“Correct. However, our promptness in tying Comrade Marinov’s assassination to Project Kremlyov Infection leads us to believe there is sufficient time for you to complete one last assignment before putting your escape protocols into effect.”
Lisa Porter blinked in surprise. One last assignment? If the Americans had exposed the KGB plot to eliminate CIA operatives working in the Soviet Union—and had been able to assassinate the brains behind the project while he commuted to work at KGB headquarters—it meant two things, neither of which was good for her:
First, the United States was sending a message to the Soviets, telling them in no uncertain terms that none of their people were safe from retribution, even those working in Moscow.
Second, and of greater importance to Lisa, if the CIA had been able to target Slava Marinov, a man much higher on the Soviets’ intelligence chain of command than she, they would be coming for David Goodell—and then almost immediately afterward, for her—sooner rather than later.
It seemed clear to Lisa that she needed to move now, while she still could, to avoid capture. Project Kremlyov Infection had already been successful beyond all measure, resulting in the deaths of American operatives working to undermine the Soviet state. The exact number of deaths Lisa did not know, but it had to be substantial.
The American intelligence community would be in no mood to show mercy to the KGB operative working inside the United States who had secured the names of the dead CIA operatives. They would come for her hard, and relentlessly, and once captured, Lisa could expect torture and pain and eventual death.
It was easy for her handler to assume there was enough time for one last mission. He was sitting safely—relatively speaking—inside KGB headquarters. Lisa’s perspective was much different.
Hadn’t she done enough to advance the Soviet cause?
Couldn’t she just grab her go-bag and head out of the hostile land in which she’d spent so many years risking her life already?
Anger and resentment and especially fear began building inside her, more fear than she would have expected. But she was a professional, committed to her cause.
More importantly, she had no choice but to listen to her handler and implement his instructions. Were she to ignore him and attempt to escape the United States before completing his “one last assignment,” then she could expect treatment upon arrival in Moscow—assuming she was even able to make it home—that would not be much friendlier than she would get from the CIA if captured.
It might be worse.
All those thoughts flashed through her mind in a matter of seconds. Her handler waited patiently. She guessed he could ascertain most, if not all, of what she was thinking.
She sighed deeply.
Said, “Go on.”
Listened as the KGB officer outlined her final assignment.
When he finished speaking, she agreed to attempt its execution. Again, what choice did she have?
Maybe it was even doable.
Time would tell.
36
January 27, 1988
7:20 a.m.
Aaron Stallings’ residence
McLean, Virginia
“Excuse me? Did you just say what I thought you said?”
CIA Director Aaron Stallings seemed testier than usual, even for him, even for early morning. Tracie wasn’t sure whether his short temper was due to the words she had just spoken or the fact he hadn’t yet finished his first cup of coffee.
Probably a little bit of both, she decided.
She met his stare unflinchingly. “Yes sir, I think you probably heard me correctly.”
His eyes were flat and hard. “So let me get this straight. The United States government sent you halfway across the world, into the nest of vipers known as Moscow, Russia—at great expense, I might add, and great risk not just to you personally but to the U.S. intelligence community as a whole—and you took it upon yourself to leave the country with your mission half-finished?”
“I don’t see it that way, sir.”
“Oh, is that right? You don’t see it that way?”
“No sir, I don’t.”
“Well, let’s recap your assignment, shall we? Your mission was to uncover the source of the Polonium-210 assassinations of a half-dozen American intelligence officers operating in the Soviet Union, not to mention at least one Russian informant. Is my recollection correct, Tanner?”
“Yes sir. More or less.”
“Please enlighten me as to where I’m mistaken.”
“I don’t represent the United States government anymore. I’m no longer an official employee of the Central Intelligence Agency. I would think you might recall that, since my termination was your doing, sir.”
Stallings waved a hand like he was shooing away a pesky mosquito. “A distinction without a difference. If you had been captured while on assignment in Russia, even while working under the official direction of the CIA, you would have been disavowed anyway. You know that as well as anyone, so stop being such a wise-ass.”
“Just trying to be accurate, sir. You did ask.”
His anger at her impertinence was plain, and his face had turned a shade of crimson not typically associated with human skin, but Tracie didn’t care. The verbal sparring with a man who represented her only form of support in an otherwise utterly secret career got tiring. Why did every interaction with this man have to be so damned adversarial?
“Anyway,” Stalling said, “let’s get back on track. Your little sidestep maneuver notwithstanding, there is nothing significantly off about my outline of your assignment, would you agree?”
“Yes sir, I would agree. However, I would also argue that I did complete my mission. I eliminated Slava Marinov, the high-ranking KGB officer who conceived Project Kremlyov Infection and ordered the executions of the American operatives.”
“And yet the man who actually sprayed the radioactive solution into the drinks of the American operatives—the actual instrument of their destruction—remains alive and breathing and capable of continuing his murdering ways, EVEN AFTER YOU HAD HIM IN THE SIGHTS OF YOUR WEAPON!”
