He felt terrible about leaving Leah in the dark, although she knew he didn’t call very much, if at all, when he was away at school. Maybe I need to hear her voice more than the other way around. He had tried calling her on one of the burners, but only got voicemail. Probably doesn’t pick up unknown callers. Can’t blame her for that. He didn’t dare leave a message. As it were, just to be safe, he completely destroyed that burner and its SIM card.
He thought about Anya, but there was no way he could call her right now. Maybe after. Hmm, after what?
That left Abelson. He really did owe him a call. Surprisingly, the Mossad agent on school leave answered the unknown caller in his phone screen on the first ring. “Shalom.”
“Shalom, Gali, it’s me, Jake.”
“Tell me something I didn’t know. What the hell didn’t you understand about ‘Stay put?’”
“Sorry, couldn’t do that. If I had, Turgenev would have gotten me. As it was, I barely got away.”
“I know. Your roomie told me. And I’m not talking about Anya. I guess you knew best, but the least you could have done was call me, asshole.”
“You want me to call you an asshole?” I wonder why Gali and I make light of things that aren’t light at all. Maybe it’s a way of releasing anxiety. Or just falsely trying to out macho one another.
“Haha, very funny,” Abelson said.
“So what the hell are you doing? Where are you?”
“Better that I not tell you, at least not for now.”
“Are you saying you don’t think you can trust me?” Abelson asked.
“C’mon. I wouldn’t insult you by harboring such a thought. And you shouldn’t insult me thinking I would. Given that Turgenev somehow tied Israel to my activities, and was willing to kill your mole, I don’t think it’s such a stretch that it will occur to Turgenev to look for an Israeli connection at SCSU and find his way to you.”
“Not a bad thought. Well, it’s actually a terrible thought—that Turgenev might come after me and not just you—but good thinking on your part nonetheless. However, you do know that the Mossad trains its operatives to defend themselves quite well, don’t you?”
“Yeah, right, Mr. Neanderthal. You can take out one or two of Turgenev’s agents, maybe even three, but if you do that, he’ll just send more.”
“Well then, what do you suggest I do?” Abelson asked Jake.
“I thought you’d never ask,” Jake said. “Here’s precisely what I’d like you to do if that happens.” Jake explained what he was thinking to Abelson in intimate detail.
“Very clever,” Abelson said. “I think even I can handle my end of that.”
“Well, it’s close, but I’m guessing you can, Gali.”
“Uh huh. Well, glad you’re at least back to calling me Gali instead of asshole. But, unfortunately, I do have some news for you as well.” He told Jake that their Russian asset had been terminated. “The good side of that, if there is a good side, is that Mossad is now willing to come to your rescue long distance so long as it isn’t required to favor either party in the coming U.S. elections.”
“Sorry to hear about your colleague but otherwise much appreciated. I really do mean that, Gali. I probably could ultimately use some help, but not yet. How ’bout I let you know when I’m ready?”
“Nice way to look a gift horse in the mouth, bud. As they say, don’t be a stranger. I guess.”
Jake promptly destroyed still another burner phone. He felt all alone again. He modified his thinking. He was thankful to have Amir.
ABELSON PLACED A SCRAMBLED call to Tel Aviv. He summarized his conversation with Jake.
“Guy sure knows how to look a gift horse in the mouth,” his contact said.
“Funny you should say that,” Abelson replied.
CHAPTER 87
July 1, 2020, Two Weeks Later
TURGENEV TURNED OFF THE television monitor in his office. The image of all those Black Lives Matter protesters marching in the streets across America warmed his heart. Those hypocritical U.S. officials never hesitate to jump all over me every time some former Russian agent somewhere in the world dies under mysterious circumstances. Wonder how they like it when they are getting a taste of their own medicine for the ill treatment of blacks in America. I just love it, that common criminals breaking into small businesses across the country are being excused for such behavior because of unjust treatment of blacks by the U.S. government. Such a beautiful sight.
Watching the results, or more accurately, the lack of results of several of the U.S. primary elections conducted on June 2 had also pleased him. It shows that our plans for the November election are right on track.
His glow, however, was short-lived. His mind soon returned to Klein. He was incensed that his dispatched army of agents were still unable to find their elusive target. And then, it occurred to him. Maybe I’m going about this all wrong.
