by Allan Topol
Craig explained the situation to Treadwell. At the end Treadwell said, “That goddamn Jan. When he called to congratulate me on becoming president, he invited me to visit the Czech Republic and told me how anxious he was to strengthen relations with the United States. Now he pulls this shit. I’ll call Jan right now with you on the line in case he raises logistical issues.”
For a full two minutes, Craig didn’t hear a thing. He worried technology had failed him. That he has been disconnected. He considered hanging up and redialing the White House. He decided to wait another thirty seconds. All the while, he was kicking his foot on the ground, digging a hole deeper and deeper.
At last, he heard a voice in a Czech accent saying, “I have the Czech president.” Then, “This is Jan, President Treadwell. I understand we have a problem.”
Craig listened as Treadwell succinctly summarized the issue for Jan. Concluding, he said, “I can’t believe you would withhold approval for us to fly a single helicopter through your airspace. For us, this is a critical issue. And you told me that you wanted to improve relations.”
“I’m sorry. But before you called, I didn’t know anything about this matter. I had no idea.”
Craig wanted to scream: “Bullshit. Your Defense Minister told Giuseppe he was acting on your orders.” But Craig kept still.
Treadwell responded. “Well now that you know, can we proceed?”
“You realize, of course, that more than one helicopter flight is involved. There is likely to be a battle at the chateau.”
“Hopefully not.”
“It’s a question of our territorial integrity. We’re not a third world banana republic.”
“I understand that.”
“I’ll need time to think about it.”
Craig’s heart sank.
“We don’t have time,” Treadwell replied firmly. “Lives are at stake.”
There was a pause, then Treadwell added. “Okay, Jan. Tell me what you want in return.”
“A reduction in tariffs on Czech steel,” Treadwell said without hesitation.
“You’ll get it. I’ll cut them by fifty percent.”
“Permission is granted for your Marines.”
“Good. I’ll tell Craig Page to move now.”
Craig took that as his signal. He hung up the phone and called the Marine base in Germany.
Elizabeth was watching anxiously as Jill and Drozny were speaking on the phone while Drozny worked at his computer, making changes dictated by Jill to the CDs. The discussion was highly technical; and Elizabeth had no idea what Jill was telling Drozny. She just hoped Jill wasn’t disclosing the true PGS.
Craig was en route to the chateau in a Blackhawk helicopter with a pilot, Marine Captain Curtis, and the five armed members of his unit.
“ETA, six minutes,” the pilot said.
Craig told the Marines, “Remember, I need Orlov and Elizabeth alive.”
He had distributed pictures of both of them. “You can kill everybody else.”
Through binoculars, Craig surveyed the grounds around the chateau. What he saw amazed him: six elderly soldiers, dressed in Red Army uniforms, were gripping automatic weapons. Orlov must have gathered up some of his buddies from the Soviet era. He couldn’t underestimate them. He passed the word to the Marines.
The chopper landed in a clearing about fifty yards from the chateau.
Craig was the first one out. The Czech soldiers were running toward the helicopter. Craig aimed at the one in front. His shot hit the man in the chest. He was down. The others didn’t retreat. Instead, they scattered into the trees, firing as they ran at the Marines, who were now on the ground. Captain Curtis and the Marines gave chase while Craig ran up to the entrance to the chateau, prepared to fire if Czech reinforcements came out of the building. None did. He held his position, waiting for the Marines before he entered.
Meantime, Craig heard a constant firing of guns as the firefight raged in the forest. Five minutes later, Captain Curtis came racing up to Craig with his five Marines intact. “All enemy combatants are dead,” the Captain told Craig. “We’re ready to go in.”
Craig raised his gun, preparing to blast off the front door lock. Before doing that, he smashed his foot against the door. It gave way.
Inside, he saw a wooden staircase. He pointed up to Captain Curtis and they were ready to move. Craig and the Marines put on their gas masks.
Inside the living room, Elizabeth stood next to Orlov and close
to Drozny, seated at a table, still engaged in his technical discussion with Jill.
