“You realize what happens if you’re caught?” Erin asked.
Dinara looked at Jack, and the two of them shared a moment of understanding.
“We’re aware of the risks,” she said. “But we owe it to Leonid. He saved my life.” Her voice started to tremble, but she took a breath and fought for composure. “I couldn’t save his, so the least I can do is make sure his killer faces justice.”
CHAPTER 89
“HOW’S DINARA HOLDING up?” Justine asked.
“It’s hit her pretty hard,” I replied. “But she’s throwing herself into the case.”
“What about you?”
“I’m OK,” I told her. “How are things over there?”
“Your story has been picked up by US media,” Justine told me. “We’re starting to field calls from clients, and we lost our first account. The Wabash investigation out of LA.”
The Russians were putting tremendous pressure on the State Department to turn me over. They’d taken their disinformation to the media and I’d scanned countless articles on mainstream news websites that identified me as a murder suspect and possible terrorist working with the Ninety-nine. Thanks to the geopolitical implications of the story, and rumblings of a serious diplomatic incident, I was known as a wanted man around the world, and Private was suffering as a consequence.
“Try and hold the fort,” I advised Justine. “If we start losing more clients, I’ll have to step down.”
“You can’t do that, Jack,” Justine protested. “You are Private.”
“Just until this blows over,” I replied. “I’ve got to do whatever it takes to protect the business.”
“I wish I was there to help you through this,” Justine said.
“I’m glad you’re not,” I responded instinctively, and I immediately sensed her hurt. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I meant I need you safe and holding things together.”
“I know,” she replied. “I appreciate it.”
It was 3 p.m. in Moscow, and I was in the secure embassy meeting room on the third floor, surrounded by the detritus of a sandwich lunch. Dinara and I had been working on our plan to access Salko’s computer since morning, and she was somewhere else in the building with Erin Sebold, who was being very supportive for someone who’d officially disavowed the operation. If nothing else, the CIA was opportunist, and Dinara and I had presented Erin with a plan that offered little downside, but could deliver a motherlode of intelligence.
“Mo-bot’s here,” Justine said. “I’m putting you on speaker.”
I’d been coordinating the technical requirements with Private New York, and had been on the line with Justine while Maureen performed her final checks.
“Jack,” Mo-bot said. “Sorry to hear about Leonid. Sounds like you’ve been through hell.”
“I appreciate it,” I replied.
“I’ve modified a cracking program,” Mo-bot said. “It’s designed to overcome Russian encryption technology, and I can oversee the program in real time. The only downside is you need to access the target machine and install the program via a USB drive. SVR firewalls are too sophisticated for remote penetration.”
“We’ve been working on that assumption,” I told her. “Our preparations are well in hand.”
“What’s the plan?” Justine asked.
“Dinara and I are going in,” I replied.
“No. It’s too dangerous,” Justine objected.
“What other option do we have?”
“You should let the Agency take care of this.”
“The Agency can’t back us on this. It could start a war.”
My remarks were met with silence.
“I know the risks, Justine, but if I don’t do this, I stay a wanted man, and I’ll never be able to clear my name. If I want my life back, I need to find the real killer and bring him in.”
“We can find another way, Jack,” Justine said.
“No, we can’t,” I replied. “Mo, send over the program.”
“I’ll email it to Dinara,” Mo-bot said. “Along with installation instructions. When you get inside, call me so I can monitor what’s happening.”
“Will do,” I replied. “Thanks. I’ll contact you the moment we’re in,” I assured her before hanging up.
I paced the room anxiously. Justine was right. What we were about to do was incredibly dangerous. If we were caught, we’d be turned over to Veles and tortured and killed.
The door opened, and Dinara and Erin entered.
“We’ve got SVR identification, courtesy of Ms. Sebold,” Dinara said.
“Acting in an unofficial capacity,” Erin remarked. “If you’re ready, we’ll give you a ride. Also in an unofficial capacity, of course.”
“How do we get out of the embassy without being arrested?” Dinara asked.
Erin gave us both a cryptic look. “How are you guys with confined spaces?”
CHAPTER 90
DINARA’S HEART RACED as she heard the heavy movements of the two police officers searching the vehicle. Pictures of what would happen to her if she was caught invaded her mind, and she fought the urge to cry out. Jack touched her hand, and squeezed it reassuringly.
The two of them were side by side in a cramped compartment concealed beneath the flatbed of an old long-wheelbase Land Rover Defender. Master Gunnery Sergeant West was driving, and he’d explained the compartment walls were filled with countermeasures to defeat X-ray and infrared equipment. Dinara guessed at a lead lining and some sort of cooling system, but West hadn’t elaborated other than to say the vehicle was very useful for getting things into and out of the embassy in secret.
The compartment was two meters long, a little over a meter wide and thirty centimeters deep. If she took a deep breath, Dinara could feel cold steel pressing against her chest.
“You know you’re breaking every international convention,” Dinara heard West say.
