Black Ops (Presidential Agent)

by W. E. B Griffin

  "A business conference," Berezovsky said, and looked at Castillo. "Charley, I don't think you've met the better half, have you?"

  "No, I haven't," Castillo said.

  "Honey, this is Charley Castillo," Berezovsky said. "Charley, this is my wife, Laura, and our daughter, Sophie, and my sister, Susan Alexander."

  The girl's about the age of Aleksandr Pevsner's daughter, Elena, Castillo thought.

  And my Randy.

  Except that but for blood my Randy's not my Randy.

  The wife and daughter smiled a little uneasily, offered their hands, but said nothing.

  The sister said, "How are you? Nice to meet you," as she offered her hand.

  Nice English, Castillo thought. But the Russian comes through.

  And then he noticed that she was beautiful.

  I missed that until now?

  What is that, tunnel vision?

  "Charley, you know what?" Berezovsky said. "I was going to see if I could find you in Vienna. A little business opportunity I'd like to discuss with you."

  "Oh, really? I'm always open for a good business opportunity."

  "Well, we're still a couple of hours from Vienna. What I was thinking was if we could find someplace to talk. . . . I don't like to talk business in front of my family."

  "I understand," Castillo said. "Well, how about my compartment? That is, unless you don't like dogs."

  "Excuse me?"

  "I have my dog with me. Some people are afraid of dogs."

  "I love dogs," Berezovsky said.

  "We're two cars back," Castillo said.

  Davidson took tickets from his pocket, looked at them, and announced, "Compartment four, wagon three."

  "Compartment four, wagon three," Berezovsky repeated. "Say, in thirty minutes?"

  "Fine," Castillo said. He offered his hand again to Berezovsky's wife and then to his sister. "It was nice to meet you. Perhaps we'll meet again."

  He smiled at the girl, who smiled shyly back. Berezovsky's wife again said nothing. The sister said, "That would be nice."

  "There's a very nice Wiener schnitzel," Berezovsky said. "And the beer's Czech, from Pilsen."

  Castillo smiled at him, then turned and motioned for Davidson to go to a table across the aisle.

  The waiter appeared almost immediately. They both ordered the Wiener schnitzel and, at the waiter's recommendation, two bottles of Gambrinus, which he said came from eastern Bohemia and he personally preferred over the better-known Pilsner Urquell.

  The beer was served immediately.

  Three minutes later, as the waiter approached their table with the food, Berezovsky and party rose from their table and walked down the aisle.

  Castillo waited until they were almost out of the dining car before asking, "Well, Jack, what do you think?"

  "Nice ass on the sister."

  "Nice boobs, too, but that wasn't exactly what I had in mind."

  Davidson sipped thoughtfully from his beer, then said, "We'll just have to see what happens. I have the feeling that guy's a heavy hitter."

  "Yeah. I think he is. And I think I'm in over my head with this. I wish Delchamps was here."

  [THREE]

  Castillo and Davidson had been in their compartment no more than five minutes when there was a knock at the door.

  Davidson opened it a crack, then slid it fully open.

  The sister moved gracefully through the door. She held four beer glasses by their stems in one hand.

  Max stood up and looked at her, wagging his stump of a tail.

  "Hello," the sister said.

  "Hello," Davidson said.

  Berezovsky stepped into the compartment. He held two foil-cap-topped bottles of Gambrinus in each hand. Max stiffened, showed his teeth, growled deep in his throat, and looked poised to jump at Berezovsky.

  "Sit, Max," Castillo ordered sternly in Hungarian.

  Max sat down but continued to show his teeth.

  Berezovsky, who had frozen two steps into the compartment, smiled uneasily.

  "Well, you know what they say, Tom," Castillo said in English, "about dogs being good judges of character."

  "But I come bearing gifts," Berezovsky said, raising--slowly--the beer bottles.

  "And you know what else they say, 'Beware of Russians bearing gifts'--or is that 'the Greeks'?"

  "It's the Greeks and you know it," the sister said in English.

  Nice voice. Nice teeth.

  She sat down and crossed her legs.