The CIA chief’s voice had steadily risen as he spoke until by the end of the sentence he was screaming more loudly than Tracie had ever heard.
And that was saying something.
His eyes bulged and his face bypassed crimson on its way to an ominous purple, and spittle splattered his desk blotter in a mini-rainstorm that would have been comical were it not for the severity of his wrath.
Tracie sat quietly and took it. She had long ago stopped being intimidated by the bullying tactics of Aaron Stallings, but had learned also that interrupting him during an angry rant was like trying to stop a freight train with a fly swatter.
And picking the right moment to defend herself would be critical. The proper sense of timing might be the only thing to save her career.
Again.
Tracie had learned a lot about Aaron Stallings in the months since being rehired as the most secret asset in an agency cloaked in secrecy. He was a bully, he used his size and personality as a battering ram to intimidate, he ruled with an iron fist, and above all, he hated having his instructions ignored by those below him in the chain of command, which included nearly everyone inside D.C. in any official government capacity.
But he was also the ultimate results-oriented pragmatist and a man who had devoted his life to American intelligence services. Treason against the United States by an employee of the Central Intelligence Agency was like a slap in the face to Aaron Stallings. He regarded such an occurrence as a personal affront.
In that regard—and maybe only in that regard—Tracie and Aaron Stallings were remarkably similar.
The CIA director continued ranting but sooner or later Tracie knew he would have to stop yelling to draw in a breath. It took longer than she would have expected, which offered perhaps the most accurate glimpse into his level of anger and frustration.
Eventually he did stop yelling, though, just for a moment. Trac
ie jumped in and spoke before he could resume his tirade. “May I explain my reasoning, sir, or would you rather just scream and yell until your heart gives out or your head explodes?”
“Explain your reasoning? I don’t think there can be an explanation for ignoring a direct order. Jesus Christ, Tanner, I already fired you once for insubordination—for this exact offense!—and I know you’re not stupid. You’re anything but stupid, so what the hell is wrong with you? Why in the world would you put your career at risk again because of—”
“I know who’s leaking the names of our agents to the KGB.”
Stallings’s mouth snapped shut. The thick flap of skin beneath his jawline flapped like a flag in a strong wind. His skin color began returning to normal but thunderclouds filled his eyes.
“What did you just say?”
Tracie realized the CIA Director’s reaction was virtually identical to the one she’d had when Speransky blurted out the existence of the list under duress. She wondered whether it was a good thing or a bad thing to be thinking like Aaron Stallings.
She sighed and continued. “I said I know who’s leaking the names of our agents operating inside the Soviet Union. You must have realized after the second case of radiation poisoning that we had a leak somewhere.”
Stallings scowled. “Of course I realized it. One operative getting assassinated might have been caused by any number of scenarios, the most likely being his own carelessness. But the moment our second man went down I knew it could only mean one thing: we had a leak somewhere.”
“I’m sure you’ve been investigating the source of the leaks.”
“No, Tanner, I’ve been sitting behind my desk with my thumb up my ass as our people in the USSR are being cut down one after the other. Of course I’ve been investigating the source of the leaks!”
“But so far no luck?”
“I don’t answer to you, goddammit. You answer to me. And this isn’t even a subject I’m willing to discuss with a case officer, especially not with a case officer who’s not even on the agency’s official roster of operatives and who is about to be terminated. Again.”
Tracie’s anger had been building, and now she erupted in fury. “I see. So I’m good enough to be sent into the heart of our sworn enemy’s operations, with little support or backup, and to put my life on the line to extract justice for our murdered operatives, but I don’t even deserve the courtesy of a straight answer?”
Stallings’s face had begun to darken again and Tracie steeled herself for the explosion she knew was about to come. The truth of the matter was that she probably deserved an upbraiding this time.
It was extremely uncommon for handlers to discuss the reasoning behind assignments with their operatives. It simply didn’t happen. There were secrecy concerns to consider, and the reality was that the justification for a mission was usually irrelevant to the man or woman tasked with carrying out that mission.
Tracie deserved to be screamed at this time. She’d allowed her anger to distort her judgment and had unquestionably crossed a line. She cringed inwardly and sat silently, awaiting the chief’s outburst.
But it never came. Stallings had screamed at Tracie more times than she could recall inside this very office. He had belittled her, had attempted to intimidate her, had ranted and raved and screamed, and every single time—without exception—Tracie had believed the abuse to be undeserved.
Now she deserved to be reprimanded, but none was forthcoming. Stallings appraised Tracie thoughtfully, leaning back in his chair until she heard it creak in complaint.
He seemed to have choked back his anger, at least for the time being. Aaron Stallings was nothing if not pragmatic, and although there was no question he was still seething at what he perceived as Tracie’s insubordination, he also realized the number one priority was and had to be finding the deadly leak within the CIA and then plugging it.
He took what felt like a very long time considering his response.
Then he nodded.
“Okay,” he said quietly. “I’ll grant that your situation is different from everyone else’s in the agency. You’re not an official employee. Your continued existence as an operative is unknown to virtually everyone inside Langley besides myself. Even given the high level of risk endured by the average case officer, yours is much greater.
