncan was dropping off his envelope, Sara was stepping out of the shower in Nora’s room. Instead of drying off, she slipped her wet body and dripping hair into a hotel robe, grabbed the room’s ice bucket, and exited.
The desk clerk that had assisted Duncan was just as puzzled as some of the people in the lobby area upon seeing a woman clad only in her hotel robe approaching in a hurry, depositing water droplets in her wake. There were a couple of people ahead of her in line, but Sara apologized as she walked past them, her face reeking of embarrassment as she propped the ice bucket on the counter. Not wanting this to become more of a spectacle than it already was, the clerk rushed over to be of assistance.
“Something I can help you with, miss?”
Sara looked around, aware a number of people were taking interest. “Yes, thank you. I’m so embarrassed,” she said in a rush, nearly out of breath. “I’m Mrs. Janko in room 412. I just got out of the shower and was on my way to get a bucket of ice when I realized I’d left my key in the room. Stupid me, it’s on the dresser and I forgot to grab it on my way out. My husband is away at the moment, so I have no way to get in the room. Could you please give me another key or have someone let me in the room?”
Conscious others were watching and waiting, the clerk decided the best course of action was to get this resolved as soon as possible. “Certainly, let me code you a key. Janko, 412, you said?”
“Yes and oh my, thank you so much.”
“Not a problem.” The clerk finished activating the card and handed it over. Sara started to walk away. “Mrs. Janko,” he called out. Sara froze.
“Yes?”
“A gentleman dropped off an envelope for you and your husband a short while ago. You must have been in the shower when he called.”
She took the envelope and waved it by her head. “Again, thank you.” Opening the door to Janko’s suite, she cautiously waited for a second, listening for any indication she might not be alone. None came, so she went about searching the room for any information on Mr. Janko.
Alex had followed a long stretch of road out of town, the area growing more remote with each passing mile. Faint nighttime lights were now separated by huge gaps of land. He exited the road and turned down a path that took them over a bridge crossing the Mtkvari River. He was now driving along a bumpy road sandwiched by heavy foliage and a succession of tall trees. He guessed his passenger had to have knowledge of this area, because roaming through it in the dark, without any guidance, was just asking to be lost. The headlights of the compact were the only source of light. After a few more jolting revolutions of the tires, Alex saw what had to be their destination. In the foreground, about half a mile away, he could make out what appeared to be a transport plane, one side bathed by light as if it were a museum piece. Mr. Green told Alex to bring the vehicle to a complete stop and flash his lights on and off twice. His actions were met with a similar response just ahead of them.
“Proceed,” Mr. Green advised. “Slowly.”
Two men armed with semiautomatic weapons emerged from the shadows, taking a relaxed but ready position in front of their vehicle. Alex stopped when one of the men raised his hand. The man then came to the driver’s side, his index finger positioned near his weapon’s trigger, the other holding a flashlight. He motioned for Alex to roll down the window and then took a closer look inside. He didn’t seem to take much interest in Alex, addressing Mr. Green instead.
“You were told to come alone,” the man admonished.
“He’s my business associate. It couldn’t be helped,” Mr. Green pleaded.
Looking none too pleased, the man backed away. His action led the other armed sentry to assume a more ready position.
“Damn it,” Mr. Green said, just loud enough for Alex to hear. “I knew bringing you was a mistake.”
“Easy,” Alex whispered. “Easy.”
The guard to his side was now on a cell phone, conversing in Russian. The call was short, and when he hung up, he instructed his associate to lower his weapon and move aside. Alex was then waved through as the vehicle in front of them pulled aside to give them access to the road. They followed the path as it curved before straightening out along the fence line, revealing an airfield. The foliage was less dense here, and Alex could clearly make out the plane now. A good-sized transport, its side-loading doors were open and waiting alongside several trucks. The whole space was strategically flooded with lights. There was another set of armed guards at the airstrip’s gates, and they waved the car through. Alex proceeded to where the trucks and a couple of vehicles were parked.
“Now, I’ll do the talking. Remember, you are my associate,” Mr. Green said, much more comfortable now that the situation seemed manageable. “If I ask for your opinion, just agree with me. Understood?”
“You’re the expert.”
Mr. Green then realized he was without a valuable piece of information. “What should I call you?”
“Fine time to think about asking me that, huh? McBride should be easy enough to remember.”
“And now is not the time to get cute, Mr. McBride.”
Alex stretched to get rid of the unpleasantness of being inside the cramped space. There were several more men milling about, most of them visibly armed. Clearly their arrival had sparked interest, as the attention shifted to him and Mr. Green. As they walked around to the lead truck, Alex got the impression the airstrip wasn’t used often and probably wasn’t on too many maps.
Alex was forced to squint as the huge lights brought about near-daylight conditions. He glanced at the plane’s wide-open side doors, which revealed a cavernous interior waiting to be filled. There were even more men, and for the first time, Alex noticed some of them were not of European or Eastern Bloc heritage. They were Middle Eastern and mostly in the background near the plane. The first voice he heard greeting Mr. Green was unmistakably Russian. A few feet behind, Alex saw only a portion of the man’s face because of the lights.
“And who have you brought with you?” the Russian asked, his attention shifting to Alex.
