The Russian Endgame

by Allan Topol

  “Thanks for agreeing to see me, Mr. President,” Merritt said.

  “Forget the Mr. President, Bill. I already told you to call me Ed.”

  “Sorry. This office is intimidating.”

  “To me, too,” Treadwell said and smiled. “I want to introduce Craig Page.”

  Merritt was holding a briefcase with one hand. He shook Craig’s with the other. “I’ve heard a great deal about you, Craig.”

  “I hope you didn’t believe it.”

  Treadwell chimed in. “He’s even worse than you heard. He owes his life to one of your helicopters which whisked him out of Islamabad yesterday. Right Craig?”

  “Yes, sir. I do.”

  Treadwell pointed to the living area in the center of the office, and three of them sat down. Merritt began. “Ed, I know you’re familiar with our PGS work. Craig, how much do you know about it?”

  “I’ve read a fair amount.”

  “Good. Then our starting point is that the technical development work for the system was done by five brilliant engineers: four men and one woman. The smartest people in our company, in a special group called the Epsilon Unit based here in Gaithersburg. The Unit is in our R&D Division, headed by Bruce Colbert, retired Air Force General, our VP for Science and Technology. Last night one of the five, Paul Walters, died under mysterious circumstances.”

  “What happened?” Treadwell asked.

  “At about five this morning, someone found his body washed up along the banks of the Potomac, not far downstream from an observation point at Great Falls. Walters lived in Montgomery County, which is where his body was found. The Montgomery County Police immediately went to his home and notified his wife, Claire. As you might imagine, she was very distraught, but she showed them a handwritten note Paul had left on the kitchen table. He apparently slipped out of the house while she was sleeping.”

  “What did the note say?” Treadwell asked.

  Merritt removed a tablet from his briefcase and turned it so Craig and Treadwell could see the screen. The note said: “Claire: Please

  know that I love you, Paul Junior, and Linda, even though I’ve done something stupid. An evil person is after me. But I’d never betray my country. Love, Paul.”

  “So it was suicide,” Treadwell said.

  “Looks like it, but here’s another wrinkle. Once the Montgomery County Police found out from Claire Walters that her husband worked for us on a top-secret national security project, they called the FBI, who sent two agents to the area. The FBI agents found in the gazebo, just upstream from the point at which Walters’ body landed, fresh footprints of two men. One matched Walters. The prints showed evidence of a struggle. Also there were fresh tire tracks from two cars nearby.”

  “So Walters met someone in the gazebo,” Craig said.

  “That seems logical. I got a call from FBI Director Leeds about half an hour ago. He has agents headed out to Gaithersburg. They want access to Walters’ office and everything he worked on. We can’t possibly permit that. This is all top-secret information. I have no idea what clearance these people have. So I told our security people at headquarters to admit no one other than employees. Not even police or FBI. Then I called you.”

  Treadwell resumed squeezing his hand. “I’m glad you did. Let’s establish one ground rule right now. Walters note and his work establish that this is a national security matter. I want Craig to go out to Gaithersburg and conduct the investigation at your facility. No one else.”

  “Good,” Merritt said. “What do I tell Leeds and the Montgomery County Police?”

  “You don’t. I’ll call Leeds and tell him. The FBI and the County will focus on Walters’ house and the Potomac River. Craig is handling your facility in Gaithersburg.”

  Craig was sure Leeds would scream when he got the order. The man was always trying to expand his turf. And Craig was right. Though Treadwell didn’t put the call on speaker, Craig heard Leeds’ surly voice on the phone. After listening to his pleas and rants, Treadwell said, “I’m the President, and that’s how it’s going to be.”

  When Treadwell put down the phone, Craig said to Merritt, “Have your security people made an investigation?”

  “Good question. That’s where I was going next.”

  Jim Paxton, retired Army Major, is the head of security. Claire Walters called him as soon as she learned about her husband, and Paxton called me. The critical PGS technical information is contained on a set of CDs maintained in a metal lined vault in our Gaithersburg headquarters. Those CDs could be duplicated. However, access to the vault is strictly limited to certain specified individuals. Walters is one of them. But to do so, he’d have to pass both fingerprint and iris ID. Each entry to the vault is automatically recorded. Time and date.”

