The Great Game

by D. R. Bell

  Next Sasha sat down with them and went through some financials. Even after the “ultimate makeover,” they still had over $900K available. Some of the money was going to be deposited over time in small amounts into their bank accounts. Two other numbered bank accounts were being opened for them, one in Zurich, another in Cayman Islands. Sasha also left them with e-mail and phone contacts for him.

  Oleg got up and said, “Three thirty, it’s time to go.”

  Maggie protested. “But what about saying good-bye to Miguel?”

  Sasha said he was sorry, but the plan was for them to not come back there. They could relax and take some time once they reached Phoenix, but it was important to get them and Oleg out of LA. They could use his phone to call from the car on the way to the airport.

  Thursday, 4/28/2022, 6:22 p.m. PDT

  On the airplane, David read through the dossier of Daniel Brockman’s partly true, partly imagined life. Only child, physician father, homemaker mother. Lived in New Haven all through high school, college in New Jersey, a couple of years working in New York, then came to California. Parents’ car spun out of control on an icy road, head-on collision with a snowplow. A bit of inheritance, sold the house in Connecticut. Went on vacation to Acapulco by himself, was seen in the hotel for four nights, then disappeared. David was trying to imagine himself as Daniel, but his mind was elsewhere. Maggie, or rather Mrs. Alena Brockman, was intently reading her file next to him. Or perhaps she was just pretending to read. How does one deal with the shock of being kidnapped and then having your life thrown away and becoming a strange new person?

  David was nervous going through security with his new documents, afraid that police would be looking for him now. But the agent checked their driver’s licenses and indifferently waved them through.

  Parting with Oleg in the airport was emotional. Here was a man who came into his life just a few days ago, saved him twice in the course of one day, and now they were going their separate ways to possibly never see each other again. Outward expressions of emotions were not common in David’s family; even hugs were hard to come by. And David himself was normally reserved. Judy had accused him of being a “cold fish.” So it was unusual when he found himself tightly embracing Oleg and holding on for a few seconds.

  Oleg whispered in his ear, “You be careful. Take care of Maggie. They’ll be after both of you. Promise to let me know if you find anything. Alex, Andrei, Tamara, James, Frank … I am not done making them pay yet. Those who gave the orders, I want them to pay.”

  Afterwards, David had stopped by a restroom to calm himself down and rinse a wetness from the corner of his eyes. From the mirror, Daniel Brockman stared back at him: darker hair, smoother features except for hard lines around the mouth, nicely tailored outfit. This was more than just a new ID, a piece of plastic with a different name. David Ferguson is gone, I am no more. He pushed the thought away. There would be some resolution. If only they could manage to stop for a couple of days and sort things out, they’d come up with something.

  He thought that in a mystery book there would be a crumpled piece of paper with a map, or a cipher in a distant language. But here, in the twenty-first century, they were chasing electrons that formed bytes, bytes forming characters, characters turning into large bank accounts. Follow the trail of electrons.

  Tired of reading about himself as Daniel, David asked Maggie, “Can you explain to me what the GRU is? I know about the KGB from old movies, but I know nothing about the GRU.”

  “The GRU is Russia’s main foreign intelligence agency. The literal translation is Main Intelligence Directorate.”

  “So they are a successor of the KGB?”

  “Not quite. After the fall of the Soviet Union, the KGB was replaced by the Federal Security Service, or FSB. The foreign intelligence directorate of the old KGB became the SVR, Foreign Intelligence Service. But the GRU is affiliated with the army, it is larger and more powerful than the SVR. They have their turf wars, but in spirit they are all descendants of the KGB.”

  “So the KGB is not really gone; it just changed names?”

  “Right. The name is gone, but the KGB is far from gone. They came back stronger than ever. They kept a low profile after the breakup of the Soviet Union, but former KGB’ers quietly began turning up in power positions. The economic reforms in the 1990s Russia impoverished large segments of population. As has often been the case in Russian history, people started clamoring for a ‘good tzar.’ And the ‘siloviki,’ the ‘power guys’ from the KGB and other agencies, were prepared to respond with their law and order program. In 1999 they succeeded in putting their man in power. The KGB and its successors now run Russia.”

