BLURRED LINE
Page 1
BLURRED LINE
A. D. Justice
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
About the Author
Books By A.D. Justice
Acknowledgments
BLURRED LINE.
A CROSSING LINES NOVEL.
Copyright © 2019 A.D. Justice.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, resold, or transmitted in any form without written permission from the copyright holder, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. If the location is an actual place, all details of said place are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to businesses, landmarks, living or dead people, and events is purely coincidental.
The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
All copyrights are held by A.D. Justice and have not been transferred to any other individual. Sharing or posting of this material in any group is considered copyright infringement and will be reported to the authorities. Criminal and civil charges will be pursued for damages.
Cover photo by Wander Aguiar.
Cover model is Jacob Cooley.
Cover design by Sommer Stein, Perfect Pear Creative Covers
Prologue
Silas—Moscow, Russia
“I’m surprised to see you. I didn’t know you were coming.” He narrows his eyes and stares at me suspiciously. He’s a large man, formidable back in his heyday, but that was many years ago. Today, he’d sooner reach for his gun and blow a hole in my gut than spar with me. Can’t say I blame him.
My Russian contact is leery of surprise visits, especially when I haven’t been here in quite some time. That’s what happens after living in a military-ruled country that still leans strongly to Communism and enjoys torturing citizens for information. Sure, to the rest of the world, they’re now a republic. But that’s just the face they wear and the front they show. Walk a mile on the wild side of Moscow then tell me that bullshit party line is real.
The KGB would haul Dmitri away right now if they thought it would gain them an inch. The cold war may have ended years ago, but there’s a secret war still raging with no signs of slowing down. And they’re playing for keeps, though most of the world has no idea what’s going on behind the iron curtain. And that’s exactly how they want it.
“If you’d known I was coming, it wouldn’t have been a surprise.” I purposely keep my hands visible. I mean him no harm. I’m here for answers only he can give.
“What do you want, Silas? I’m in no mood for fun and games. It’s been a long day, and I’m ready to get out of here.”
I walk farther into his office at the government’s fortified complex in the heart of Moscow. There are cameras and voice recorders all over the building; I’m not stupid. But then, they knew I was here the second my plane touched down on the tarmac. My visit here is for unofficial business, but if it turns out to be even remotely what I suspect, the NSA and CIA will duke it out for investigating rights. Good thing I’ve already assembled a team of three highly skilled and able officers to handle just such an investigation.
Two of them will be starting their training next week with a significant advantage over their classmates because of their previous experience. Now they’re learning the spy and asset component, the psychology behind turning a loyalist to a separatist, along with how to blend into a crowd, to become unrecognizable, to become invisible when needed. Very special skills when “sharpshooting assassin” is added to the curriculum vitae.
Glancing over his shoulder, I rest my gaze on the only personal item I’ve ever known Dmitri to display in his office. It’s a picture of his twin daughters—beautiful girls with long black hair, eyes almost as black as coal, straight, thin noses, and perfectly bright complexions.
“I’m here as a friend, Dmitri. How about you and I go find the bottom of a Chernobyl-poisoned bottle of vodka and catch up?” Friends in our business are hard to come by. Dmitri knows this better than anyone, I’m sure of it.
“Your Russian has improved since the last time I saw you. Have you been practicing on someone?”
“No, my Russian has always been impeccable. You were just too drunk to notice when I was here the last time.”
Dmitri laughs, the smile reaching his eyes and showing he’s warming up to me at last. That’s no small feat in the bitter cold of Moscow, even in early spring. “Okay, let’s have a drink and regale each other with tales of the good old days.”
We walk silently through the corridors until we’re well outside the building. There’s a time and place for everything, but his office inside the Moscow Kremlin complex is not the place for idle chitchat. And especially not for the questions I have for him. The beauty inside the walled compound—the five palaces, four cathedrals, and the Kremlin Towers with spires reaching to the sky—masks the true inner workings of the secret government operations. To the public eye, most of the government’s work is handled at the Moscow White House, a few miles away. But to those of us in the trade, we know the Kremlin is where the clandestine operations begin and end.
We walk along the Moskva River, then cross the bridge to head to Gorky Park. Despite the cool evening temperature and the time it takes to reach our destination by foot, I’d rather walk the entire distance than chance getting into the wrong car. Besides, traffic in Moscow is terrible, and driving would probably take longer than walking. The time out in the cold air gives me time to think and breathe. Being back here isn’t exactly easy for me, but with the high stakes involved, I don’t have another choice.
