Deadly Crossing (Tom Dugan 2) (18 page)

Chapter Twenty Two

Maritime Threat Assessment Section
Central Intelligence Headquarters
Langley, Virginia, USA

Jesse Ward slouched at his desk. A blue sports coat hung over the back of his chair, and the knot of his loosened tie hung at half mast, three inches below the open collar of his rumpled white shirt. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing corded muscles beneath the dark skin of his forearms, but here too he could see the beginnings of age-related decline. He sighed. It was inevitable he supposed, but things had only gotten worse since he took the job as section chief and no longer got into the field much. He’d have to start finding time to go to the gym or he’d turn into a complete marshmallow.

He abandoned thoughts of encroaching decrepitude and turned his attention back to the computer screen. These little ‘unofficial favors’ for Dugan and the Brits were always a challenge, and he studied the monitor again, trying to gauge just how far he could push the envelope without getting his ass in a crack. Or another crack, that is — dealing with Dugan always seemed to involve sticking his neck out.

His desk phone rang, and he looked over at the caller ID. Speak of the Devil.

“I hope you haven’t called to ask me for another favor. I’m still working on the first one.”

“And hello to you too,” Dugan replied. “Are we in a bad mood, Jesse?”

“Well, I don’t know about we, but I’ve been better. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to marshal government resources to interdict a foreign vessel in international waters when US security interests aren’t at stake and I have absolutely no official justification for doing so?”

“I’m sure it’s quite a challenge. How are you doing?”

“I’m still trying to figure out how to spin it,” Ward said. “I thought about saying I had intel it was a big drug shipment, but then I’m sure everyone will want to let the ship actually dock. Then I thought about saying I’d received a tip the ship had a WMD aboard so that interdiction at sea was the safest option, but if I go that route, we’ll attract a LOT of attention we probably don’t want.” He paused. “Are you sure we need to intercept them at sea?”

“Absolutely, Jesse. We don’t know what condition the girls are in, and I want to get to them as soon as possible. We’d have tried to reach them from here in the UK if they hadn’t already been out of chopper range. Even if a chopper only saves us a day, we need to do it.”

Ward sighed. “Okay. I hear you. I’ll make something work. Is there anything else?”

“Well, since you asked—”

“Shit. When will I learn to keep my mouth shut?”

“I need you to get some people into the US.”

“What people?”

“Borgdanov and Denosovitch and some people they’re recruiting in Russia.”

“How many?”

“Maybe a dozen. Maybe fifteen.”

“Just like that, huh?” Ward said. “I snap my fingers and produce fifteen visas?”

“Actually, I think they’ll need green cards.”

“Oh, really? Is that all, Mr. Dugan? I’ll get right on it. Will there be anything else? We try to be a full service agency.”

“Uh… yeah, well, they’ll also have their families with them, and they’ll all probably need new identities.”

“Christ on a crutch, Tom! Let me get this straight. You’re asking me to commit to getting permanent residence status for a large — but currently unknown — number of foreign nationals, none of whom have anything whatsoever to do with US national security. You then expect me to get them in some witness protection program—”

“I never said anything about a witness protection program. They’ll take care of their own protection. I just need to get them in with new ID to help cover their tracks.”

“You’re really pushing the limits here, buddy. Maybe you better start at the beginning. If I’m gonna sell this to anyone, I need at least some way to connect this to a national security concern, however tenuously.”

Dugan sighed and recounted Borgdanov’s idea. Five minutes later, he finished and waited in silence for Ward to respond.

“Why do they want to come here? Why not stay close to home somewhere in Eastern Europe where they could blend in a bit better?”

“Because they’ll be too many of them to hide in plain sight,” Dugan said. “And any Russian mobsters searching for them in Europe will blend in well too. If they go to a rural area of the US, they may be conspicuous but they should be able to concoct at least a somewhat plausible cover story, and anyone searching for them will be equally conspicuous. Also, in the rural US they’ll be able to arm themselves without constantly worrying about violating gun laws.”

“And who’s going to pay for all this?”