JAKE HAD READ ABOUT all of the primary election debacles that had occurred two days earlier. Bottlenecks had occurred right and left. Why? Because voting authorities across the country were scared to death that electronic voting, rather than mail-in voting, was going to be manipulated. They were overwhelmed by the resulting massive in-person and mail-in ballots they were trying to achieve. He had taken his software testing as far as he unilaterally could. It was time for him to head for his first destination. Perhaps the first destination of several.
TURGENEV THOUGHT OF A smarter way to find Klein. The kid is a Jew. Jews are always the cause of our problems. Even young ones like Klein.
He thought about the Zionist Israeli mole the GRU had recently discovered, and put to death—after first extracting from him all information he possessed. So, well deserved. But as fast as we get rid of one, another seems to pop up and take his place!
It finally occurred to Turgenev: if Klein was at the center of his problems, there was a good chance that Israel was also in the picture, and not very far away. All I have to do is find the Israeli tentacles, and let them lead me to the head.
CHAPTER 88
July 6, 2020, Five Days Later
FYODOR GANCHAROV WAS A sophomore foreign exchange student at Southern Connecticut State University on a student visa. His family ran a modest co-op farm owned by the Russian government one hour outside of Moscow. His father never finished high school—he had barely started it. His father was not familiar with computers or any other forms of technology, including cell phones. His parents were very pleased that Fyodor would be the first member of their family to attend college.
Gancharov was more than surprised to receive an email from his father. Until he read it. Then he understood, and knew what he had to do. He had no choice.
CHAPTER 89
July 8, 2020, Two Days Later
POTUS AND BAKER, JR. were just finishing breakfast in a private setting in the Rose Garden.
“The pandemic is playing out just as we wanted,” son said to father. “The BLM ‘I can’t breathe’ campaign couldn’t be going better than if we had incited—”
“What do you mean ‘if?’” POTUS interrupted his son. “Of course we incited all the protests, precisely as I designed them to happen, in order to facilitate my law and order crusade.”
“Just a figure of speech, Dad, sorry. Of course the protests have grown exactly as you planned. And our recently elevated Russian President For Life, Alexi Turgenev, is cooperating beautifully. Not just helping us with the upcoming election, even more than he did in 2016, but also with other schemes—such as the bounty program he has recently offered the Taliban for each American soldier in Afghanistan they assassinate.”
“Refresh my recollection,” POTUS asked his son. “How long does Turgenev now hold office as President For Life of Russia?”
“The term of his office now runs through 2036,” Baker, Jr. answered.
POTUS shook his head in admiration and envy.
GANCHAROV DONNED HIS MASK and gloves, and set out on foot across the SCSU campus. Already within the SCSU “bubble”, he w
as free to move about, so long as he remained inside the campus. He knocked on the door of the apartment identified in his “father’s” email.
“Yes?” sounded a voice from within the apartment.
“My name is Fyodor Gancharov. I’m a student here.”
“Are you wearing a mask and gloves?” the voice inside the apartment asked.
“Yes, of course,” Gancharov replied.
The occupant opened the door, also clad in a mask and gloves. He examined Gancharov. “My name is Abelson, Gali Abelson. Do we know each other? Are you sure you have the right place?”
“Unfortunately, I am,” was all Gancharov softly said in reply, almost swallowing his words.
JAKE AND AMIR WERE on the move.
“Where to, Mr. JK,” Amir asked.
“Harrisburg, Pennsylvania.”
“Why there?” Amir asked further.
“Because they recently conducted a June 2 primary election that had a number of delays and other problems,” Jake answered.
“What is primary election?” Amir asked.
Jake gave Amir a simple course on U.S. election procedures. “Listen carefully, Amir. Someday, you’ll take the exam to become a U.S. citizen. You’ll need to know how this works.”
ABELSON FIGURED THIS WAS precisely what Jake had speculated might happen. He didn’t know Gancharov, but it was what and not who that Jake had nailed.
Gancharov explained why he was there. The GRU had taken his parents into custody. They would be sent to hard labor camps in the old Gulag, never to be seen again unless the son delivered what Turgenev wanted—information as to the whereabouts of someone by the name of Jake Klein. He had to deliver the information. Information that he was told Abelson had—or could obtain. Excuses would not count. His parents’ lives were at stake.