  Nice legs.

  "Let the nice man in, Max," Castillo said in Hungarian. "I'll let you bite him later."

  "Your Hungarian is very fluent," Berezovsky said in Hungarian. "You could be from Budapest."

  "Yes," Castillo agreed.

  The sister smiled.

  Castillo smiled back.

  "May I sit down?" Berezovsky asked.

  "Make yourself comfortable," Castillo said.

  Berezovsky sat down. Davidson slid the door closed.

  The sister leaned forward and put the glasses on the small window-side table. Berezovsky almost ceremoniously opened a beer bottle and half-filled two of the glasses. Then he opened a second bottle and poured from it into the other two glasses. Then he passed the glasses around.

  I would have opened all the bottles, Castillo thought, and handed everybody a bottle and a glass. Why did I notice the difference?

  "What is it they say in New York?" Berezovsky asked in Russian. " 'Mud in your eye'?"

  "Some places in New York," Castillo replied in Russian, "they say, 'Let us drink to the success of our project.'"

  "Not only is your Russian as fluent as your Hungarian, but you know our drinking toasts."

  "Yes," Castillo agreed.

  And again the sister smiled.

  And again Castillo smiled back.

  "Not that you're not welcome here," Castillo said to her in Russian, "but I seem to recall my ol' buddy Tom saying that he didn't like to discuss business with the family around."

  "Well," Berezovsky answered for her, "there's family, Charley, and then there's family. Permit me to introduce myself and my sister--that is, unless you already know who I am?"

  "I know who you want me to think you are," Castillo said. "And when we get to Vienna, I expect to learn not only if that passport is the real thing, but a whole lot more about you."

  "I'm sure there's quite a bit of information about me--and my sister--in Langley."

  "In where?"

  "In the CIA's Order of Battle in Langley."

  "Well, there may well be, but--I don't want to mislead you, Tom--I'm not CIA. If that's what you thought."

  Castillo saw surprise in Berezovsky's eyes.

  "DIA?"

  "And I'm not associated with the Defense Intelligence Agency, either."

  Castillo saw more surprise.

  Hell, he thinks I'm lying to him, and that surprises him.

  Or worries him?

  Castillo held up his right hand, the center three fingers extended.

  "What's that?" Berezovsky asked suspiciously.

  "Boy Scout's Honor. I am not an officer of the CIA, the DIA, or, to put a point on it, any of the other alphabet agencies, such as the FBI, the ONI, or even the notorious IRS."

  Davidson chuckled, which earned him a dirty look from Berezovsky.

  "You're playing with me, Castillo," Berezovsky said coldly. "And this is serious business."

  "What I'm doing is telling you the truth," Castillo said.

  "Then who do you work for?"

  "That I can't tell you."

  "If he did, Tom," Davidson said conversationally, "I'd have to kill you."

  Berezovsky glared at him in disbelief, then stood.

  "Let's go, Svetlana. We're wasting our time with these fools."

  Max got up and growled softly.

  "I don't think Max likes you, Tom," Castillo said.

  The sister, still seated, smiled at Castillo, then looked at her brother.

  "Sit down,
Dmitri."

  "I thought your name was 'Susan,'" Davidson said innocently.

  She smiled at him and shook her head.

  "Permit me to introduce myself," she said. "I am Lieutenant Colonel Svetlana Alekseeva of the Sluzhba Vnezhney Razvedki. Presumably, you know what that is?"

  "The Russian Foreign Intelligence Service," Castillo replied. "Sluzhba Vnezhney Razvedki--SVR--is the new name for the same branch of the Service for the Protection of the Constitutional System. If I didn't know better, I'd think someone was trying to fool somebody."

  Her expression showed Lieutenant Colonel Alekseeva did not share Castillo's sense of humor.

  "Specifically, I am presently the rezident in Copenhagen. My brother, Colonel Dmitri Berezovsky, is the SVR rezident in Berlin. If I have to say so, he is also a member of the Service for the Protection of the Constitutional System. We are willing, if our conditions are met, to defect."