“Alex and I are kicking in, and I called Ray Hanley down in Houston. He still owes Borgdanov and Denosovitch for helping to get his crew back from the Somali pirates. He grumbled a bit but agreed to kick in. It won’t cost the US taxpayers a cent.”

Ward sighed. “All right. I still have access to some of the black op resources, so I may be able to swing the green cards and new IDs — but it can’t be a ‘favor’ — not something this big. I report to people too, and I have to have some justification for this, and you better be sure the Russians understand what will be expected in return.”

“Let’s hear it.”

Dugan and Anna’s Apartment
London, UK

“I will do anything Ward requires of me unless it involves acting against Russia,” Borgdanov said. “Russia is our
Rodina
, our homeland, regardless of the bastards who are in power at the moment. I will never betray her.”

Beside him, Ilya nodded agreement.

Dugan said nothing for a long moment.

“I think that’s Ward’s concern,” Dugan said at last. “He was insistent I made that point clear to you. If he gets you the new identities and green cards, his expectation is complete loyalty in return. He has the ability to fast-track you all to citizenship, but he expects you all to commit to the US completely and unconditionally. He’ll use you and whoever you recruit when needed as private contractors in future CIA operations and will pay you all well. He’ll also try to make sure you’re never forced to operate against Russia, but we have to face the facts. In situations where Russia and the US are at odds, there may be times when native Russian speakers are an asset, and I think you can count on being called upon to act against Russian interests. That’s just a fact of life. If you can’t do that, you should decline this deal and we’ll have to work out something else.”

“There IS nothing else,
Dyed
. We have no other connections, and we are not safe in Russia, even now.”

“But I do not want to be a traitor to the
Rodina
,” Ilya said, morosely. “Things are not so good there now, but it is my home.”

“I understand,” Dugan said, “but you have to decide, and also make sure that anyone you recruit understands the commitment. And I know it’s a hard decision, but ask yourselves if you see any possible scenario in which the situation in Russia improves.”

The Russians said nothing, and Dugan rose from the sofa.

“I’m going to the hospital to check on Anna before we take off. You guys think it over. I hate to rush you, but we need to leave for the US in a couple of hours, and if Ilya is coming with us and you’re heading back to Russia, you need to make a decision before we leave so Ward can set things in motion.”

Borgdanov merely nodded and continued to stare down at the coffee table. Dugan briefly laid a hand on the man’s shoulder, then moved toward the apartment door. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

***

Borgdanov looked up when Dugan entered the apartment an hour later. The two Russians sat on opposite sides of the coffee table, a shot glass in front of each, and a much depleted bottle of vodka on the table between them.

“We did not think you would mind,
Dyed
,” Borgdanov said. “We helped ourselves to your vodka.”

“No problem.” Dugan sat down on the sofa beside Borgdanov. “Did… did you make a decision?”

“We did.” Borgdanov pushed his empty shot glass in front of Dugan and poured it full before refilling Ilya’s glass. “But first, a toast.”

Ilya picked up his glass and raised it in the air, and Borgdanov motioned for Dugan to take his glass as he raised the bottle.

“To Mother Russia, the
Rodina
,” Borgdanov said, and Ilya raised the glass to his lips and threw back the shot as Borgdanov took a healthy pull from the bottle. Dugan’s heart sank, but he courteously followed suit. The vodka burned his throat.

Not a good sign
, thought Dugan, as he set the glass back down on the table and waited for the bad news. Borgdanov poured both glasses full again.

“A final toast.” He looked at Dugan. “You know
Dyed
, once Ilya and I made you an honorary Russian, but now it seems we are to be countrymen for real.” He raised the bottle, and Ilya raised his glass.

“To the USA, our new
Rodina
, and to a safer and better life for our families!”