  “Did Walters enter the vault recently?”

  “Paxton told me that he entered it yesterday. His last prior entry was two weeks ago. Last Sunday, Walters went to Los Angeles for a business trip to work with our plant people about PGS implementation. He returned from Los Angeles Wednesday evening. Thursday, yesterday, he was in the office and he did enter the vault at ten fifty a.m. He remained in there for thirty-three minutes.”

  “Long enough to copy the CDs,” Craig said. “And deliver them to whomever he met at Great Falls before that individual pushed Walters into the river.”

  “But he didn’t do that,” Merritt replied firmly.

  “How do you know?”

  “With my approval, about six months ago, Paxton installed a hidden camera in the vault that constantly films the room. Except for the technician who installed the camera, no one else knows about it.”

  “What’s it show for Walters’ entry yesterday?” Treadwell asked.

  “Paxton forwarded the key portion of the tape to my computer.”

  Treadwell looked amazed.

  “Although we build airplanes and missiles,” Merritt said, “We’re basically a high tech company.”

  Merritt placed the screen between Treadwell and Craig. The video depicted Walters entering the vault. He walked over to a metal cabinet that had “CDs” on the front. He punched in two numbers of a code. He was preparing to punch in a third. Then he stopped. The cabinet door remained closed.

  Walters walked away from the cabinet and sat down in a chair. He put his head into his hands. He appeared to be crying, his body shaking.

  Merritt said, “You can continue to look if you like. But Walters remained this way the rest of the time he was in the vault.”

  “I’ve seen enough,” Treadwell said.

  Craig nodded and said, “So whoever Walters was meeting expected him to bring the CDs, and he didn’t. Then either that man pushed Walters into the Potomac, or he jumped when he realized they wouldn’t leave him alone and probably had a way to blackmail him.”

  “That’s pretty much what I thought,” Merritt said.

  “Makes sense,” Treadwell said glumly.

  “What do you want to do in Gaithersburg?” Merritt asked Craig.

  “Talk to Walters’ boss, Bruce Colbert. Also, the four other people in the Epsilon Unit.”

  “I want you to be in charge of that investigation,” Merritt said. “Not Colbert or Paxton. It has to be someone outside the company. We can’t risk bias that could influence the results. Give me your email address. I’ll forward the bios of the other people in the Epsilon Unit to you, as well as Colbert’s. Also Walters. You can read them in the car on the way out.”

  Craig gave Merritt his email and cell phone contacts.

  Treadwell said, “Send the bios to me as well.”

  “Will do,” Merritt said. “Whoever Walters was involved with may contact one of the other four. We have to let them know.”

  “I agree,” Craig replied. “I will do that.”

  “Remember,” Merritt cautioned, “these people are brilliant scientists, but quirky people.”

  “Thanks. I’ll tread carefully. What about the media? To your knowledge, have they gotten hold of the stor
y yet?”

  “I don’t think so. I asked Leeds to impose a media blackout. Also, I asked Jane Porter, the Chief of Police in Montgomery County, with whom I have good relations, to do the same. Is there anything else I can do?”

  Craig shook his head and looked at Treadwell who said, “Thanks Bill. We now have everything. I’m grateful for what you’ve done. We’ll keep you in the loop.”

  Merritt rose to leave. Treadwell turned to Craig. “Will you stick around for a minute before you go to Gaithersburg?”

  “Sure.”

  When Merritt had gone, Treadwell said to Craig, “You won’t like this, but I’m setting up a Task Force to deal with the issue. The first meeting will be here in the Situation Room at six this afternoon. I’ll ask Leeds to come and report what he’s learned. I’ll want you to do the same. Jeannie is in the Middle East, so I’ll get someone else from State. The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs and a rep from DOD.”

  Treadwell was right. Craig didn’t like the idea of committees, but he knew opposition was futile. Treadwell was the President.

