Primary Threat

by Jack Mars

  Incredible. It didn’t look real.

  Big Daddy said the real estate agent would contact them. So they would have to wait for that. In the meantime, they should probably go out and soak up the local color. Maybe he would wash up a touch first.

  He turned to look for the bathroom.

  A man stood there, across the bed from him. The first thing Luke noticed about him was the silenced gun in his hand, pointed directly Luke’s way. The barrel was like the beginning of a tunnel under a mountain.

  The second thing Luke noticed about him was he kept his distance. The man was just far enough away that if Luke made a move, he wouldn’t get there in time.

  Luke felt very little about the gun—no fear, certainly. Just curiosity. This man was good. But would he be good the whole time?

  “Stone?” the man said.

  There didn’t seem to be any point in denying it. “Yes.”

  “You were in disastrous mission in Afghanistan. What was commanding officer’s name?”

  Luke didn’t hesitate. He would never forget the name, if he lived to be a hundred.

  “Morgan Heath.”

  “Rank?”

  “Lieutenant Colonel.”

  The man didn’t lower the gun. His eyes were serious. “Your baby. When born?”

  “May ninth,” Luke said.

  “Name?”

  “Luke Stone, Jr. We call him Gunner.”

  “In Iraq, you were undercover as mujahid. You killed entire death squad, and saved man and his children. A doctor. Name of man?”

  Luke smiled. Very few people on the planet knew about that. Big Daddy Cronin was one of them. This man was the contact—the Moscow real estate agent.

  “Ashwal Nadoori,” Luke said.

  The man lowered the gun. He was a sandy-haired guy, short but broad, like he spent his free time lifting weights. Luke noticed, for the first time, that this was the man who had taken their luggage on the rolling cart. He had put the hat and gloves aside, but he was still wearing the coat with long tails.

  “Man at desk, he offered you girls?”

  Luke shrugged. “Yes, he did.”

  “But you declined?”

  “Yes.”

  The man shook his head. “You don’t decline girls in Moscow. It looks wrong. People talk.”

  Luke held up his hand with the wedding ring. “I’m married.”

  The man shrugged. “No matter. We fix. You bring girl home tonight. Front desk man sees, everything is normal.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  The man smiled. “Girl works for us. It’s just for show. She sleeps on floor.” Now his smile broadened into a grin. “Or you do.”

  “Albert?” Luke said finally.

  The man nodded. “Come on, Stone. It’s Moscow. Welcome. We go out and have good time. Meet your TV producer friend.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  9:45 p.m. Moscow Daylight Time (1:45 p.m. Eastern Daylight Time)

  Noor Bar

  Tverskaya Street

  Moscow, Russia

  “Do not drink beer here,” Albert said. “This is not American bar.”

  The bar had bright yellow walls with a turquoise ceiling. Glowing pinwheel chandeliers hung from the ceiling like alien spaceships. Strange purple light appeared to come from somewhere above their heads. They were sitting at a small, round glass table, in tall leather-back chairs.

  This was Moscow nightlife.

  The place was crowded, packed with young Muscovites, and some not so young. The beautiful people. Dance music pounded through the speaker system. Outside of the thumping bass, Luke could barely hear it.

  “Martinis,” said Albert. “The best. Bartender? The best in Russia. Famous bartender. Famous bar, all over the world. Drink wine here? Okay, if you must. But Russians will drink real alcohol.”

  Albert smiled.

  “Including me.”

  Albert had told them to walk here, then had turned up moments later wearing a blue tracksuit. It was as if he had never been a luggage handler at the hotel at all.

  “Are we working?” Luke said. He had to shout over the noise.

  Albert nodded. He gestured with his head to the left.

  Sitting two tables away was a thin man with a dark black goatee, greased black hair swooped back from his forehead, and round-rimmed glasses. He wore a pale blue dress shirt with a very wide collar, open three buttons down. Tufts of chest hair poked out at the top. He was sitting with two young blonde women.

  They were all huddled together and laughing.

  “That’s him?” Ed said.