  The plane landed in Phoenix’s Sky Harbor after a short flight. They were booked in the Scottsdale Fairmont Princess, about a forty-minute drive from the airport. The rental agency gave them a gas-guzzling older Jeep Victory. While most cars now were electric or hybrid, rental agencies still had fleets made up of mostly gasoline cars, probably because the cars were cheaper and customers were paying for the gas. With rent-a-ride services proliferating, rental agencies had to save where they could.

  As David was navigating the Jeep up the 101 Freeway, Maggie said, “Look, I know we have to share a room …”

  David immediately replied, “Don’t worry, I can stay on the couch.”

  “No, you don’t … I mean, you can if you want to, but you don’t have to. I didn’t plan to stay last night. I’m not sorry I did. When I was there, I wanted to. I don’t normally jump into bed with someone after a few days, but it’s all crazy now. I don’t feel I am me anymore. Maybe this is what being in a war feels like; all the rules change. For three nights I was waiting to die. I was both angry and scared out of my mind, and my only hope was that someone would come for me. I didn’t think it was going to be you, someone I just met and barely knew. I thought the police would come, or Andrei with his bodyguards. But in the end, it was you. By yourself. I don’t know if it was because you cared for me or because you are a good guy or a bit of both, but you did. I did not stay with you out of gratitude; it was more like trust. My whole world has fallen apart, and you are the only anchor to hold on to. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to put you under any more pressure … I don’t know what the hell I am saying.”

  They drove for a minute in silence. Then David said, “I told you that when MSS got you, James asked me why would I not go into hiding and forget about you. And I imagined what it would be like, and I felt such disgust for myself. James was just testing to see if he could trust me. What I’m trying to say is that in going after you I was saving myself. For the past two years I was angry and afraid. I couldn’t just let them take you without destroying whatever self-respect I have left. Heck, I don’t know what I’m saying either.”

  The hotel was beautiful. They checked in as Mr. and Mrs. Brockman and were shown to their room. Maggie changed into a brilliant green dress that Alessandra had picked out for her, put on high heels, and they went to have dinner in a downstairs restaurant. David felt the jealous looks of business-dressed men.

  The outdoor lounge had live music, with a few couples dancing slowly. After dinner Maggie took David’s hand and gently guided him to the floor. As they danced, David closed his eyes. He felt warm from the drink he’d had and from the tender, protective feeling that came over him. Mixed with the warm Arizona night, the moment was exquisite. The song ended, but they stood still, aware of each other’s breathing. His hands on her waist, her hands on his shoulders, her face against his chest. David felt eagerness that he hadn’t known since the early days with Judy. He pulled Maggie closer. She lifted her head, and now her breasts were pressing against him. Her eyes half-closed, she stood up on her toes and forcefully kissed him on the mouth. Catcalls erupted from the bar, where a few younger guys were applauding and cheering David on. Maggie blushed and pulled David off the dance floor.

  Friday, 4/29/2022, 10:55 a.m. CST, Beijing, China

  “Our second operation has not
gone well either,” General Tsao reported. “Hsu’s team has been ambushed, and he lost three people. Hsu and the remainder of his team are now holed up in the second safe house. Ferguson escaped with the money and the woman. He did leave behind a flash drive, the contents of which Hsu sent to us yesterday.”

  To his surprise, the man sitting behind the desk did not seem unhappy. “I know. I just received preliminary results of the data analysis and it seems to be by-and-large useless.”

  “Useless?”

  “Yes. There are bits and pieces, but too fragmented to be meaningful. It would appear that Ferguson had little real information, but he used it very effectively to fool Hsu into thinking he had more. I thought Hsu was supposed to eliminate both Ferguson and the woman?”

  “He tried, but Ferguson had a team in place, and they opened fire first. What about the money?”