The odds of someone from the KGB following us are high, and I’m not keen on being snatched into an unmarked van and whisked away for questioning. On paper, the KGB as it once was doesn’t even exist anymore after it was disbanded and split into two units. But as the powerful regime leader declared, “There’s no such thing as a former KGB man.” That same leader has worked behind the scenes to reestablish his elite police force, full of henchmen, assassins, and ruthless torturers.
Dmitri and I are careful and take our time before deciding where to stop for a drink, leisurely strolling in the old section of the park until we find a pub tucked away on a side street. We choose a booth away from the other patrons, one that allows a view of the front door and anyone who may try to get too close. The music playing in the background is enough to drown out our conversation on any external listening devices their government has in their arsenal.
My toys are slightly more advanced and higher tech. If the tables were reversed and I were spying on them, I’d have their every word in my ear, clear as a bell. Thankfully, they haven’t quite caught up with our advanced gadgets yet. However, their medieval torture methods to extract information are top of the line, and I prefer to avoid them at all costs.
“Tell me, Dmitri. How are your daughters, Mira and Kira?”
He strikes a match, lighting his cigar and taking a few drags on it before hardening his eyes and staring me down amidst the smoke swirling between us. The blunt end of his cigar glows in an angry red shade, much like the coloring overtaking his face at the moment.
“I told you I’m in no mood to play games. Speak your mind or get the fuck out of my sight. I’m giving you this one warning because we’ve been friendly in the past, but don’t mistake this pass for weakness. I will gut you like a fucking fish and dump your body in the river, never to be seen again.”
The waitress sets our drinks down in front of us, then pauses to take our orders. Dmitri dismisses her with a simple wave of his hand. I wait until she’s out of earshot to continue.
“Calm down, Dmitri. I’m here to help you and your daughters. But I need you to level with me about what’s really going on. What has happened to them?”
“You’re not only asking me to commit treason against my country, you’re asking me to put my family’s lives in real danger. This I cannot do. Go home. Mind your own business. Forget you know me.” He throws his shot back then chases it with the entire pint of beer before slamming the mug on the table.
Before he has an opportunity to slide out of the booth, I stand and toss enough rubles on the table to cover our drinks plus a hefty tip. He cuts his eyes up at me, distrust and murderous contempt shining in his eyes.
“You know, your daughters are very beautiful. I know you’ve always been very proud of them. Their picture is the only personal memento you have in your office. That’s a very telling sign, one I’m sure your superiors also picked up on and used as leverage against you. But I assure you, I’m not the guilty party in this. It seems there’s something awry in your own government. A blurred line is far too easy to cross—and that’s exactly what they created when they used your children against you after all your years of faithful service.”
I begin to walk away then stop and look back over my shoulder. “There are slight differences in your girls, even though they’re identical twins. For one, Mira has a much softer expression in her eyes than Kira does. Mira’s a considerably gentler soul, isn’t she? Not quite as fierce and resilient as Kira.”
Before I reach the plane for my return flight home, I predict Dmitri Petrov will desperately want a meeting to resume our conversation.
And I’ll be waiting for him.
Outside the pub, I pull my heavy overcoat tightly around me, flipping my collar up and pulling my hat down lower on my head. The wind whips around me, and the setting sun makes the air even colder. Without Dmitri’s help, I’ll have to go off my own assumptions and start directly with the source. I’d hoped to have a little more intel in my back pocket first, but his lack of answers is telling enough.
“Silas, wait.”
That didn’t take as long as I thought it would.
I stop and turn sideways, casting a glance at Dmitri over my shoulder. The primary reason I’m here is to help make sure a friend doesn’t get caught in the cross fire of whatever covert operation the Russians have underway. The fact that I’ve known Dmitri almost the entire time I’ve worked in the CIA is a distant second. Our friendship, loosely labeled, is one of convenience and mutual benefit. The moment I’m no longer of use to him, he’d throw me under the bus. As it turns out, we can both help each other this time.
“Suddenly feeling chatty, Dmitri?”
“Do you really think you can help?” The pleading in his eyes isn’t fake, but that’s about the only fact I’m certain of right now.
“Do you really think you have any other options? I have an idea of what’s going on, and if I’m right, you’re the one who’s playing games—very dangerous games.”
He nods, not so much in agreement with my jab that he’s behind the duplicity, but that knowing and doing nothing about it makes him complicit.
“Come to my house tonight. You can stay in our guest bedroom, we’ll talk, and I’ll drive you back to the airport in the morning.”
“When you say airport, you don’t really mean Siberian prison camp, do you?”