  Craig had something else on his mind. As he thought about what Merritt had said, he was rapidly concluding that the other shoe had dropped in the Zhou, Orlov, Kuznov operation. This effort to obtain PGS must have been engineered by Zhou using Orlov and Kuznov. This time, Craig would nail the Chinese President.

  As Craig stated toward the door, Treadwell said, “I know what you’re thinking.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You believe this is another scheme developed by President Zhou.”

  “You’re a very good mind reader, Mr. President.”

  “Actually, I won’t argue with you. China has the most to gain from having PGS. It fits with their rapid military buildup.”

  “And the most to lose if we have it, and they don’t.”

  “Then you have to make sure they don’t get it.”

  Gaithersburg, Maryland

  Once the car pulled away from the White House, Craig yanked out his laptop. He focused on the bios with photos Merritt had forwarded: Bruce Colbert and the five members of the Epsilon Unit.

  Colbert, an Air Force Academy graduate in engineering, had been an Air Force General in charge of R&D who retired five years ago at the age of fifty and stepped right through the revolving door to assume his present position at Rogers Laughton. His Air Force career had been exemplary. Nothing stood out in his bio.

  The three other men in the Epsilon Unit, Darrell Perkins, the Unit’s Director, Gus Morse, and Roy Slater, had similar backgrounds. All PhD’s in aeronautical engineering, the first two from MIT; the third from Georgia Tech. All three had joined Rogers Laughton after receiving their PhDs and rose through the ranks of the company’s R&D division. Darrell and Gus were in their forties. Roy was thirty-nine. All three were married with children. Nothing in their bios jumped out at Craig.

  When he finished reading Roy’s bio, Craig asked himself: “What am I looking for?”

  Then it struck him. He had to get ahead of these people. He couldn’t simply be reacting. He had to put himself in their heads.

  Walters didn’t turn over the CDs, so their likely next move would be to approach another member of the Epsilon Unit. To catch them, Craig had to place one of the other members of the Epsilon Unit out as a dangle, hoping someone approached the dangle to get the CDs. Certainly a high-risk operation for the member of the Epsilon Unit, but Craig was convinced this was his best shot.

  As he turned to the remaining member of the Epsilon Unit, Jill Morgan, Craig thought that selecting a woman would be advantageous. It would totally change the dynamics. But she had to be right for the role.

  Looking at Jill’s picture, he was stuck by how much she resembled Elizabeth. Similar facial features. Another brunette, although with shorter hair. Good-looking, but not beautiful. She had an athlete’s figure accompanied by a serious, intense look.

  He expected that Jill would be another PhD in aeronautical engineering, but all she had was a bachelor’s degree in computer engineering from the Air Force Academy, where she had graduated first in her class having gotten an A in every course. She also had a photographic memory, the bio said. Jill was Air Force all the way. Her father, a pilot, was shot down over Vietnam and died in a POW camp. Following graduation from the Academy, she became a pilot, flying F-16s for two years. Then she developed Meniere Syndrome, an inner ear problem, which grounded her. She was assigned to an Air Force R&D Unit at Edwards Air Force Base in California.

  A year later, Jill married Hank Morgan, also a pilot. They had one child, Tracy. When Tracy was eight, Hank’s plane was shot down by Afghan insurgents, and he died in the crash. Immediately after that, Jill left the Air Force and joined Rogers Laughton. That was four years ago.

  The bio also said that Jill had expertise in martial arts and boxing, which she acquired in high school. When she was a freshman at the Air Force academy on a date, a classmate tried to rape her. She beat him up and walked away. Two nights later, three cadets attacked her planning to gang rape her to avenge their buddy. First she kicked two of them in the head so hard they lost consciousness. The third came at her with a knife. She took it away from him, then yanked down his pants and informed him she planned to cut off something and shove it in his mouth. Before she could do that, two upperclassmen, who happened to be in the area, raced over and pulled her off. In response, she organized the female cadets into a group called “The Sisterhood,” and convinced the administration to arrange martial arts training for members of the group.