  “It’s a shame, but a small price to pay. We know for sure that Julius has been eliminated. I think it’s quite certain by now that Ferguson does not have anything for us to worry about.”

  “Should we continue trying to eliminate him?”

  “Of course, keep looking. But quietly. No need for any more drama, shoot-outs, kidnappings. He does not represent any immediate danger.”

  “And Hsu?”

  “He did not learn anything troublesome. But we have learned that we can’t trust his judgment. Bring him back, give him some desk job.”

  Friday, 4/29/2022, 9:14 a.m. MSK, Moscow, Russia

  “Chance favors the prepared mind.”

  Louis Pasteur

  “Good morning, Colonel,” said the man sitting in a comfortable chair next to a small round table. “Please sit down.”

  “Good morning, General,” replied the visitor. He hesitated for a second, taking a look out the ninth story window, before he sat in the opposite chair.

  “Yes, Colonel, the Khodinka Airfield is not the most attractive sight on a dreary day like this. But it’s good for GRU to stay away from the hustle of the city center. So, what do we hear from Los Angeles?”

  “We lost Petr and three of his people. One was killed at the house of Andrei Chernov, the others at the residence of some Frank Gorman. Gorman was retired from SEC, with possible ties to Schulmann. Petr went to a place called Balboa Lake Park where the MSS operative was going to meet with Ferguson. The plan was to let MSS take care of Ferguson and then eliminate the MSS team, making sure that no information—if Ferguson had any—gets out. But Ferguson had someone there who killed three of the MSS agents. Ferguson himself escaped with the Sappin woman and the money. Petr made a spur of the moment decision to split his team, sending two people to follow the remaining MSS agents, while he followed Ferguson. We still have two agents watching the house where the remaining MSS team is hiding out.”

  “Anything else of interest?”

  “Yes. One of Chernov’s bodyguards—Oleg Khmelco—has disappeared. According to one of our surviving agents, Petr was planning to eliminate Khmelco.”

  “Did Khmelco have any special qualifications?”

  “He served in SpetsNaz.”

  “Then it’s possible that Khmelco was working with Ferguson? That would explain the ambush of MSS and Petr’s teams.”

  “It’s possible. We don’t know.”

  “And what are we doing now?”

  “We have agents watching Los Angeles airport for Ferguson, Sappin, and Khmelco. Of course it’s a huge airport.”

  “I would not bother. There are too many ways to get out of Los Angeles. Besides, we should keep a low profile for a while. Too much activity on the US West Coast lately. With three police officers dead, they’ll start turning over each and every rock. Let the remaining MSS team go. What is it with MSS? Why do they always pick parks near lakes for their boondoggles? Do they look at the map and say ‘here’s a lake in the center of the city, let’s do a Wild West shoot-out’?”

  The Colonel laughed politely. “But what about Ferguson?”

  “Don’t worry about him too much. He does not know anything. We have the data that he sent to MSS, and there is nothing there. He obtained some information from SEC using Gorman’s connections. Thankfully, we did a good job cleaning up the SEC archives back then.”

  “How did he know to look for Schulmann’s information if he did not know anything?”

  “Good question; that bothered me as well. I asked MSS to check, and it turns out that the agent that tried to kidnap Ferguson at the airport remembered that the driver asked Ferguson where Schulmann’s file was. So it wasn’t Trimble, but MSS that gave Ferguson the name.”

  “So he was just bluffing MSS? Why would he risk his life like this?”

  “Perhaps he liked the girl that they took. Perhaps he is a romantic and could not leave the girl behind knowing she’d get killed. Happy ending—he got the girl and a suitcase full of money. Not bad.”

  “Shouldn’t we continue looking for him? He now knows about the existence of Schulmann’s file.”

  “Simplify, Sergey, simplify. You have the money, you have the girl, and everyone looking for this information dies quickly—what would you do?”

  “Probably go hide out, at least for a while.”