The Moscow police were still running checkpoints at both ends of Bolshoy Devyatinsky Lane, and were searching every vehicle entering and exiting the embassy compound, in direct contravention of the privileges accorded to diplomats.
“If you are unhappy with your treatment, your State Department can make a formal objection to the Interior Minister,” a Russian voice replied.
The two officers above them banged away at the false flatbed, searching for anomalies. They’d find none. The hinges and catches to open the secret compartment were on the inside.
“It’s clear,” one of the men directly above them said in Russian.
Dinara heard more movement, and then the sound of the two officers jumping out of the Land Rover, their boots crunching rock salt and grit as they hit the road.
“You can proceed,” the Russian voice said, and the Land Rover rumbled forward.
They made a series of turns and a few minutes later, the chunky SUV pulled over.
“Time for coffee,” West said, using the pre-agreed phrase that signaled it was safe for them to leave their hiding place.
Dinara sensed Jack feeling for the catches, and heard him snap open three of them in rapid succession. She helped him push the heavy flatbed and squinted as her eyes adjusted to the light.
They clambered out of the tiny compartment, their presence concealed by the Land Rover’s privacy glass.
“I bet that feels better,” West remarked as they closed the false flatbed and sat on the bench seats that ran along the Land Rover’s flanks.
“You OK?” Jack asked.
Dinara nodded. “Let’s go,” she replied. “We’ve got a job to do.”
CHAPTER 91
MASTER GUNNERY SERGEANT West drove to Konkovo where we were supposed to meet Feo. My heart sank the moment we turned onto Maklaya Street, a quiet side road in a residential neighborhood. I saw a Moscow police patrol car directly ahead of us.
“This could get ugly,” West warned as he stepped on the brakes.
The Land Rover came to a rapid halt, and West threw it into reverse as the pa
trol car doors opened, but I recognized the people who stepped out of the vehicle.
“It’s OK,” I said. “That’s Feo Arapov and Anna Bolshova. They’re friends.”
West stopped the Land Rover. “You sure?”
I nodded.
West pulled over, and we got out into the bitter chill of late afternoon. The snowstorm had stopped, but dark clouds brooded and swirled overhead, promising more.
“You can’t be here,” Dinara said to Anna.
“After what happened at the embassy my superiors don’t know whether to suspend or promote me. Some of them know the official story stinks. Others are loyalists. You’ve opened a box of trouble, Mr. Morgan.”
“Happy to oblige,” I replied.
“Where are we going?” Anna asked.
We hadn’t shared our intended destination with Feo, who’d simply been instructed to provide us with a clean vehicle. We could hardly drive into the SVR complex in a US diplomatic car.
“Yasenevo,” Dinara replied.
Feo cursed in Russian, and then whistled.
“SVR Headquarters?” Anna asked. “Are you crazy? He’s the most wanted man in Russia.”
“You still want to help?” Dinara asked.
Anna thought for a moment, and then nodded. “My career will only be safe if I can expose what’s been happening. If I don’t restore my reputation, I’ll end up in records, or taking early retirement, and I can’t do that. I have to be where the action is.”
“You OK here?” West asked.
“We’re good, thanks,” I replied.
“Here’s your comms unit,” West said, reaching into the Land Rover for a small flight case Erin Sebold had given us.
“Thanks,” I said, taking it from him.
“I’d better get to the RV,” he said.
We’d arranged to meet at a different rendezvous point as a security precaution.
“Good luck.” West climbed in the Land Rover, turned the vehicle around and headed back the way we’d come.
“Well, I suppose if you’re planning to infiltrate Yasenevo, there are few things less likely to arouse suspicion than a Moscow police patrol car,” Anna remarked.
It was hard to disagree.
“Come on, let’s go,” she said. “If we’re going to die today, I’d rather not do it chilled to my soul.”
Feo smiled wryly, and Dinara and I followed them to their car.
CHAPTER 92
THIRTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER, we were heading east along the MKAD, a ten-lane beltway that encircled the outer regions of Moscow. Dense, snow-capped forest lay to our right, but there was a sudden break in the treeline, and I saw a white, twenty-four-story tower block rising above the sea of trees like a headstone.
“That’s it,” Dinara said.
She and I were in the back, dressed in the clothes we’d asked Feo to bring from the Residence. Dinara wore a navy blue dress, and I was in a single-breasted black suit.
A couple of kilometers further on, we left the highway and went south along a winding road that cut through the forest. Only this was no ordinary woodland road. There were camera and sensor towers every hundred meters, and everything about our approach had been logged and tracked before we reached the gatehouse.
A high wire fence marked the perimeter of the huge compound, and beyond it I saw the white tower block, and a shorter but wider building in the shape of two Y’s linked together by their stems.
A guard emerged from the gatehouse and checked Feo and Anna’s police identification. Dinara handed over the credentials Erin Sebold had provided, and the guard ran them through a handheld scanner. My heart skipped a beat when I realized he was checking them against a central database. I held my breath for what seemed an eternity, but nothing bad happened. The guard returned the IDs to Dinara and waved us through.