Suddenly, Jill heard the shots outside and she knew what was happening: Craig had made it with the Marines he planned to bring. She sized up the situation. In the house were seven armed Czechs with her, Orlov and Vladimir. When Craig and the Marines raced up the stairs, all hell would break loose with bullets flying everywhere. Orlov could easily be killed in the crossfire. She couldn’t let that happen. They needed Orlov alive.
In response to firing outside, Franz had directed the Czechs to take positions behind the bulky furniture. Suddenly, she saw a metal canister flying up the stairs. It landed on the floor with a thud, filling the room with tear gas. In the haze and pandemonium, she grabbed Vladimir’s computer and smashed it against the side of Orlov’s head, knocking him out.
Coughing and gagging, she dragged Orlov into a bedroom and opened a window. She leaned out, gasping for breath. When she could breathe normally, she picked up Orlov and held his head out of the window. He was semiconscious, but breathing and alive. She left him hanging on the windowsill while she opened all the other windows in the bedroom and moved a dresser away from the wall. She dragged Orlov behind it and hid there with him.
For the next five minutes, she heard endless rounds of automatic weapons firing. The noise was deafening. She held her hands over
her ears.
Finally, all was silent. Still, she didn’t move. Then she heard it from the entrance to the bedroom. The most wonderful sound in the world. Craig’s voice. “Elizabeth… Elizabeth… Elizabeth, are you in here?”
“Yes,” she called out. “Behind the bureau.”
He pulled it away from the wall. She stood up, threw her arms around him, and kissed him.
“Did they harm you?” he asked.
“No. I’m fine. And I have Orlov.”
As if on cue, Orlov stood up and, woozy, staggered out from behind the bureau. Then he collapsed onto the bed.
“I think he’ll be alright,” Elizabeth said. “I just gave him a tap on the head. What happened in there?”
“All seven Czechs are dead. The other Russian, too.”
“He’s Vladimir, a Russian aerospace scientist enlisted to help Orlov. The real Vladimir Drozny.”
“Two Marines are wounded. Not seriously.”
He handed her a gun. “Stay in here and keep your eye on Orlov. Also send that video of Androshka’s murder to my phone. I’ll be back in a few minutes. I have a little more cleanup. Then we move on.”
“One important thing. Orlov threatened to kidnap or kill Jill’s daughter. I don’t know if he set it in motion with people at the Russian embassy or if he was bluffing, but you better call Washington.”
“Thanks.” Craig reached for his cell phone. “I’ll call the agents at Jill’s house. Tell them what you’ve learned. I’ll put them on alert and have them beef up security. Hopefully, they’ll get there before the Russians.”
Craig walked back into the living room. Two Marines were bandaging their wounded comrades.
Captain Curtis told Craig, “Once we’ve stopped the flow of blood, I’d like to take my people back to the base in the chopper if that’s okay with you Mr. Page?”
“Absolutely,” Craig said. “And thanks for a job well done.”
Giuseppe walked into the room. At the end of Craig’s report, Giuseppe said, “I’ll call the Czech authorities and have them pick up the bodies. I have the Czech helicopter on hold outside the chateau with the pilot inside. Can I transport
you, Elizabeth, and Orlov somewhere?
“Yes, but first I want to have a little chat with Orlov.”
Craig returned to the bedroom. He told Elizabeth, “I called Washington. Nothing has happened at Jill’s house. We’ve expanded security. She’s fine and wanted me to tell you that she never gave Drozny the true equations for PGS.”
“I’m so glad she’s alright.”
Orlov was coming around, but not fast enough for Craig. In the bathroom, he found a bucket and poured cold water over Orlov’s head. The Russian was now conscious. Elizabeth had the gun aimed at him.
Craig wasn’t sure Orlov recognized him. So he said, “I’m Craig Page. CIA Director.”
“Who’s she?” Orlov said, pointing to Elizabeth.
“You don’t have to know.”
“She sure had me fooled. I was convinced she was Jill Morgan.”
“Let me show you something.”
Craig handed Orlov his phone, set to the video of Androshka’s murder.
