As Clark and Biery prepared to rush with Kovalenko to his apartment in D.C., Gerry Hendley came out of Gavin’s office. “John, I have Chavez on the phone from Beijing; he wants to talk to you.”
Clark took the satellite phone from Hendley. “Hey, Ding.”
“You okay, John?”
“I’m fine. It’s a nightmare, though. You heard about Granger?”
“Yeah. Shit.”
“Yeah. Did he talk to you about Chairman Su’s motorcade Thursday morning?”
“Yeah. He said Mary Pat Foley got the intel directly from the PRC government. Sounds like somebody’s not happy with what’s going on in the South China Sea.”
Clark said, “What do you think about your chances to pull it off?”
Chavez hesitated, then said, “It’s possible. I think we need to try, anyway, since there are no more American agency operatives in China in position.”
“So you guys are going to go ahead?”
Chavez said, “There’s one problem.”
“What’s that?”
“We do this op, then we leave. Good for us. But you and I have both been around dictatorships long enough to know that some poor group of SOBs, some dissident group or other group of the citizenry, is going to take the fall for our actions. Not just these kids we’re working with. We kill Su and then the PLA will find a fall guy, and the fall guy is going to fall hard.”
“They’ll execute everyone with means and motive. There are hundreds of groups of dissenters around China. The PLA will make an example of them all so the country never rises up again.”
“Damn right they will. That doesn’t sit well with me,” Chavez said.
Clark stood in the hallway, holding the phone to his ear with his right hand, thinking about the problem. “You need to leave some evidence that proves it wasn’t a group of local dissenters who did it.”
Ding answered back immediately: “Thought of that, but any evidence will just tie the U.S. to the hit, and we can’t let that happen. It’s fine and dandy that the world will wonder if the Ryan Doctrine was in play, but if we left evidence the Chicoms could use to prove to the world that the U.S. was—”
Clark interrupted: “What if you left evidence proving someone else did it? Someone who we wouldn’t mind taking the fall for this.”
“What kind of evidence are you talking about?”
John looked down at the two Chinese assassins. “What about a couple of dead Chinese special-forces guys left at the scene of the hit like they were part of the hit team.”
After a pause, Chavez said, “Nice, ’
“No volunteers. A couple of conscripts, though.”
Ding said, “Just as good.”
Clark said, “I’ll be there in thirty hours with these two surviving Divine Sword assholes. We’ll waste them at the scene.”
“
“I still have a few friends in low places.”
“Russians? You have some Russian buddies that can get you in?”
“You know me too well, Domingo.”
SEVENTY-ONE
An hour later, Clark, Biery, Kraft, and Kovalenko arrived at the Russian spy’s Dupont Circle apartment. It was almost four a.m., nearly an hour after Kovalenko had been ordered to report in by Center. Kovalenko was nervous about the exchange to come, but more than that, he was nervous about what would happen to him afterward, at the hands of John Clark.
Before they entered the building John leaned in to Kovalenko’s ear. He spoke softly. “Valentin. Here is what you need to understand. You have one chance to get this right.”
“I do this and I walk?”
“You do this and you go into our custody. I let you go when it is all over.”
Kovalenko did not react negatively to this. On the contrary, he said, “Good. I don’t want to fuck over Center and be left alone.”
They entered the apartment; it was dark, but Valentin did not turn on any lights. The laptop was closed, and John, Melanie, and Gavin stood to the side of the desk, so that when the camera came on they would be out of the field of view.
Kovalenko stepped into the kitchen, and Clark rushed in after him, thinking he was trying to get a knife. But instead he reached into his freezer, pulled out a frosty bottle of vodka, and took several long swigs. He turned and headed out to his computer, his bottle in his hand.
He passed Clark with an apologetic shrug.
Biery had given the Russian a flash drive loaded with the malware he built from FastByte22’s file uploader and his RAT. Valentin slipped it into the USB port of the laptop, and then opened the machine.
In seconds he was logging in to Cryptogram, initiating a conversation with Center.
Kovalenko typed “SC Lavender.” This was his authentication code. He sat there in the dark at his desk, tired and worn-looking, hoping like hell he could pull this off so that neither Center nor Clark killed him when this was all over.
He felt like he was walking a tightrope, with a long fall into the abyss on either side of him.
A green line of text on the black background: “What happened?”
“There were men at Hendley Associates that Crane did not detect. After we entered and took the data from the server, they attacked. They are all dead. Crane and his men.”
The pause was shorter than Kovalenko had expected.
“How did you survive?”
“Crane ordered me out of the building while they fought. I hid in the trees.”
“Your instructions were to provide assistance if needed.”
“If I had carried out my instructions, you would have lost all your assets. If your assassins could not kill the Americans there, I surely could not do it, either.”
“How do you know they are dead?”
“Their bodies were removed. I saw them.”
Now the pause was long. Minutes long. Kovalenko imagined someone was getting directions from someone else on how to proceed. He typed a series of question marks, to which he received no immediate response.
A new Cryptogram window opened, and Valentin saw the phone icon, just like earlier in the day.
He put on the headset and clicked the icon.
“This is Center.” It was definitely the same man as earlier in the day. “Were you injured?”
“Not badly. No.”
“Were you followed?”
Kovalenko knew Center was listening to his voice, trying to detect signs of deception. He was also certainly watching him right then via the camera. “No. Of course not.”
“How do you know?”
“I am a professional. Who can follow me at four in the morning?”
There was a long pause. Finally the man said, “Send upload.” And he hung up.
Kovalenko uploaded Gavin Biery’s file from the flash drive.
A minute later Center typed, “Received.”
Valentin’s hands were shaking now. He typed, “Instructions?”
Softly, and barely moving his lips, he whispered to Biery, “Is that it?”
Biery responded, “Yes. It should work almost immediately.”