  "Wow!" Castillo said, then parroted: " 'If our conditions are met'!"

  "Come, Svetlana," Berezovsky said. "We don't have to put up with this."

  "It is said that Dmitri would already be a general if his brilliance were not tempered with his impatience," Svetlana said, then added to her brother, "Sit down!"

  She turned to Castillo and locked her eyes on his.

  "Are you interested?" she asked evenly. "More importantly, if you are, are you in a position to deal?"

  She does that look-you-in-the-eye thing like Aleksandr Pevsner does.

  Does it come naturally? Or did somebody teach them how to do it?

  She has eyes like Alek's, too. Light, sky blue. Very attractive.

  "Am I permitted to ask why you would like to defect?" Castillo asked, his tone now serious.

  "If I told you the truth, you wouldn't believe me," she said. "So I will say financial considerations."

  "What figure did you have in mind?"

  "Two million dollars," she said simply.

  "And what would we get for our two million dollars?"

  "That implies you have access to that kind of money," she said.

  "And if I did, what would it buy me?"

  "Our complete cooperation."

  "I don't know what that means."

  "The name, for example, of the officer who is replacing Lieutenant Colonel Viktor Zhdankov," she said. "Other names . . ."

  "Viktor who?"

  "The man . . ." she began, then stopped. "You know very well who I'm talking about, Colonel."

  "The two million is the only consideration you're talking about?" Castillo asked.

  She looked at her brother. He shook his head.

  Castillo said, "While you two are mulling over answering that question, Colonel, why don't you tell me the reasons that I won't believe why you'd like to defect?"

  She met his eyes again.

  "I'll tell you that when I think you will believe me," she said. "After we go forward with this situation. If we go forward with this situation."

  "That would depend in large measure on your other conditions," Castillo said.

  "You're on the train," Berezovsky challenged. "Where is your airplane?"

  "Assuming Schwechat is open, it should be there by now," Castillo said.

  "And is it in condition to make a long flight on short notice?"

  Which obviously translates to mean that you not only want to defect, you want to defect now.

  Which means that you think somebody suspects that you want to defect.

  And that would further translate to "I've got you now, Tom, ol' pal."

  If the Service for the Protection of the Constitutional System and the Fight Against Terrorism is onto you, I don't need two million dollars to get you to change sides.

  All I have to do is provide a way for you to keep running.

  Where's the elation that's supposed to come with learning something like this?

  Did I just fall into Svetlana's sky-blue eyes?

  Well, what the hell. James Bond is always having some damsel in distress throw herself into his arms. Why not me?

  "How close behind you are they?" Castillo asked, this time turning the tables on Lieutenant Colonel Alekseeva of the SVR and looking deeply and intently into her eyes.

  "Are you going to answer the question?" Berezovsky asked angrily.

  "We don't know that they are," Svetlana said.

  "But the death of the Kuhls makes you think there's that possibility?"

  He saw in her eyes that the question had touched a chord.

  "Who?" Berezovsky said without much conviction.

  "Come on, Colonel," Castillo said. "You know damned well what I mean."

  "You just admitted you're CIA, you realize," Berezovsky said. "How else would you know about him, about them?"

  "If you want to think I'm with the agency, suit yourself. But I just saw in Svetlana's eyes that I hit home when I asked about the Kuhls. . . ."

  Berezovsky's eyes flashed to his sister.

  And so did that look, Tom, ol' buddy.

  "So, answer my question: How close behind you are they?"

  Berezovsky gave him an icy look.

  "We don't know that they are," Svetlana repeated evenly.

  Castillo met her eyes.

  "But the termination of the Kuhls makes it a possibility?"

  "It is likely what happened to the Kuhls was intended as a message to somebody. It could be a message to us."

  "Are you a believer in the worst-case scenario, Colonel?" Castillo asked, and then made a clarification: "Colonel Alekseeva?"

  "Sometimes that's useful," she said.

  "Do they know you're going to Vienna?"

  She nodded. "The Hermitage is loaning to the Kunsthistorisches Museum Bartolomeo Rastrelli's wax statue of Peter the First. Do you know it, by chance?"