Mr. Green sounded convincing. “He’s my associate, Mr. McBride.” Alex barely heard the words as his stomach lurched to his throat. He could see the Russian clearly now.
He searched the Russian’s face for any sudden change. It had been years, but he was certain beyond a doubt that he was standing in front of a vicious killer.
He knew the name even before Dmitri Nevsky introduced himself.
CHAPTER 42
The names and the faces associated with them had stopped creeping into his consciousness on a frequent basis. It was as if the dead had finally moved on, releasing him from his personal purgatory. But when Nora had reentered his life, so did the departed. Alex had exacted a measure of revenge by killing the man who’d engineered their demise. That act of retribution had also cemented his exit from the CIA. The government’s decision to utilize the double agent instead of bringing him to justice was too much to swallow. Men, women, and families had trusted Alex. He had sold them on democracy and the promise of a better, safer existence. All of that had systematically been stripped away by the man standing in front of him.
The Russian with heavy eyebrows and dark, lifeless eyes had been the executioner of Alex’s assets in the Middle East after the former Iraqi foreign minister—the man the US government had trusted with sensitive information— betrayed them. He had passed that information along to Nevsky and the Russians, and to anyone else willing to pay to learn the identities of home-born spies.
Nevsky had been a butcher who took delight in driving home the message that helping or siding with the West carried dire consequences.
With relatives cursing his existence in a language he wished he didn’t understand, Alex saw firsthand Nevsky’s brutality. Ammar Handi’s torso was found along the banks of the Tigris River, his identification stuffed in a shirt pocket. Once Alex had learned of his death, he’d tried desperately to warn and protect his family. He had been too late. As he’d entered their modest dwelling, Alex could only imagine the terror they’d experienced in their last moments. On top of a table was Ammar’s severed head. On the floor beneath, in a puddle of blood, lay the body of his wife, a bullet wound ventilating her skull. In the corner of the room, slumped against the wall, was his daughter, the oldest, the wall streaked with blood from the point of impact. In another bedroom was Ammar’s six-year-old son, his youth cut short by a bullet to the heart.
It was that night that Alex had decided to do what his government was reluctant to carry out, dismissing their argument to look at the bigger picture. His approach was much simpler. The asshole responsible for this atrocity and for the deaths of other trusted assets was going to pay with his life. So, despite a firm hands-off order from high-ranking officials in Washington, Alex got up close and personal with the man who so casually decided the fate of others. He died in a lot of pain, slowly.
Alex had been immediately jettisoned back to Langley to face a barrage of angry politicians who were hell-bent on teaching him a lesson about following orders and understanding what was at stake in the war on terror. Knowing he was right, Alex felt the only sane decision was to stop working for people who saw the world with blinders on.
He had one regret. His quick exit meant Dmitri Nevsky would live. For years, he’d tried to content himself with believing the perils of the business would eventually catch up to Nevsky. In time, he had learned to let it go.
“So you are the puny one’s partner?” Nevsky said, those dark eyes probing. “You’re in very good shape to be in your profession. You look more like muscle to me, and Mr. Green should know he has no need for such precautions.”
Alex had fully expected to be dead by now. Maybe Nevsky, so heavily surrounded with protection, was toying with him. But his interest seemed to be that of a stranger’s at the moment. It dawned on Alex that they had actually seen each other only twice before, and each occurrence was under less than favorable light in Tehran. Alex had obtained surveillance photos of Nevsky,
and once at a restaurant, he heard him speaking loudly, celebrating. Because of the savagery, Alex had promised he’d never forget the face or voice. He’d given up hope, though, of ever seeing him again.
Alex didn’t want to appear too comfortable, which was no act.
“I like to work out,” he responded. “Helps alleviate some of the boredom.”
Nevsky seemed warily satisfied. He returned his focus to Mr. Green. “Let’s get this concluded. The Iranians are not happy about having to wait. You’ve nearly taken this down to the deadline.”
“Blame that on Mr. McBride,” was the reply as they followed Nevsky to the back of the lead truck. Nevsky nodded to a couple of his men. They moved like a pit crew servicing a racecar. The doors were swung to their sides and a wide ramp deployed to ease access. The truck was packed with crates, leaving just enough room for the contents to be extracted. A pair of men raced up the ramp and grabbed one of the crates. They carefully carried it off the truck, placing it to the side. They went back in and repeated the maneuver, this time grabbing a crate from a different section. While they did this, another set of men opened the first crate that had been brought out. Mr. Green made a move to take a closer look but Nevsky held him back with a firm arm across his chest.
“Mr. McBride. If you will, indulge me,” Nevsky said with a wry smile, his head motioning to the open crate.
“But I’m supposed to inspect the merchandise,” Mr. Green protested. “They’re paying me directly.”
“Yes, that’s true. But you said he is your associate, so I assume he has some expertise in the area. And besides, Mr. Green, you were instructed to come alone.” Nevsky addressed a Middle Eastern man who was standing nearby, quietly observing the proceedings. “Is this okay with you? It’s for your protection.” The Iranian remained silent, giving his approval with the wave of a hand.
Mr. Green could feel the sweat forming at the top of his receding hairline. He cast a wide-eyed look at the man he only knew as Mr. McBride. It did his nerves no good to get a smile in return.