While Orlov watched the video, Craig studied his face. Horror gave way to pain. He cried out, “That dirty bastard.” Then Orlov put his head into his hands and cried. “She never hurt anybody,” he said through muffled sobs. “She took care of me when I was wounded in the army… I loved her.”
Craig took back the phone and converted it to the record mode. He placed it on the bed close to Orlov.
“Do you want Zhou to be punished for your sister’s murder?”
“More than anything in the world. I want revenge. Zhou has to pay for what he did. He can’t get away with killing Androshka.”
“I can help you get that revenge.”
“How? I’ll do anything for you.”
“First, tell me what Zhou had to do with your effort to obtain PGS?”
“Everything,” Orlov replied without hesitation. “It was all his idea. I never even heard of PGS. He and his chief military scientist taught me everything I needed to know. They even…”
“Who was the scientist?”
“Jiang Hua. He gave me the names and bios of the Epsilon Unit of Rogers Laughton. You think I found Paul Walters and Jill Morgan on my own? Jiang told me about the conference where Jill was speaking. Then Zhou ordered me to move the rendezvous point with Jill outside the United States.”
“What about Dalton’s assassination?”
“Zhou’s idea, too. He was afraid Dalton would impose trade sanctions against China for human rights violations.”
“What did President Kuznov have to do with these operations?”
“Kuzov went along. He helped me with logistics on the Dalton operation, including giving me the name of Valerie Clurman, a Secret Service employee whose computer I broke into to obtain the schedule for Dalton’s flight to Camp David. Kuznov had known Valerie at Oxford a long time ago. On PGS, Kuznov supplied Vladimir Drozny.”
Kuznov’s involvement didn’t make sense to Craig. “What did Kuznov stand to gain?”
“He hated Dalton and feared American economic coercion. On PGS, Zhou told me that Russia would have access to PGS as well as China. I reported that to Kuznov. Also, Kuznov desperately wants an alliance with China. He wants Zhou to come to Moscow to solidify that alliance. These were just preliminary steps to show Kuznov’s good faith.”
“Why’s he so concerned about an alliance with China?”
“He views it as a critical step in Russia’s military and political resurgence. I was just a small cog in all of this. An intermediary brought in by Kuznov because he knew my sister was Zhou’s mistress.”
Craig now had recorded as much of the story as he needed. Enough to forward to President Treadwell and have Treadwell authorize Craig to proceed with his endgame.
Craig said to Orlov, “Take me to Moscow with you. I want to meet with President Kuznov as a representative of President Treadwell. If you do that, you will get your revenge. I promise you that.”
“I don’t know,” Orlov said, sounding nervous. “I don’t know.”
Craig could read his mind. “You’re worried Kuznov will turn on you. Say you’re a fuckup and he had nothing to do with any of this. Is that it?”
After a silence of thirty seconds, Orlov nodded.
Craig added, “You’re between a rock and a hard place. If you won’t take me to Kuznov, you’ll not only lose your revenge against Zhou, but I’ll fly you back to the United States to stand trial for the murders of Dalton, Angie, Paul Walters, and a trucking agent in Pittsburgh.”
“I didn’t push Walters into the Potomac. He jumped.”
“Doesn’t matter. Nobody will care about that. You’ll be headed straight for the electric chair.”
Craig handed Orlov his cellphone. “Call Kuznov and tell him to expect us.”
Orlov placed the call.
Afterwards, Craig told Giuseppe, “Arrange a plane at Prague airport to take me and Orlov to Russia.”
“Will do. I’ll get you to the airport in the chopper. Elizabeth, too.”
Once they were airborne, Craig’s cell rang. It was Betty. “Don’t you ever listen to your voice mail. I’ve been trying to get you.”
“Sorry. I’ve been busy.”
“Hang up with me. I want to send you a text that’ll knock your socks off.”
Craig knew that Betty wasn’t prone to hyperbole. This had to be something. As the chopper tossed around in the wind, Craig read the text Betty forwarded. The CIA had finally been able to break the code and prepare a transcript of the encrypted call between Zhou, when he was still in Bali, and his brother in Beijing. In astonishment, Craig read:
Zhou Yun: The anesthesiologist has been paid off. He will mix potassium chloride with the anesthetic. Then he’ll appear to be doing everything he can to save President Li. No one will suspect him. The medical examiner is with us as well. He’ll conclude it was one of those unfortunate situations that sometimes occur in surgery.