“Not this time. Next time, maybe.”
He calls his driver to come pick us up, and we wait inside the pub, throwing back shots of vodka and snacking on caviar, until he arrives. The black sedan idles alongside the curb, and we walk out together. A moment of hesitation hits me before I slide into Dmitri’s car, but I’m banking on his love for his kids to overrule his love of Mother Russia.
Our conversation on the way to his house in the suburbs is benign—nothing the driver or any other prying ears can use against us. When we arrive, his wife Natalya waits for us in the doorway, wringing her hands. The telltale sign of excessive worry gives me comfort—that I’m not walking into a trap.
“Silas, hello, it’s been a long time.” Natalya greets me with a wary expression despite her warm words.
“Don’t worry, Nat. I’m here to help if I can.” I kiss both of her cheeks, trying to reassure her of my intentions. She visibly relaxes, dropping her hands to her sides before inviting me in.
“This house is clean. I do my own bug-proofing so Nat and I can have private conversations. We can talk freely here.” Dmitri sits at the dining table and begins filling his plate. Nat grabs another plate for me, and I join them for a full meal.
“Dmitri, tell me what’s going on. I know you know, so don’t bullshit me. And don’t leave anything out.”
He lowers his fork and levels me with his keen glare. “Will you save both of my girls? No matter what you find?”
“You know I’ll do my best, Dmitri. That’s the only promise I can give you.”
“They were taken to America…by the GRU.”
So Russia’s largest foreign intelligence agency is hard at work on US soil.
Chapter 1
Kira—Eighteen Months Later
Going through the motions day after day and pretending to give two shits about the man sitting across from me is exhausting. He’s droning on endlessly about his golf game, as if his commentary on the sport is the most exciting topic ever. As if I care one bit about golf or his swing or how close to par he was during his last game. Close to par is still subpar, that much I know about him. It’s winter, for crying out loud. No one golfs in the snow.
But it’s my job to pretend I care. He must believe I’m hanging on his every word, dying to know his next magnificent revelation—like a new fucking golf glove he’s trying out or something else equally as asinine. We’re sitting in a bar that’s only a couple of blocks from Capitol Hill, chatting over drinks and flirting as if we’re really into each other. The sad thing is, he honestly thinks I want to go home with him tonight. He has no clue I’d rather stab myself in the eye than spend one second longer than I have to with him.
“David, you make it all sound so easy. But I’ve tried hitting that tiny little ball before, and it’s so hard, especially when you have to chase it all over the course. What else do you do for fun?” I pick up my vodka and orange juice, intentionally holding the stirring straw provocatively between my lips. On cue, his eyes drop to my mouth, his lips part, and his breaths increase. He’s so fucking predictable. Not that he has a snowball’s chance in hell of getting anything from me tonight, but he doesn’t need to know that yet.
“I’d love to show you all kinds of things we can do for fun. Your satisfaction is guaranteed.”
And I guarantee there’s no fucking way that will ever happen.
“Aren’t you always working, though?” I stick out my bottom lip, pouting like a child while trying to get him back on topic.
This demure act is slowly killing me inside.
“Well, yes, that’s true. My job is very, very important, and it requires a lot of my time. I’m on call twenty-four seven, in case the senator needs me to
work on an urgent matter for him. You know, he gets all the glory while I do all the hard work behind the scenes. He only takes the information I give him and argues the points in our favor. I’m the backbone of his entire office. He’d completely fail at his job without me.” David raises his glass and downs another shot of bourbon then signals the waitress for another.
That’s right…keep drinking. The more you swallow, the looser your tongue becomes.
“That’s so not fair. You should be sitting in the Senator's office instead of him. He’d be lucky to sit in your chair. Maybe you can show me his office one day soon. I bet he has a huge…desk.” I run my fingernail along his forearm, driving home my insinuation.
He shrugs one shoulder and smirks, clearly trying to be nonchalant but failing miserably at it, as the waitress sets a new glass in front of him. “We can go tonight, if that’s what you want. You know, I have keys to the office and can go in there whenever I want. What do you say, baby?”
Baby. Inwardly, I cringe every time he calls me that little pet name. It’s not the term of endearment as much as it is the irritating man behind it.
“I say we have a couple more for the road, then go make exciting use of that huge desk.” I pick up my glass and make a show of the lack of alcohol. “Can you get me a shot of vodka from the bar? The waitress is busy, and the bartender serves you faster than he does me.”
“Of course, baby. I’ll be right back. Ronnie, the bartender, knows me. I come in here a lot.”