  The guy looked maybe thirty, at the most. Around Luke’s age. Luke wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but this wasn’t it. TV producer sounded like a job that older, more accomplished people had.

  This guy seemed like a bit of a clown. He was on the payroll of the intelligence networks, had just been involved in a very sensitive misinformation operation, and he was in here, apparently drunk, laughing it up.

  “Loose lips,” Luke said.

  Albert shook his head. “Don’t misunderstand. In Moscow, everybody drinks. Everybody talks. Everybody lies. No one believes a thing.”

  “That’s him?” Ed said again. Albert hadn’t answered him the first time.

  Albert looked at Ed. He stifled a yawn with his hand. It was the move of a working man who just got free from his job after a long day, and had pushed through his tiredness to get out and sample some nightlife. It also served to cover his mouth in case any lip readers were around.

  “Zelazny? Of course. That’s him. That’s why we come here.”

  “What’s your plan?” Luke said.

  Albert shrugged. “He likes to drink. He likes the girls. He likes to talk. I know his car. Very nice, new Mercedes. Parked two blocks from here. He is drunk by now. In a little while, one more drink, we go out, wait by car. He comes. We all go for ride. He tells us what he knows.”

  “What if the girls come to the car with him?” Ed said.

  Albert shook his head. “They won’t.”

  Ed and Luke exchanged a glance. They weren’t here to get young women involved in this. Anyone who got sucked in was liable to get killed.

  “How do you know that?”

  “Our friend? Secretly gay. Dangerous business in Russia. Talks to girls for cover story. Gets drunk here, works up courage, goes to underground nightclub in other part of town. How do you call it in English? Speakeasy. Apartment in run-down building. Knock knock. What’s the password?”

  Luke thought about it. The heavy music washed over him. The laughing faces seemed almost surreal. Zelazny was living a double life, even a triple life. He appeared to be a low-budget TV producer, and perhaps he was. But he dressed expensively, and spent freely, because he was on the government’s secret payroll. He also lived an underground life as a gay man in a city, and a country, that disapproved of homosexuality. Strenuously.

  If Zelazny’s bosses found out about his proclivities…

  Luke didn’t care to pursue that thought.

  Apparently, Albert was watching the wheels turn in Luke’s head.

  “Yes, easy man to blackmail. Put gun to his head? Scary, and maybe he lies to you anyway. But secret police learns that he likes men?”

  Albert grimaced and shook his head.

  “He will tell us the names of his mother’s secret lovers.”

  He gestured for a refill to the passing waitress, a brunette in a very tight skirt. The skirt was so tight she could barely walk.

  “He will tell us everything.”

  * * *

  It was easy to capture Zelazny.

  When he left the bar, he could still walk. But not well. He came reeling down the street like a cartoon drunk man. He didn’t seem to notice Luke and Ed standing near his car, in the shadows against a brick wall.

  The car was a blue Mercedes sedan, M series. Albert was right. It was an expensive car, late model, probably imported from Germany. With the exchange rate between rubles and eur
os what it was, it wouldn’t make sense that Zelazny could afford this thing, TV producer or not. His extracurricular activities were what bought the car.

  Luke had a slight buzz from the martini. But Zelazny was clearly bombed.

  He pressed a button on his key fob. The car’s headlights came on and the doors unlocked. The car made a loud chirping sound.

  Luke stepped out of the shadows. “Da svadanya?”

  It was Russian for goodbye. He said it like he was asking a question. It was all he could think of.

  Zelazny turned to look at him. He saw Luke there. He didn’t know what to make of him. Behind his thin glasses, his eyes seemed to squint.

  Albert appeared next to him and pressed the barrel of the gun to his head. He barked something quickly in Russian.

  Zelazny raised his hands. He said something to Albert in return. He didn’t try to do anything. He didn’t even seem particularly worried. Maybe it was the booze. Or maybe this happened to him all the time and he was used to it by now.

  Albert handed Luke the gun. Luke felt the heft of it. Rare for him, he didn’t know the make. It almost seemed homemade. Stapled together sheet metal. It had a long sound suppressor attached to the barrel.