  Jill is Elizabeth’s soul mate, Craig thought. Both brilliant and tough. From her bio, she sounded as if she would be perfect to be the dangle.

  Craig’s cell phone rang. It was Bill Merritt. “Bad news,” Merritt said. “WTOP Radio had the story of Walters’ death. With the espionage implications, I’m sure it’ll be on the networks and CNN in minutes.”

  “Shit!”

  “My sentiments exactly.”

  “What’d they say?”

  “I’ll read it from my computer. One of the PR people at the company sent it to me.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Paul Walters, a top engineer at Rogers Laughton, died this morning. His body washed up on the shore of the Potomac downstream from Great Falls. Police are investigating the cause of death. Walters was engaged in classified work for the U.S. government.”

  “Whoever leaked it knew what they were taking about.”

  “Any guesses?”

  Craig’s instinctive reaction was to suspect Leeds because the FBI Director was angry at Treadwell for taking him off the critical part of the investigation. Craig decided not to share that with Bill Merritt.

  “I don’t know,” Craig said. “I’ll inform the President.”

  “He won’t be happy.”

  “You’re right about that. But he’s been around long enough to know that Washington leaks like a sieve.”

  Dulles Airport

  Orlov was anxious as he sat in a restaurant at Dulles Airport. It was nine thirty in the morning, and he was waiting for his plane to San Francisco where he was scheduled to connect to Beijing. He dreaded the idea of having to explain to Zhou what had happened with Walters and that he would not be able to get the PGS technology, but he knew that he had to do it in person.

  Zhou had control over Androshka. Trying to avoid the Chinese president would put her at risk and Orlov didn’t want to do that. Orlov not only loved his sister, but he felt responsible that she was still in Zhou’s clutches. If it weren’t for Orlov cajoling her, Androshka would have left Beijing and returned to Moscow.

  He sipped some awful tasting, watery black coffee. Why couldn’t Americans make decent coffee?

  Orlov raised his head and glanced at the TV above the bar, set to CNN. Paul Walters’ picture appeared on the screen. Orlov nearly flew out of his chair.

  He moved close to the set so he could hear the announcer. “Walters, an engineer with Rogers Laughton, was engaged in highly classified w
ork for the U.S. government. The cause of death is unknown. Police and the FBI are investigating… In Egypt, the government continues to battle Islamic protesters…”

  Orlov returned to his seat. All he could think of was Angie.

  Once she saw Walters’ face on the television or in a newspaper, she’d freak out. She’d be panicked that she’d be implicated in his death. And she’d be right. It was only a matter of time, and not much, until the FBI got to Angie. She would tell them how a man claiming to be a Czech banker had arranged everything. She would provide a description of Orlov, which the FBI artists would convert into photos for distribution around the world. Somebody in Europe would undoubtedly recognize Orlov. And even if he managed to avoid arrest and extradition, he’d have Kuznov’s fury to deal with.

  Don’t involve Russia, Orlov had told him. That also meant: don’t get caught. Suddenly, an operational failure had turned into a disaster.

  Angie was a loose end that couldn’t be tolerated. He had to take care of her. As he thought about it some more, he realized that he had been stupid, not planning to deal with Angie even before Walters’ picture was on the television.

  When Walters had surprised him by jumping into the Potomac, Orlov had panicked. He hadn’t slept at all last night. And he hadn’t been thinking clearly.

  He went to the men’s room and splashed cold water over his face. “Get a grip,” he told himself.

  He knew what he had to do. He went to the United Airlines customer service desk and changed his flight to one to Los Angeles; then Beijing that evening.

  Fortunately, it wasn’t even seven o’clock in Los Angeles. Angie would still be sleeping. Orlov called her cell and woke her.

  He told her what she’d see if and when she turned on the television.

  Sounding groggy, she said, “Run that by me again.”

  So he repeated it. At the end, he said, “Don’t worry,” trying to sound reassuring. “Nobody knows about you.”

  “Don’t worry?” she shouted hysterically. “Jesus, that’s easy for you to say. You won’t become a household joke. Having your picture flashed around the world on the Internet and YouTube.”