  “Exactly. Of course we should continue looking for him, for Sappin, for Khmelco. Monitor e-mail, phones, credit cards, social networks. The stuff that we can do electronically without risking agents. Keep an eye on Ferguson’s relatives in the US. But I don’t think there is any urgency. Take your time.”

  The general got up and poured himself a cup of coffee. “We Russians are fatalistic people, and cases like this just reinforce my belief in fate. Totally unexpected, improbable connections change everything. Trimble should have died in Seattle. He cheated death, and one of his ploys in doing so was using some nobody that he walked into at the airport. And that nobody in the end became an instrument of Trimble’s undoing. One can’t cheat fate. We got very lucky.”

  Sergey left. General Nemzhov remained by the window, enjoying the rest of his coffee and looking out at a largely empty airfield. Really, it was more than luck. No matter how careful you were, things never worked out the way they’d been planned. The question was—how did you respond? Trimble’s reappearance was unplanned. But what they did back in 2020 paid off immediately: they now had a network of well-placed people tied by a common cause of stopping Trimble. They did it out of fear, not conviction or ideology. Nemzhov trusted fear more.

  Within twenty-four hours of them finding Trimble in Vail, all his computers and phones had been taken apart in one of the GRU laboratories, all the drives and communications were being analyzed down to the last byte. His one remaining associate was taken, debriefed, and eliminated. There was no way to prove it, but as far as Nemzhov could tell this end has been tied once and for all, and there was no immediate risk of Schulmann’s file being released. They were back on plan.

  The colonel was one of the subordinates he was considering as a possible successor. Disappointingly, Sergey did not quite fit the bill yet. Loyalty, hard work, good reasoning … all important. But at this level one had to have a psychological edge, an ability to read people, to predict their actions. “Cognitive empathy” was what psychologists called it. The word “empathy” felt out of place here because it implied the ability to feel someone’s pain, and feeling the pain led to acting on it. The paradox here was that you had to feel what they feel in order to predict what they would do, but then you had to ignore the feeling and do what you have to do. Sergey did not have the empathy to get into Ferguson’s mind. Regretfully, that was not something one could easily learn. Nemzhov turned on Rachmaninoff’s piano concerto and shifted his attention to other pressing business.

  Friday, 4/29/2022, 7:22 a.m. MST

  Maggie’s head was on his right shoulder, making it difficult to move. He touched her hair with his left hand. It had been a while since David woke up next to a woman. Two years, to be exact. His liaisons since the breakup did not include spending the night together. Why did this fee
l different? Was the fear of being hunted making him more susceptible? Was it the desperation of trying to save her so he could feel he did something worthwhile with his life? Or was it the accumulated loneliness of the past two years?

  Then he felt anxious. Was he really ready to take on this responsibility? His relationship with Judy did not work out well at all, and they had dated for quite some time before taking the plunge. He barely knew Maggie … no, Alena … wait, and he was not really David anymore. He was Daniel. He didn’t know whether he needed strong coffee, strong drink, a couple of Tylenols, or a combination.

  Why was he doing this? Were the events just pulling him along?

  Maggie woke up and turned to him with a smile. “Good morning.” She had freckles on her shoulders; he hadn’t seen them before. David’s anxiety melted away. They stayed in bed a little longer and then got up, took a shower, and went for a leisurely light breakfast. Sitting outside enjoying the Arizona sun, David had a guilty thought that with their new identities and almost a million dollars they could just enjoy themselves for a while … like a few years. Alessandra sure did an impressive job; the new Maggie’s hairstyle was really becoming. He wondered if she was thinking similar thoughts and whether he should ask her. But he couldn’t bring himself to say it. Instead, he asked, “Should we visit the real estate firm?”

  Maggie nodded yes.

  Before leaving, David turned on a computer and checked the e-mail addresses provided for them. There were no messages. He’d been told to not check his “old” accounts until he set up a proxy or a VPN. After finding out how Petr’s people tracked Trimble, he had concerns about rushing into this. He figured he’d do some research first. Besides, Maggie was ready.