  “Sit in back with him,” Albert said. “He tries something, shoot him in the head.”

  Albert turned to Zelazny and said something in rapid-fire Russian. He indicated Luke. Zelazny nodded without saying a word.

  Albert turned back to Luke and Ed.

  “I’ll drive,” he said. “This guy is too drunk.”

  They headed north along a wide, nearly empty boulevard.

  A few expensive cars zoomed by them in both directions. Luke spotted a Lamborghini, a Rolls Royce Silver Shadow, and an old Lotus Elite, without even trying. The big money was going straight up the ladder. Most Muscovites apparently still took public transportation.

  Albert drove at a sedate pace. Cars passed them. Luke kept the gun low, out of sight, but pointed directly at Zelazny. Luke wondered what Albert planned to tell the cops if they happened to pull this car over. He supposed he’d let Albert worry about that.

  Grim, nine-story Stalinesque towers flanked the roadway, yellow lights on in hundreds of windows. It was public housing. It was the worker’s paradise. A dense fog appeared and disappeared as they drove.

  Zelazny looked at Luke. He squinted again, as if seeing better might help him understand.

  “American?”

  Luke nodded.

  “I can tell,” Zelazny said.

  “Leonard Zelazny?” Luke said.

  The man shrugged and sighed. “Of course.” He couldn’t be sobering up yet, but his eyes were more alert than before. They were the eyes of a prey animal, like a bunny rabbit. Fear was starting to appear in those eyes. Being carjacked by three men would do that to a person.

  “I will tell you nothing,” he said.

  Luke smiled. He almost laughed. “We know about your sex life.”

  Zelazny stared straight ahead. He did not respond.

  “We know you like men.”

  Luke spotted Albert looking at Zelazny in the rearview mirror. Albert’s eyes were as sharp as knives. He blurted something in Russian. It sounded like a question. Zelazny shook his head but didn’t speak. Albert smiled.

  “He will talk,” Albert said. “He will sing an aria, if we want.”

  They passed out of the city. The towers began to give way to open land. The traffic, never busy to begin with, dropped away to nothing. The fog was thicker out here. The smell of it began to permeate the car. It was not fog. Albert adjusted a couple of dials and cranked the air conditioning.

  “Is it smoke?” Luke said.

  Albert nodded. “Big fires now. Out of control.”

  “Where are we going?” Zelazny said. His English was very good, better than Albert’s. His voice shook a tiny amount.

  “Shut up,” Albert said.

  After a time, they left the highway. Albert made several turns, and then they were driving down a narrow back road. The road was cracked and pitted. Zelazny made a pained face every time Albert lurched the car over a pothole. After one very hard BANG, and then a scraping sound, Zelazny blurted out several angry words in Russian.

  He turned to Luke. “He is ruining my car.”

  Albert glanced at Luke in the rearview mirror and shrugged.

  “I wouldn’t worry about it,” Luke said.

  Albert pulled over in a dirt parking lot. He put the car in park and turned it off. The smoke was everywhere around them. It was hard to see what this place was.

  “Dock by the River Moskva,” Albert said. “Let’s go.”

  They climbed out and walked Zelazny down to the dock. There were no lights, except for a glow in the sky off to the south. You almost needed an oxygen mask to stand out here. Luke could feel the smoke getting deep into his lungs.

  They walked out on the dock. It was about fifty meters long, made of wood, and was old, creaky, and unstable. The four men stood near the end of it. The river was all around them now. Luke could almost feel its rapid flow beneath his feet. The air was a little better out here—you could still smell it, but there was less actual smoke.

  “Gun, please,” Albert said and extended his hand to Luke.

  Luke gave Albert his gun back. A second later, Albert pointed it at Zelazny’s chest.

  “Tell us.”

  Zelazny shook his head. “If I tell you anything…”

  “If you don’t tell us everything,” big Ed said, “we’re going to kill you.”

  That was it. Ed had hardly spoken before now. Somehow, having this giant, silent black man threaten death so matter-of-factly was the breaking point. Suddenly Zelazny was crying.

  “I don’t want to die now.”

