rules are the same, they’re just applied differently. You and I are just visitors there. Would I kill for Slava just so he can grab somebody else’s money? No. And he knows it. Would I kill because it must be done? Of course. You have and you will. That’s why he brought me in on this job and why he’s willing to work with you even though you’re an outsider. He says you have heart.”
Gage wasn’t sure how to take that kind of compliment from a man like Slava-but he didn’t have time to consider it.
Ninchenko pointed ahead toward the wrought-iron gate and guardhouse of a fenced pine forest.
“Puscha Voditsa. A military sanatorium. They’ve already turned in.”
Gage’s head snapped toward Ninchenko.
“Military?”
His mind raced ahead before Ninchenko could respond: If Matson was willing to betray SatTek shareholders by selling SatTek’s intellectual property to Mr. Green, would he be willing to betray his country by-
Gage knew the answer before he had even fully formed the question. He felt his body tense in self-reproach. He should’ve guessed it weeks ago.
“Matson didn’t come to Kiev to hide,” Gage said. “The punk is here to sell missile and anti-terror technology to Ukraine.”
“That’s insane.” Ninchenko shook his head in disgust. “Transferring that kind of expertise to Ukraine is the same as releasing it to Iran and Syria.”
“Can you get us inside?” Gage said, eyes fixed on the sanatorium entrance.
Ninchenko nodded. “We can use my old SBU identification. They’d be afraid to look too closely at a major’s documents.”
Ninchenko’s cell phone rang after the guard had waved them through the gate. He engaged in a quick conversation, then said, “They’re headed toward the medical center.”
They drove past an iced-over lake surrounded by tennis, volleyball, and badminton courts. They passed an empty swimming pool and a dining hall, finally arriving at a white stucco building, where the driver parked in a lot filled with black Mercedes and BMWs and a scattering of camouflaged Morozov personnel carriers.
“They give medical-sounding names to things soldiers simply like to do,” Ninchenko said. “A steam bath is called climate therapy. A hot tub is called balneotherapy. A sanatorium is really just a place to hide out from the family-”
“And buy the technology to build radar and missile targeting devices.”
“No better place.” Ninchenko opened his door. “Let me take a look.”
Ninchenko blended in with the men entering the medical center. The driver assumed his waiting position: seat back lowered, window a crack open, cap over his eyes. Gage pulled his coat up around his neck, then slid down in his seat as the cold air seeped into the van.
Ninchenko returned ten minutes later and Gage rolled down the window.
“You’re right,” Ninchenko said, leaning down toward Gage and glancing back toward the entrance, “Matson met with two air force generals in the bar, then they headed off to the sauna. They must be pretty far along in the deal. They wouldn’t have taken Matson with them unless they considered him part of the team.”
“Who are they?”
“Traitors. They raided their own squadron and sold off a dozen MIG fighters to Iraq, then tried to keep all the money for themselves. They must’ve kicked back a lot of it to Hadeon Alexandervich after they were caught in order to stay out of jail.”
Ninchenko’s cell phone rang. He listened for a moment, then said, “The plate 0087 isn’t used by the State Property Fund, but by the Ministry of the Military Complex.”
He disconnected and reentered the van. “Do you think Matson brought the devices and code with him to Ukraine?”
“Probably. They’re easy to carry. The video and audio detectors are each about the size of a VHS cassette, and all of the documentation fits on a DVD. Schematics, software, everything. I suspect that Alla is guarding it all in their hotel room.”
Ninchenko’s eyes focused on the medical center. “Those generals may be crooks, but they’re smart. Their mistake was in their greed, not in their cunning.” He looked at Gage. “Is Matson smart enough not to get taken?”
Gage didn’t answer immediately. “Smart” wasn’t the right word. “It’s more a matter of instinct. He knows sales better than anything else and his instinct will make him hold something back until he gets at least part of the money.”
“And that would be?”
“The software. The code that gets embedded into the hardware. If I were him, I’d let them examine the devices and look at the schematics. That way they’ll know it’s real, but he keeps complete control over it because it can’t be reverse-engineered.”
Ninchenko said something in Russian to the driver, then glanced at Gage. “Let’s go. The others will stay with him. We’ll set up along the road so we can follow him back to the city.”
Gage took a last look at the medical center and then said, “Maybe we should tell Slava what’s going on.”
Slava was waiting for them in his Land Rover a half mile down a forest road on the outskirts of Kiev.
Gage climbed into the backseat with Slava, and Ninchenko got in front.
Slava reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a copy of the arrival card Matson submitted to Ukrainian immigration.
“Interesting thing,” Slava said, handing it to Gage. “My people get this at airport.”
Gage read it over. “Matson is traveling under a Panamanian passport and he’s using Alla’s last name. He can disappear anytime he wants.”
“You underestimate this man?”
“Maybe.” Gage passed it back. “But not who he’s involved with.”
Ninchenko related to Slava what they had discovered at the sanatorium.
“Does the meeting with the generals mean that the deal is done?” Gage asked.
Slava shook his head. “Maybe yes, maybe no. Not simple to do.”
Ninchenko nodded. “Since it would be a national security matter for the U.S., it becomes a diplomatic issue for Ukraine. Take Israel. If SatTek targeting devices were discovered in missiles landing on Haifa, it would lean on the U.S. and the U.S. would not only cut off foreign aid, but would pressure the World Bank and the IMF to cut off loans, and soon the poorest of Ukrainians would be starving.”
Slava pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “Many more people in Independence Square if that happen.”
“Does that mean Ukraine wouldn’t buy it?” Gage asked.
“Not necessarily,” Ninchenko said. “Ukraine has only one reason for maintaining a defense industry. Export. The world only wants two things from Ukraine: steel and weapons. And that will be true even if the opposition takes power.”
“Ukraine not make radar and missiles because we think somebody attack us or we attack somebody,” Slava said. “Ukraine do because other people attack each other.”
“So the decision to buy would need to be made high up.”
“The highest. All of these decisions, what to buy, what to sell, are made by the president. Gravilov would take the deal to Hadeon Alexandervich, then Hadeon Alexandervich would take it to his father. It is his calculation how much diplomatic pressure the country will be able to withstand when the U.S. finds out.”
“And who to kill to hide president part in deal,” Slava added.
The words snapped the subject back from the abstractions of diplomacy to an image of Matson lying dead in a Kiev alley. Gage looked first at Slava, then at Ninchenko.
“Meaning what?”
“Remember when the president ordered the sale of the Kolchuga radar system to Iraq?” Ninchenko asked. “It was during the arms embargo against Saddam Hussein.”
“Sure. Through Jordan.”
“You know what happened to the link between the president and the deal?” Ninchenko asked.
“Malev. His name Malev, Valeri Ivanovich,” Slava said. “Head of State Arms Export Agency.”