“And I know you don’t believe this, Tanner, but I like you. You’re among the most dedicated and talented operatives I’ve had the honor of working with over the course of four-decades-plus in this business.”
Tracie sat slack-jawed as her boss, the man she’d clashed with countless times over differences large and small, spoke words she never expected to hear. Not from Aaron Stallings.
“In some ways I think of you as a daughter, Tanner. That’s why I tend to give you leeway I wouldn’t dream of giving anyone else. It’s why I cut you slack when you probably don’t deserve it. Like now.”
Cut me slack? All the times I’ve sat here while you go up one side and down the other, that was you cutting me slack? The words ran through her head but she was so stunned, so caught off-guard, so shocked by what she was hearing, she simply couldn’t get them out.
And that’s probably a good thing, she thought dimly.
“Anyway,” Stallings continued. “Maybe that’s my overly long-winded way of saying you’ve again dodged a bullet. So to speak. I’d tell you never to speak to me in that impertinent tone again, but I suppose we both know I’d be wasting my breath.
“I’ll answer your question, but let me state the obvious, just in case you’ve somehow missed it: you claim to have identified the leak responsible for the deaths of a half-dozen good men. You’d better be right about that, or things will get very unpleasant for you very quickly. Do we understand each other?”
“You said you would answer my question,” Tracie said levelly. “Care to do so?”
Stallings shook his head testily. “No, alright? The answer is no. We have not been able to identify down the source of the leaks. Yet. We’ve had our suspicions, but we believe the number of leaks has been limited. The treasonous activity has been extremely damaging, obviously, but the source has been careful not to go to the well too often, meaning our opportunities to apprehend the traitor have been necessarily limited.”
The CIA chief’s face darkened again. “So if you have a name, I’d suggest you give it to me right now.”
37
January 27, 1988
7:40 a.m.
Aaron Stallings’ residence
McLean, Virginia
“David Goodell,” Tracie said.
Aaron Stallings closed his eyes upon hearing the name.
Then he nodded tiredly. “Dave was one of the relatively small number of administrators we felt could potentially represent the leak. As Assistant Director for Eurasian Operations he obviously had access to our roster of operatives in the region. Hell, he controlled the roster. He had financial problems as well, which always represents cause for concern. Those sorts of issues open the door to co-opting by the Soviets.”
“I’m sorry,” Tracie said, but Stallings either didn’t hear her or ignored the remark.
“I didn’t want to believe Dave was capable of such a betrayal,” he mumbled. He almost seemed to be talking to himself, despite occasionally glancing into Tracie’s eyes. “I’ve worked with him for a long time, and I selected him for the position of Assistant Director for Eurasian Operations above a slate of other candidates many inside Langley believed to be better-qualified and more deserving.
“This feel personal,” he said, “although after the Winston Andrews situation, I suppose I should be used to it.”
Stallings had clearly been thrown off his stride, and he plunked his elbows onto his desktop and clasped his hands together, resting his head on his hands and closing his eyes.
He sat like that for a long time. Eventually he said, “How certain are you of the accuracy of your intel?”
“I’m convinced Piotr Speransky was tell
ing the truth when he gave me Goodell’s name. I think by that point in our conversation he was beyond lying.”
Stallings nodded. He looked old and tired to Tracie, older than she had ever seen. “It goes without saying we came down hard on David during our investigation, as we did with the other half-dozen or so employees we felt could have represented the leak. He vigorously maintained his innocence, but that was to be expected, obviously.”
He raised his eyes and met Tracie’s. “David went through a rough time a few years ago. His marriage fell apart, he was drinking heavily, and he had those financial problems I already mentioned. But he straightened his ass out and has been a model employee since.”
Tracie cleared her throat and spoke softly. “How long ago did he clean up his act?”
“Three or four years.” Stallings ran a meaty hand over his eyes and then rubbed his temples. “About the time our operatives in the Soviet Union began dying.”
“He had to clean up his act if only to avoid suspicion once the bodies started to pile up.”
“Exactly.” The old spymaster seemed to have regained his footing. At least a little. He sat straighter in his chair, spoke with greater volume, and met Tracie’s eyes.
“You said his marriage fell apart about the time the assassinations started. There was another woman, wasn’t there.” It should have been a question, but Tracie phrased it as a statement. She already knew it had to be true. The Soviets had gotten to Goodell somehow, and the traditional points of access were money or sex. She guessed that in this case, the KGB had been able to utilize both.
“We checked her out,” Stallings said emphatically. “We ran her background six ways from Sunday. Everything about the woman Goodell took up with after he split from his wife checked out. Her name was Lisa Porter and she was practically the All-American Girl: grew up in Massachusetts, educated at Vassar, no known associates with foreign ties.”
“She sounds perfect,” Tracie said, raising her eyebrows.
Stallings nodded. “Exactly. Almost too perfect.”
Tracie Tanner Thrillers Box Set Page 117