“Come in,” Abelson said. “I didn’t know your name, but I was expecting you. I had to be sure you were the one.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand. How could you have been expecting me, especially if you don’t know me, didn’t even know my name?” Gancharov asked.
“Oh, but I do know you, in a manner of speaking,” Abelson replied. “You might say we’ve been introduced.”
ABELSON OBTAINED THE FRIGHTENED Gancharov’s contact information and assured him he’d be in touch. After Gancharov left, Abelson posted a three-word message on his Instagram account:
THREATENING STORM CLOUDS!
The three-word post was accompanied by an image of a threatening cloudy sky.
In less than an hour, his phone rang. It was another unknown caller. “You sure called it,” was all he said. He listened. “Gotcha. I’ll let them know.”
CHAPTER 90
July 10, 2020, Two Days Later
JAKE SAT ACROSS THE conference table from the Pennsylvania Secretary of State. It didn’t hurt that he said he had some information about their voting difficulties. Her name was Adele Manners. She was the senior administrator of all elections—local, statewide and federal—conducted in the State of Pennsylvania. He handed her copies of his driver’s license and his student identity card. He didn’t know how this meeting would go, and couldn’t risk confiscation of the originals. Because he also couldn’t rule out the possibility that he might be personally detained, the originals were not on his person either.
Amir was waiting in their car, parked several blocks away. He was under instruction to reach out to Abelson if Jake did not return in ninety minute’s time.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Klein?” Ms. Manners inquired.
TURGENEV RECEIVED ANOTHER SEALED envelope through the daily pouch from the D.C. Russian Embassy. It looked exactly like, and was addressed identically to, the first one he had received on April 26, forty-eight days earlier. He dismissed his assistant and read:
7.08.2020
MR. PRESIDENT:
YOU’RE NOT PLAYING FAIR. I KNOW I SAID “FAMILY, FRIENDS, ACQUAINTANCES” IN MY ORIGINAL LETTER, AND I HAVE NEVER MET THE GANCHAROV FAMILY, BUT YOU ARE VIOLATING THE SPIRIT OF OUR ARRANGEMENT BY SEIZING INNOCENT THIRD PARTIES TO LEVERAGE YOUR HUNT FOR ME.
THANKS TO—HOW SHALL I PUT IT?—YOUR INTRODUCTION, I NOW COUNT EACH OF THE GANCHAROV FAMILY MEMBERS AMONG MY CIRCLE OF ACQUAINTANCES.
WITHIN 72 HOURS, A NONSTOP RUSSIAN AIRLINE FIRST IDENTIFIED IN WRITING BY ITS INTERNATIONAL CALL NUMBERS TO THE ISRAELI EMBASSY IN MOSCOW, AND CARRYING THOSE MEMBERS OF THE GANCHAROV FAMILY IN YOUR CONTROL, SHALL SAFELY SET DOWN IN TEL AVIV. THE FAMILY SHALL BE IN POSSESSION OF VALID RUSSIAN PASSPORTS AND SHALL BE IN SOUND HEALTH.
NO LATER THAN 24 HOURS BEFORE THE SAFE ARRIVAL OF THAT FLIGHT, A WIRE TRANSFER OF 250,000 U.S. DOLLARS MUST BE DELIVERED AND RECEIVED IN GOOD FUNDS IN ACCORDANCE WITH WIRING INSTRUCTIONS THAT WILL BE PROVIDED TO YOU BY THE ISRAELI EMBASSY. THESE FUNDS ARE TO FINANCE THE RESETTLING OF THE GANCHAROV FAMILY IN THEIR NEW HOME.
EVERY DOG GETS ITS FIRST BITE. YOU HAD YOURS WHEN TWO OF YOUR AGENTS, USING FALSE IDENTIFICATION, INTRUDED ON MY COLLEGE ROOMMATE AT HIS RESIDENCE ON 6.03.2020. THE REQUIREMENTS OF THIS LETTER ARE SOLELY OF YOUR OWN MAKING. IF YOU CHOOSE NOT TO COMPLY, I WILL HAVE NO CHOICE BUT TO PROCEED ON THE BASIS THAT YOU HAVE KNOWINGLY AND INTENTIONALLY VIOLATED OUR ARRANGEMENT.