The CIA must have had someone inside the SVR or access to the central identification database to have created authentic records. There were long-standing rumors the Russians had a back door into the visa systems of western nations, and it wouldn’t be surprising if the Americans had even more sophisticated capabilities to generate false Russian credentials, including intelligence identification. However she’d done it, Erin Sebold had provided us with identities that stood up to official scrutiny.
A little further along the inner access road, another guard in a heavy coat waved us toward a vast parking lot that lay to the east of the sprawling complex.
“This is as far as we go,” Anna said after she’d pulled into a parking space. “A police escort inside the building would raise questions.”
I opened the flight case West had given me, and distributed the gear. Dinara and I each took a tiny in-ear transceiver, and I gave Anna and Feo handheld relay units they could use to talk to us and link to the phone network.
“When we get inside, connect us to the number stored in preset one,” I said, and Anna nodded.
“You ready?” I asked Dinara.
“Let’s go,” she said.
“Good luck,” Feo called after us as we left the police car. Dinara and I crossed the parking lot, which was almost completely full.
“It’s busy for a Sunday,” I observed.
“The SVR never sleeps,” Dinara replied.
Each car represented at least one person, and I estimated more than 350 vehicles. There were a lot of people in this complex, and every single one of them had to be considered an enemy.
Dinara produced the pistol Feo had given her. She checked the weapon before putting it back inside her purse.
“If anything goes wrong,” she said, “you need to know I won’t let myself be taken alive.”
With my mind playing out the implications of that grim statement, we headed for the imposing white headstone that loomed high above us.
CHAPTER 93
DINARA ORLOVA PINNED a stern, officious expression to her face as they entered SVR headquarters. The tall office block was one of the most secure places in Russia and, no matter how hard her heart pounded and her stomach churned, she was determined to look as though she belonged.
She and Jack passed through a metal detector without incident. They had nothing other than their SVR credentials, some money and the pistol Feo had given her, which was in the purse that was sliding into the X-ray machine. The CIA transceivers were constructed of a composite material that evaded the metal detector and the more thorough wand search performed by a guard. They were then waved on to a second uniformed guard, who conducted a fingertip physical search of them both.
“Your weapon will be stored until you leave,” said one of the guards staffing the X-ray machine.
He put the pistol in a nearby locker, and handed Dinara a token.
“Thanks,” Dinara replied in Russian, but as they walked away, she shared a look of concern with Jack. They’d lost their only weapon.
Erin Sebold had informed them Salko was located on the executive floor, and as they made their way to the elevators, Dinara chatted to Jack in Russian, and they both made an effort to appear at ease when they passed SVR personnel.
They took one of the cars to the twenty-first floor, and stepped into a quiet corridor. Dinara had been to SVR headquarters before, but she had never seen the executive floor. According to Erin’s information, Salko had a large office in the northwest corner of the building.
They started toward it, and walked past a line of offices, complete with outer cubicles where administrative assistants sat. They attracted a couple of inquiring looks as they passed, but most of the men and women were too busy with their work to pay them much attention.
“Hey!” a voice yelled behind them.
Dinara turned and saw a face she recognized. It was poking out of one of the offices they’d passed. It was Spiridon Fomin, a former colleague from the FSB. He must have transferred to the SVR.
“Dinara Orlova,” he said. “I thought that was you.”
His tone was not that of a man who knew she was a wanted criminal, and her initial f
lush of panic subsided.
“What are you doing here?” he asked as he approached. “You’re looking great.”
Spiro was a tanned, dark-haired former sprinter who exploited his good looks as often as he could. Despite his best efforts, Dinara had never succumbed to his charms.
“You’ve moved up in the world, Spiro,” she said.
He smiled and nodded. “Who’s your friend?” he asked.
Jack looked at the man and smiled blankly.
“I didn’t know you’d transferred,” Dinara said enthusiastically, trying to change the subject. It wouldn’t take him long to realize Jack couldn’t speak a word of Russian. “It’s so good to see you. We have a few minutes. Is there somewhere we can catch up?”
“Sure,” Spiro replied. “My office.”
He gestured for them to follow, and led Dinara and Jack past his administrative assistant into the large room that lay beyond.
“This is quite some place,” Dinara said, trading a conspiratorial glance with Jack. “You must be doing well.”
“Can I get you a drink?” Spiro asked, going to a console that took up an entire wall. He opened a cabinet to reveal an extensive liquor collection.
“I’ll have a martini,” Dinara said, closing the office door.
Spiro turned around to fix her drink. “And your friend?” he asked. “Sorry, I didn’t catch his—”
When Spiro had turned to the liquor cabinet, Jack had crossed the room silently, and Dinara watched him wrap his arms around Spiro’s neck, cutting him off mid-sentence. Spiro dropped the cocktail shaker onto the thick carpet, and made a rapid succession of choking sounds as he struggled against Jack’s relentless grasp. Finally, the fight left him, and he fell to the floor.
Jack checked his pulse. “He’s down, but not dead. Come on, we don’t have long.”
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