Federov had been on a CIA list for several months as a foreign national in whom the Agency had taken a “special interest.” At the same time, Federov had developed a long list of enemies in the underworlds of North America, South America, and Europe. So many, that fear of his enemies had impeded his movements for years. Thus from time to time, Federov had been in the habit of traveling through Europe in the guise of a priest.
But within the last eighteen months, Federov had taken the guise one step further. He had hired a double, a retired actor from the National Theater of Hungary. The double was a friend named Daniel Katzman. Katzman bore a resemblance to him. Hence Katzman traveled as Father Daniel, a Federov decoy-within-a-decoy so that Federov himself could move about the world more freely.
Daniel turned out to be in the role of a lifetime, or, more accurately, the last role of his lifetime. A pair of assassins shot him to death in a French cafe named
From the shooting, a triple riddle posed itself:
Q1: When is a dead priest not really a dead priest?
A1: When the dead Russian mobster is not a Russian mobster either.
Q2: Then when is a dead Russian mobster not really a dead Russian mobster?
A2: When he wasn’t even a priest either. He was an actor and a friend of the man who was supposed to be shot.
And then the biggest question of all:
Q3: When is an underworld “hit” not an underworld “hit”?
A3: When neither the victim nor the perps are members of the underworld.
The electronic file ended abruptly. Cerny guided Alex to a second one that discussed a pair of agents who worked for the CIA, and not with great efficiency. Their names were Peter Glick and Edythe Osuna. They were married to each other, or seemed to be, but didn’t work at it very hard. They had picked up a trail that they felt belonged to Federov by monitoring flights from Kiev to the capitals of Western Europe, notably London, Paris, Madrid, and Geneva, places where Federov either had business interests, money stashed, or both.
They tracked their target to Paris and asked for permission from Langley to proceed with an “intervention.” The request went all the way up to cabinet level. Permission was granted. They acted. Next thing anyone knew, the secure faxes and phone lines were exploding between Langley and Paris and Langley and Rome.
Edythe and Peter fled to Madrid after Paris, then Rome. Yet for people who should have been disappearing into the background, they were reckless, physically incapable of keeping a low profile. Nor were they upstanding citizens. They moved in a shadowy world of illegal gun dealers, smugglers, swindlers, sexual merchants, and con artists. They frequented nightclubs in Paris and Rome where couples paired off with strangers. They lived on the social and political edge of the world.
They picked up a trail for Federov. But they picked up the wrong trail, one that was set out as a trap.
As soon as Alex saw those names, a bell rang within her. Her mind flashed back to the club in Kiev, her quasi-sober conversation with Federov, as well as the suggestive questions posed by her.
Alex: “New names on me. Should I know them?”
Federov: Maybe. They are involved in this visit by your president.”
Alex: “Part of the delegation?”
Her favorite gangster: “No. They’re a pair of American spies. They were recently retired.”
So the tale that followed made sense. Edythe and Peter established a procedure for a hit on Federov in Paris. They quickly wired Washington and Langley for approval. No one ever asked them if they were sure their target was who they thought it was. Accuracy of that sort was the least of the details attended to. Like much CIA intelligence over the last decade, it wasn’t just faulty, it had so many holes in it that a truck could have driven through it with its doors open.
Peter and Edythe were known in security circles in Europe and known by the underworld also. They were recognized to be Western operatives, most likely American.
After the mistaken killing in Paris, they were ripe for a setup.
Alex continued to read.
The setup came when Federov wanted to strike back. First, he had set up his old friend Katzman possibly to be whacked in his place. Then he took it as a personal insult that Katzman had been so victimized.
From his own experiences in European nightlife, Federov knew a young woman for the job. One night in Rome, Peter and Edythe met a young woman named Lana Bassoni who lived in Rome. She was very pretty, a sometime model and sometime artist’s model. But she was married to a musician who wasn’t going anywhere. There was also another detail about Lana that Peter and Edythe would never had guessed until it was too late. She had once worked for Federov at one of the after-hours mob joints he ran in New York. She had been a hostess- plus-a-bit-more, depending how much a client had to spend and what a client wanted. It all made sense.
The meeting at the club in Rome-Lana, Peter, and Edythe-was made to look like a coincidence. But it was anything but. About an hour after meeting, Peter and Edythe disappeared for a while. The next morning, Lana did too.
Alex looked up from the Palm Pilot. “I assume there’s more,” she said to Cerny.
“Of course,” he said. “Short and sweet. Do you want to read it in English or Italian?”
“Doesn’t matter,” she said. “Give me both in case I sense something wrong with the translations.”
“Smart girl,” he said. “That’s why you’re here.”
She took back the Palm Pilot. “If I were really smart, I
She opened the final files. There were a pair of homicide reports from the Roman newspapers from January, including that of a musician and his girlfriend found dead in their flat in Rome. Then some follow-ups from several weeks later. The final entry had to do with a pair of bodies found in the sandy bogs near Villa di Plinio. Two bodies had been found, not yet identified.
The file ended, as did the information Cerny accessed in his Pilot. He took the device back and tucked it away.
“Well?” he asked.
“Well what?”
“Show me that lightning intellect,” he said. “What do you make of all that?”
“Tie it together, you mean?”
“If you can.”
“But you know the correct answers already?” she said.
“I know answers that I believe to be correct,” he said. “There’s a difference. So put your thesis to me, and I’ll let you know if you’re in the right line of work or not.”
“I’ll give you a scenario that works,” she said. “Just as it came to me as I was reading.”
“Please do,” Cerny answered above the drone of the aircraft’s engines.
“First off, someone in Washington was dumb enough to order a hit on Federov. Someone wanted him killed, for whatever reason.”
“I could argue that by saying we don’t do things like that.”
“And I’d argue back that I know that you do, same as we never used to employ torture until we got caught doing it.”
“Keep going.”
“Peter and Edythe had the assignment to hit Federov. But they blew it and whacked his double, his imposter, instead. Since his double was his pal, Federov was pretty angry. He hit back. He had his moll Lena set up Peter and Edythe in Rome. My guess is they got hit by some Ukrainian gunmen that night on the via Trafficante. Do I know the principals?” Alex asked. “I’m guessing I do.”
“Twitchy Eye, that’s Anatoli,” Cerny said. “Then there’s Nontwitchy Eye, which is Kaspar.”
“And they killed Lana, why?” Alex asked. “To eradicate any links back to them? Keep her from ever talking?”
“It appears that way,” Cerny said.
“Federov ordered it?”