PERSONALLY, I WOULD PREFER TO PLAY OUR MATCH FAIR AND SQUARE, WITHOUT ANY MORE NONSENSE. YOU? ARE YOU UP TO THE CHALLENGE? YOUR TREATMENT OF THE GANCHAROVS SUGGEST THAT YOU ARE NOT.
JAKE KLEIN
Goddamn kike Jews! To them, it’s always about the money. Thieves, every one of them! The money is not important to me, especially since we can always get more where that came from—our workers. If Klein were as smart as he thinks he is, he would have insisted on even more. It was worth every penny to pin down with certainty that Israel is in fact backing Klein, as I suspected. Klein is living on borrowed time. So is Israel.
JAKE WAS NOT SURE what to make of Secretary Manners. Her “What can I do for you, Mr. Klein?” seemed stiff. Did she recognize my name? If she did, was that good or bad? Was she just being polite? He felt like saying, “It’s more a matter of what I can do for you,” but that would have come across as way too arrogant. That they were each masked didn’t help either of us read the other. “I’m a computer sciences major, and I’m writing a paper for one of my classes. It’s about the 2020 election. I was hoping I could interview you, and get your take on how your June 2 primary election went.”
“Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Klein. Thanks to the Red Crier, it’s not a very favorable reputation. Of course, I don’t think much of the Red Crier, so their opinion of you may be a badge of honor. Still, you’ll understand that I need to be very circumspect and guarded.”
“I understand completely, Madam Secretary. I also have to be somewhat circumspect and guarded, strange and arrogant as that may sound for someone in my modest position. If you’ll permit me, I’ll give you the shorthand version of my true story, and why I’m here—starting with the admission that I know how your June 2 primary election processes struggled, and how confidential strategic files of the Pennsylvania Democratic Party were hacked and leaked in advance of the 2016 election. I had to politely introduce myself in the most tactful way that I could, even if not fully candid.” He proceeded to tell his story. It took him about twenty minutes. He was tracking the time on his smartphone as he spoke because he knew Amir was doing the same, that he was on the clock.
“That’s a fascinating story, Mr. Klein. I’m honestly not sure what to make of it. Why don’t we start by you calling me Adele, and my calling you Jake? By the way, are you in a hurry? Why do you keep glancing at your phone? May I remind you that you are the one who requested this meeting, unscheduled to boot?”
“Deal, Adele, although I answer most comfortably to JK. Also, my family really enjoys the television show, and I kind of enjoyed calling you Madam Secretary. As for my nervously checking the time on my phone, that’s for two reasons. One, I don’t want to monopolize your time. And two, as I’ve explained, there are some unsavory people looking for me. I have
to keep moving. That’s why I said a few minutes ago that I also have to be circumspect and guarded. I’m not stuffy. I’m … frightened.” I could have been more macho, but I’m guessing this plays better.
“On your first point, JK, why don’t you let me worry about my time? As far as your time, I’m sorry that you find yourself so vulnerable.”
She had a number of additional questions. Jake tried to answer them as best he could. Finally, she said, “Okay, I think I understand you, at least, as best as I’m presently able. I need to kick this can down the road a bit with some folks who are smarter than I am.” She handed him two of her business cards. “Not everyone gets this card. My private cell phone number is on there. You can reach me any time, literally. How about if you write your cell on one of those cards and hand them back to me?”
“Hmm, I hope you understand that I’m not directly reachable these days. Do you have an Instagram account?”
“I do.”
“Just post something innocuous that I’ll see on there, and I’ll promptly get back to you. Apologies in advance for all the cloak and dagger. I can’t be too careful.”
“No worries. I have a silent alarm under the table here. Had I been interested in detaining you, I would have pushed it several minutes ago, and you would now be wearing handcuffs. But at least we offer you as many calls as it takes for you to reach your lawyer.” Adele stood and escorted Jake out the door. “I’m not sure we’ll be able to work together. Either way, please take good care of yourself, JK, and stay safe.”
Jake made it back to Amir with barely ten minutes to spare.
AMIR LOOKED AT JAKE. “Mr. JK, okay? Look funny. But not laughing funny. Something wrong?”
“Not really, just a difficult meeting. I’m not honestly sure how it went. But what I do know is that we need to get moving. Fast.”
JK's Code (Brooks/Lotello Thriller Book 4) Page 22