  “You don’t have to,” Luke said. “You just have to tell us what happened, and who was involved.”

  He felt something for the man. It wasn’t pity. It wasn’t even sympathy. After all, if the intelligence was correct, this was the guy who received the video feed from the Serbians, then doctored it to make it appear that the Americans were butchers. Then he sent it out to news media worldwide.

  Luke didn’t sympathize with him. But he could see where the guy had painted himself into a very bad corner. It was awkward. Luke almost felt embarrassed for him.

  “The Serbians sent you the video feed?” he said.

  Zelazny said nothing. He seemed to have a lump in his throat.

  “We could kill you right now,” Ed said. “But that would be too easy. We could also let the FSB and the GRU know what a bad boy you’ve been. I think that would be the harder way to go.”

  Albert stepped up and pressed the silenced gun to Zelazny’s head. He barked something in Russian.

  Zelazny raised his hands. “Okay. Okay. I will tell you. I got the video. I edited it. I sent it to the media. I did that. But I had no choice.”

  He looked at Luke. “You think they will kill me because I’m gay? They don’t need a reason to kill me. I’m still alive because I am useful. Maybe I can be useful to you.”

  “Who are you working for?” Luke said.

  Zelazny shook his head and laughed. “You have no idea…”

  Luke shrugged. He looked at Albert. “Oh well. I’m done. Kill him.”

  “Wait!”

  Albert pulled the trigger without hesitating.

  Zelazny’s entire body convulsed.

  Click.

  Nothing happened. Nothing came from the gun. There was almost no sound.

  But the trigger pull alone sent a shock wave through Zelazny. A split second later, he dropped to the ground. Then he was on his hands and knees. He seemed to be choking on something lodged in his throat, like he would vomit it up. Then he was hyperventilating. His face turned bright red. He went on coughing and gagging for several moments. He gasped for air, taking giant gulps.

  It was a mock execution. Mock executions were against all the laws of war. Luke knew that. But then again, no one had decl
ared war.

  Slowly, Zelazny’s breathing began to return to something like normal.

  “The next one is real,” Luke said.

  Zelazny coughed again.

  Luke crouched on his haunches next to him.

  “Did you hear me, Lenny? I’m going to ask that man to put a bullet in your brain, and he’s going to do it. He doesn’t care about you. I don’t care about you. Like you said yourself, the only thing that keeps you alive is how useful you are. Nothing else.”

  Zelazny took a deep breath. He was starting to cry again.

  “I am afraid to say the man’s name.”

  Luke shrugged. “Then you’re going to die right here. It’s your choice.”

  A long moment passed, Zelazny on all fours like a dog, Luke crouched beside him. Ed loomed nearby. Alfred pointed the gun at Zelazny’s head.

  Luke sighed. “Lenny? I’m going to count to three.”

  Zelazny didn’t wait that long. “Marmilov,” he said. “Oleg Marmilov. You won’t know who he is. He is the secret power behind many things. I believe he was KGB before the collapse. Now he is GRU. But where his state salary comes from is no matter. He runs things, but he is invisible, layers and layers deep. You will never get to him. You will never meet him. It’s impossible.”

  “What is he doing?” Luke said.

  “I don’t know.”

  Luke shook his head. He looked up at Albert.

  Albert came closer with the gun. He placed the muzzle against the back of Zelazny’s head again. Albert was calm. Luke was calm. Zelazny’s squeezed his eyes shut.

  “Lenny,” Luke said.

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “You can’t tell us or you don’t know?”

  Zelazny was crying now, all the way. It was a quiet, gentle sobbing. His shoulders shook with it. Luke watched as tears dropped from Zelazny’s eyes onto the dock.

  “If I tell you, my life is over. You might as well kill me now. Go ahead.”

  Luke took a breath.

  “Can you get us near him?” he said.

  Zelazny shook his head. “I don’t deal with him. I have never met him. I am a small man, and he is a big man. Bigger than you can know. Great things are afoot, but they would never entrust that knowledge to me. I deal with an engineer. A young man. Tomasz Chevsky. He works for the Academy of Sciences.”