President Zhou: Excellent.
Elizabeth was staring at Craig. He didn’t want to say anything with Orlov in listening range. So he told her, “I’m going to send a text message from Betty to your phone. Read it. We’ll discuss it at the airport.”
As she read, Craig thought: if all goes well with Kuznov in Moscow, careful distribution of this text will ensure that no one will be upset about Zhou’s passing from the scene. In Beijing, they’ll be happy to have Mei Ling replace Zhou.
When they reached the airport, Craig asked Giuseppe to take Orlov onto the private plane that Giuseppe had arranged.
“Guard him,” Craig said. “I have to call Treadwell.”
Craig was able to get through to the president immediately. After giving Treadwell a report, Craig obtained the president’s approval for the endgame.
Then, Craig took Elizabeth aside. “The phone conversation between Zhou and his brother is a huge asset. We have to find a way to use it.” He was thinking out loud. “Suppose you sent it to Mei Ling?”
“Better yet, I’ll fly to Paris and show it to her, then help her plan her strategy. She was the runner up to Zhou in the election for president. She could forward it to people in Beijing. And then if you succeed in getting Zhou out of China…”
He completed the thought for her. “She could fly to Beijing. And take over the Presidency.”
“But she can’t leave until you have Zhou in custody.”
“Correct. The timing will be tight. It all depends on what happens in Moscow.”
“We’ll stay in close touch. We can make it work.”
Craig nodded in agreement.
“Wait here for a minute,” she said.
“Where are you going?”
“To check airplane schedules.”
She returned a couple minutes later. “There’s a flight to Paris in an hour. I’m on it.”
She came over, hugged and kissed him. “Be careful, Craig.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be okay.”
“Remember Bali. You can never underestimate Zhou.”
Moscow
&nbs
p; Craig and Orlov entered Kuznov’s ornate office in the Kremlin.
The Russian president looked grim.
“I have to convince him to cooperate with me, Craig thought. Not merely throw Orlov to the wolves.
After coffee was served and they took seats around a marble topped table, Kuznov said, “I received a call from your President Treadwell. He told me that you were speaking for him as his official emissary. But he refused to tell me what this is about.”
Craig took a gulp of espresso and tossed a grenade on the table. “I’m aware that you and Chinese President Zhou conspired to assassinate President Dalton and to steal PGS from the United States. Orlov was your joint agent for both of these operations.”
Kuznov looked outraged. “You have no business making such
serious charges with no factual basis.” He said it in a loud, confrontational tone.
Craig calmly replied, “Well, let me describe the evidence I have. From a Chinese source, I have dates of Orlov’s meetings with Zhou in Beijing. I have Orlov’s fingerprints on the throat of a trucking company clerk in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, whom he strangled to obtain the
grenade launcher to kill President Dalton. I have Orlov’s fingerprints in the house of the Pakistani who fired the grenade; and the shooter’s wife ID’d Orlov as visiting her husband right before the attack.”
Craig paused for few seconds, letting his words sink in. Then he continued, “I have Orlov’s fingerprints on the throat of Angie, a prostitute in Los Angeles who he killed to silence about his efforts to obtain PGS from Paul Walters, a Rogers Laughton engineer. I have witnesses who will testify that Orlov and another Russian, Boris Vereley, used the Oligarch, a yacht owned by Yuri Rosnov, to recruit Jill Morgan to turn over PGS. So I have lots of evidence of Russian involvement.”
Kuznov was glaring at Orlov. Guess he wasn’t supposed to leave a trail that leads back to Moscow, Craig thought.
Craig continued, “Also, Orlov used people at the Russian Embassy in Washington in an attempt to kill Jill’s daughter.”
“I never took steps to implement that,” Orlov said. “It was just a bluff.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Craig said, believing Orlov and feeling relief. “Without it, we have plenty to try Orlov for several counts of murder. A trial that will make it clear the Russian government’s responsible for these crimes.”