St. Petersburg
Russian Federation

Arsov sat reviewing his story, struggling to hide his unease as he sat in the well-appointed outer office, a task made considerably more difficult by the presence of the two muscle-bound thugs flanking the ornate double door to the inner office beyond. The pair radiated malevolence, their ill-fitting suits stretched tight across steroid-enhanced musculatures, and they studied him with undisguised interest, sensing he might soon be the subject of interesting diversions. Arsov pretended to ignore them as he paged through a magazine he’d picked up from the end table beside his chair.

His reception so far had been chilly to say the least. London was a significant and growing market for the
Bratstvo
and, more importantly, was considered a training ground for seasoning the whores for the planned expansion of the US market. The near total collapse of the UK operation was not playing well here in St. Petersburg. His immediate superiors had been openly skeptical of his version of events, but with the death of his underlings and Nazarov’s convenient disappearance, there was no one to dispute his story. And like all good fabrications, Arsov’s tale contained elements of the truth. The police could only have learned of the warehouse from Nazarov, that much seemed apparent and added credibility to Arsov’s claims. Ironically, Nazarov’s obvious perfidy was the principal obstacle between Arsov and immediate execution and that, along with Arsov’s voluntary return to Russia, had earned him a reprieve and led to his case being kicked up the chain of command. Far up the chain of command.

Arsov stiffened as one of the thugs guarding the door put his hand to his earbud, obviously listening to someone.

“
Da
,” the thug said and then reached behind him and opened one side of the double door before pointing at Arsov.

“You,” the guard said, “inside.”

Arsov ignored the man’s rudeness and casually tossed the magazine on the coffee table. He stood and moved toward the door with feigned confidence. Unimpressed, the guards smirked as he moved between them into the office beyond. It was much darker in the inner office and as Arsov stopped to let his eyes adjust, he heard the soft click of the closing door behind him and felt a momentary surge of fear.

“Do you intend to stand there all day like a statue, Arsov?” asked a disembodied voice from the far end of the palatial office, and Arsov moved toward a circle of light.

The man sat behind an ornately carved oak desk, lighted by a single desk lamp. The light was pointed down at the desk, and he sat in the shadows, a dim silhouette on the edge of the light. He was known only as
Glavnyy
— the Chief — and few people outside of his small circle of trusted associates had ever seen his face — and those who had never lived long enough to be a concern. Even in circumstances such as these, he was known to alter his voice and appearance in subtle ways, more to preclude the necessary elimination of the interviewee than out of any concern for his own safety. Arsov kept his eyes on the desk, encouraged. If the Chief intended to kill him, he had no doubt the meeting would have been face to face.

The Chief’s right hand reached for a glass of tea on the desk and moved it into the shadows. Arsov heard a noisy slurp, and suddenly his own throat felt very dry. He watched as the hand moved back into the light and set the empty glass on the desk, and stood silently, waiting for the Chief to open the discussion. Seconds turned to minutes, and the minutes seemed like hours. Arsov felt sweat running down his cheeks.

The Chief slapped the desk with his open hand, upsetting the empty glass and producing a loud bang that caused Arsov to flinch.

“Tell me what happened in London, and don’t give me that ridiculous fairy tale,” the Chief said.

“I-I caught Nazarov skimming and—”

“Bullshit! Why is this the first we’ve heard of it?”

“I wasn’t sure. I wanted to get evidence before I reported him. Bu-but he must have found out I was on to him and became a police informant.”

“So let me see. Nazarov is stealing from us and then decided to become an informer. So that means we make no more money, so he has nothing to skim. Does that make sense to you, Arsov? Surely you can come up with something better than that?”

“But I explained! He must have figured out I was on to him and knew the money would dry up. Then he set us all up with the cops. I think his plan was that none of us would survive, and that he paid the cops to make sure that happened. I think the plan was to burn the building so the bodies would be unidentifiable; then he would disappear with his money. And it would have worked if I hadn’t escaped. Besides, I have proof. The offshore accounts—”

“Yes, yes, the offshore accounts. And how convenient that you discovered those and so thoughtfully provided them to us. But I am a little confused, Arsov. First, you tell me you did not inform us because you were waiting to get proof, and in the very next breath you tell me you HAVE proof. I am sure you can see my problem,
da
?”