“So she was willing to kill a stranger for money,” Dean said.
“It’s amazing what people will do if they’re desperate enough,” CJ told them. “If they’re
“I’m beginning to think that the Russians created Greenworld to serve their agenda,” Akulinin said.
“Reverse propaganda,” Lia said, agreeing. “They set Greenworld up to do some outrageous things-like assassinate people at a scientific symposium in London-and then they can ignore
“Or drill for offshore oil in the Arctic Ocean,” Dean put in. “I’m convinced that’s what this is all about.”
“Proving it will be tough,” Akulinin told him.
“Proving it isn’t our job,” Lia added. “The UN still has to rule on the Russian claim. It’s all a matter of international law, right? If the UN agrees they own half of the Arctic Ocean, they can do anything they want with it. That’s my take on it, anyway.”
“What about the flight attendant?” Dean asked. “Julie Henshaw?”
“Pretty much the same as Fischer,” Evans told them. “False-flag recruitment. Someone who called himself ‘Johann Ernst’ contacted her in London. He claimed to be with Europol, and told her a scientist named Spencer was going to be on her next New York to London flight, Spencer was an important suspect in a big anti-terror operation, and that it was important that Ernst’s people be able to track him in London. Sounds like he dazzled her with tales of international intrigue… and the promise of a big reward.”
“Braslov again,” Dean said.
“Or someone else using the same cover, but I’d bet it was him,” Evans said. “All Henshaw needed to do was get close to one of Spencer’s guards, slip a tiny tracking device into the back of his coat collar, and then alert ‘Ernst’ when the target left the hotel room the next morning.”
“So what’s happening to them?” Dean asked. “To Fischer and Henshaw, I mean.”
“Fischer is under arrest for murder and attempted murder, plus criminal trespass and half a dozen firearms violations,” Evans said. “We’re holding Henshaw as a material witness and as a possible accessory to murder and conspiracy to murder, though the government may not be able to make that stick. We may have to release her, though, unless we can find evidence linking her more closely with Braslov.”
“You won’t find it,” Lia guessed. “These people are pros.”
“I wonder if you can even prosecute,” Dean added. “If she genuinely thought she was helping the police…”
“Well, that’s for the courts to decide,” Evans said. “For right now, though… it looks like it’s time to talk with your boss.”
The NSA logo on the big screen had just dissolved, and after a connection prompt, Rubens appeared on the screen, seated at his desk. “Good morning,” he said. “Miss DeFrancesca, Mr. Akulinin… I’m glad to see you both safely back.”
“It’s good to be back, sir,” Akulinin said.
“It’s a shame,” Rubens said dryly, “that you couldn’t bring all of your equipment out with you.”
Akulinin winced. “Look, I’m sorry about that, sir,” he said. “Things were kind of hot and-”
“We will discuss the matter later,” Rubens said, interrupting. “At length.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Mr. Dean, we received the package with Mr. Karr’s effects. You were right. The tracking device is definitely of Russian manufacture.”
“We’ve been exploring the possibility of going back to Russia,” Lia told him. “Braslov appears to have left London for Yakutsk. Charlie thinks he’s going on to a Russian petroleum-drilling base in the Arctic.”
“A distinct possibility,” Rubens said. “And you’re quite right. Miss DeFrancesca, and Mr. Akulinin, I am indeed asking you to return to Russia.” He raised a small remote control and pressed a button. His image on the screen was replaced by a satellite photo, looking down on a stretch of beach with dark waters laced with waves, cliffs above white sands, and the sprawl of a large and secluded building behind the cliffs. It looked like the mansion of a country estate, complete with the bright aqua-colored kidney shape of a swimming pool, the much smaller blue circle of a hot tub nearby, a series of gardens on manicured lawns, and rising stables in the back.
“This,” Rubens told them, “is the private dacha of Grigor Kotenko, just outside of Sochi, on the Black Sea. The place used to belong to a high-ranking member of the Politburo, but Kotenko seems to have acquired it about ten years ago. He uses it several times a month for entertaining important people, but it is currently closed up, with only a small caretaker staff in residence.
“I want you, Miss DeFrancesca, and you, Mr. Akulinin, to gain covert entrance to that dacha and wire it for sound. In particular, we need some keyboard bugs, so that we can keep tabs on Kotenko’s computer dealings.”
Keyboard bugs were tiny microphone transmitters, half the size of BB shot, that could be dropped loose inside a computer keyboard. Each key, it turned out, made a unique sound print when struck. With those sounds transmitted to a nearby hidden relay and passed on to Fort Meade by satellite, it was possible for the supercomputers at the Tordella Center to reconstruct, keystroke for keystroke, what was typed into the target computer, including e-mail addresses, contact lists, account information, and passwords.
“A routine visit by the plumbers, then,” Akulinin said, nodding.
“Black bag work, yes,” Rubens said. “You’ll be working with Mr. Evans and GCHQ on the details of your insertion, legends, and extraction. We’re booking you on a flight to Sochi Monday.”
“Well,” Lia said, “back to the salt mines.”
“Mr. Dean,” Rubens said. “I have something special for you.”
Dean suppressed a small twinge of disappointment. He’d hoped to be assigned to Lia’s op, but something in Rubens’ voice told him that that wasn’t going to happen. “Yakutsk?”
“No. But you
This did not sound particularly promising to Dean, but he nodded and said, “Right.”
“You,” Rubens continued, “will be hitching a ride on a submarine in two days.”
“The NOAA base in the Arctic, then?”
“Yes. And the Russian base near there as well, if necessary. We want Braslov, Mr. Dean. And even more, we want the Americans being held up there released… two in particular, a congressman’s daughter and an NSA technician.”
“Leave no one behind,” Dean said. “I understand.”
“Spoken like a true Marine.”
“Ooh-rah.” He recited the battle cry without emotion.
He’d always hated the cold…
14
Kotenko Dacha Sochi, Russia 1510 hours, GMT + 3
GRIGOR KOTENKO WATCHED impassively as the man walked into the room, stopped, spread his arms, and stood motionless, waiting. Antonov had been through this many times before, and he knew the routine. Andre, a man-mountain as heavily padded as a Japanese sumo wrestler, emerged from the far corner to check him for wires or hidden weapons. Yuri Antonov had been with the Organizatsiya for fifteen years, but since Victor Mikhaylov’s sudden and untimely death last week, Kotenko was taking no chances.
It wasn’t Mikhaylov’s unknown killers Kotenko feared so much, and it certainly wasn’t the police, most of whom belonged to him. The majority of his security efforts were actually directed against other Russian Mafiya groups, the circling sharks, as he thought of them. The events at the waterfront in St. Petersburg last week had both wounded the local arm of Tambov and reflected the toothsome possibility of weakness. In such a starkly competitive environment as modern Russia, the other gangs could turn on Kotenko’s organization like sharks in a feeding frenzy, maddened by bloodlust.