  Castillo nodded. He had seen the early-eighteenth-century Madam Tussaud-like wax statue in the museum in Saint Petersburg.

  "I'm surprised that the Hermitage would let it out the door," Castillo said.

  "As a gesture of friendship and a hope for peace between old enemies," she said evenly. "Mr. Putin is now a friend of the West, in case you hadn't heard."

  "I have heard that, now that you mention it."

  She smiled at him again.

  "It is very well-packed and traveling under heavy guard by road. From Vienna it will go to Berlin, then Copenhagen . . . and some other cities. This gives us a chance to see people we sometimes don't often get to see."

  "The worst-case scenario being they will grab you at the Westbahnhof?"

  "Or wait for confirmation of our treason when we meet our contact, or our contact tries to contact us. Both scenarios, of course, presume they know our intentions."

  So this Let's Defect business didn't start last week, huh?

  I should've known it didn't. . . .

  "Who's your contact in Vienna?" Castillo asked.

  "I've answered all of your questions," Svetlana said. "Now answer my brother's question about your airplane."

  "Okay. What was it you wanted to know, Tom?"

  "First, is it under your control?"

  Castillo nodded.

  "Is it available on short notice for a long flight?"

  "Define 'long flight.' "

  "Twelve thousand kilometers."

  "Not without a fuel stop. The range is about thirty-seven hundred nautical miles. Where do you want to go?"

  "Twelve thousand kilometers from Vienna," Berezovsky said.

  "Buenos Aires," Svetlana added.

  That shouldn't have surprised me--she mentioned Zhdankov--but it did.

  "Why there?"

  "That's none of your business," Berezovsky said.

  "It is if I'm going to take you there. . . ."

  "We have family there," Svetlana offered, "who can help us vanish."

  "I'll need the details of that," Castillo said.

  "When we're under way," she said. "At the fuel stop, I'll tell you."

  Am I supposed to believe that?

/>   "You are going to take us there, aren't you?" Svetlana asked.

  She said, staring soulfully into my eyes.

  Nice try, sweetheart.

  Somebody must have told you of my reputation for being a sucker when beautiful women in distress stare soulfully into my eyes.

  Who was it who said that the most important sex organ is between the ears?

  But I'm not a sucker right now, thank you very much.

  What I have to do right now is scare them a little.

  "What I have to do right now is confer with Mr. Davidson to decide if what I might get out of helping you outweighs what you're trying to get out of me," Castillo said.

  He saw disappointment in Svetlana's eyes.

  And that makes me feel lousy, sweetheart.

  But right now I'm doing what I know I have to.

  Castillo went on: "So, what I think you should do now is go back to your compartment. On the way, see if anybody's tailing you. In twenty minutes, one of you--not both--come back, having decided between you what else you're going to tell me besides the name of a dead SVR officer's replacement to entice me to stick my neck out by not only trusting a couple of SVR agents I have never seen before and know nothing about in the first place, and then flying them halfway around the world with their former comrades in hot pursuit."

  He stood, said in Hungarian, "Stay, Max," then stepped to the door, unlatched it, slid it open, and almost mockingly waved Berezovsky and Svetlana to pass through it.

  "Twenty minutes should give you enough time to talk things over," he said.

  Berezovsky gave him a dirty look as he left. Svetlana avoided looking at him.

  Castillo slid the door closed after them, then looked at Jack Davidson.

  "Give them ninety seconds to get off the car, then we'll see if Sandor can come up with some way to get them safely off the train."

  "You got thirty seconds to listen to me, Charley?"

  "Sure."

  "Prefacing this by saying you did a good job with those two--which, considering the make the lady colonel was putting on you, couldn't have been easy. . . ."

  "If you have something to say, Jack, say it."

  "The only way I could get McNab to send me to work for you, Charley, was to promise on the heads of my children--"

  "You don't have any children."

  "Well, if I did . . . you get the point. I had to promise McNab--and mean it--that I would sit on you when it looked to me like your enthusiasm was about to overwhelm your common sense, as it has been known to do. I think that time has come."