The Last Deception

by DV Berkom, D. V. Berkom

  Each of them nodded at the mention of his name. All three could have come straight out of Soldier of Fortune magazine: Daniel and Zarko were well over six feet tall, with the third, Ben, a full head shorter but still formidable. All were in good shape with wide, meaty shoulders, narrow hips, and bulging biceps. Daniel and Ben had buzz cuts and no visible tattoos. Zarko was the exception. His arms were covered in colorful ink and a silver hoop earring peeked out from under his long, dark hair.

  “Thank you for coming, Mr. Kowalski. Leine tells me that you are well versed in this type of work.”

  Art nodded. “Thank you, Mrs. Sakharov. But please, call me Art. I met your husband several years ago. Not that he’ll remember.”

  “You’d be surprised. My husband has an excellent memory.”

  “Leine, can I talk to you for a minute?” Art jerked his head toward the living room.

  “Sure.”

  They walked out of earshot and he turned to Leine.

  “My guys found footage of the SUV and tracked it to a marina where they hustled Olga onto a boat. After that, nothing. I’ve got them looking at satellite feeds, but it’ll take a while and I doubt we have that kind of time.”

  “I’ll call Lou. See if he can lend a hand with that. Do you have a description of the boat?”

  “I’ll send you the photographs.” Art took out his phone to forward the files, and Leine called Lou.

  “How are things going? Are you getting along with Art?” Lou sounded chipper.

  “Well, things have taken a bit of a turn, actually. And yes, I’ve met Art.” She glanced at him as he spoke with Katarina, explaining something about her phone.

  “What do you need? I got your message, by the way.”

  Leine explained everything that had happened up to that point and how the simple operation she’d expected had turned into a high-profile kidnapping.

  “So I take it you need me to peruse satellite footage for the boat. See if I can find out where they took Sakharov’s daughter.”

  “You did such a great job with his yacht—I figured it’d be a cakewalk.”

  “The Black Swan is a little bigger than a fishing boat. This could take a while.”

  “That’s just it. We don’t have a while.”

  “I’m happy to do it, Leine. But I’m not going to promise anything.”

  “I know, and thanks. Art’s got his guys working on it too. In the meantime, we’ll wait for the call. All evidence points to Roman Tsarev as the one responsible.”

  “General Tsarev?”

  “One and the same.”

  “I may have some information for you regarding the general. I’ll need to do a little digging, though.”

  “That would help. I checked the database. There was the usual bio, along with phone numbers and addresses.”

  “I know someone who’s been tracking his finances.”

  “That could be interesting. Do you have some people you can hand off the satellite work to?”

  “Sure. Let me get back to you. And Leine?”

  “What?”

  “Don’t do anything rash.”

  Leine rolled her eyes. “And just when have I ever done anything rash?”

  The silence that ensued answered the question.

  “Okay, okay. Don’t answer that. I’m a different woman than I was back then. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Lou’s deep chuckle made her smile.

  “Oh, yes, I’d agree. But don’t kid yourself. That woman is still lurking somewhere inside of you. Just be careful. These guys don’t fuck around.”

  Leine assured him she would and ended the call. She forwarded the file with the photos of the fishing boat to him and then slipped her phone back into her pocket.

  Sometimes circumstances required rash.

  Chapter 26

  Private airfield near Athens, Greece

  Anatoly Sakharov glanced outside the window at the brightening sky of Athens as the jet taxied to the terminal. The news from his man in Moscow hadn’t been good. The car bombing failed to achieve its objective, and Tsarev had retaliated. He checked his watch. Six thirty local time.

  Six and a half hours had passed since his daughter’s abduction.

  The man works fast. Roman had always been efficient. And utterly ruthless. If Roman wanted him dead, then the sniper would not have missed him on the hotel balcony. No, the murder of Sergei and Nataly and the attempt on his life had been warnings. His daughter’s abduction was in response to the car bombing, yes, but was also a bargaining chip, a way to force Sakharov to comply with Tsarev’s demands.

  There had to be a way to get Olga back without giving in.

  His phone rang, breaking into his thoughts. He retrieved the device from his coat pocket and checked the number. Private party.

  “Anatoly Sakharov,” he answered.

  “You received my message?”

  Sakharov tensed at the familiar voice. He tapped the screen of his iPhone, launching an app to record the conversation.

  “Roman,” he said, trying to control his anger. “I didn’t recognize that it was you. The ID said private caller. Let me guess. You’re using a burner phone so you won’t be tracked, yes?” Sakharov gripped his phone and stared out the window. “Tsk, tsk. How paranoid.”

  “You’re the one who should be paranoid, old friend.”

  “Oh? And why is that? Because of your failed assassination attempt?”

  “I’m sure whoever tried to kill you was instructed to miss. Think of it as a message.”

  “Like Sergei and Nataly?” Sakharov’s cheeks flamed as hatred for his old friend burned in his chest.

  “I know where you are every minute of every day. My spies are everywhere. There is no escaping me, Anatoly. You of all people should know this by now.”

  “I’m sure there is some truth to what you say. You are a powerful man. In Russia. But there are limits to your reach, Roman. You could have detained me in Moscow, but you didn’t. Now we’re on my playing field.”

  “I wanted you to experience the consequences of your actions. The car bomb was beneath you.” General Tsarev sighed. “Go home, talk with your wife. I’m sure she’ll be more than eager to inform you of recent events.”

  “You mean my daughter’s abduction?” Sakharov sat forward in his chair, his fingers itching to close around Roman’s throat. “Olga is an innocent. Your actions have changed everything. You will not use my daughter against me.” His rage at a full boil, he rose from his chair, fist clenched. Lina, the flight attendant, peeked around the bulkhead, alarm evident on her face. Sakharov waved her away as he fought to control his anger.

  “From what I understand, the Libyans are angry that you did not keep your end of the bargain, the contract to which you had agreed. I’m sorry that Olga has been caught in the middle, but the men who are holding her may very well do terrible things to her until you comply. You know of these terrible things, yes? I believe the Americans call it enhanced interrogation. Although, interrogation might not be the correct word to use in this instance.”

  Blood pulsed through Sakharov’s ears, and black spots appeared around his periphery. He took a deep breath and let it go. Calm down. What help will you be to Olga if you die of a stroke?

  “Well?” Roman Tsarev demanded. “What will it be? Your daughter’s well-being and the conclusion of your promised shipments to Libya, or her pain and terror? They tell me that the men she is with now are experts in the dark art of torture. You may even be acquainted with one of them. A man named Drago Milosevic?” At Sakharov’s silence, he went on. “I believe you had dealings with him in the old days. Is it true that he is a cousin of Slobodan?”

  Sakharov knew Drago Milosevic well. A distant cousin of the now-deceased president of Serbia, Slobodan Milosevic, Drago was well versed in brutality. They’d crossed paths on one occasion many years before, when he’d been suggested as a possible member of Sakharov’s security force. Sakharo
v had declined.

  And now, if he was telling the truth, the ruthless Serb had his daughter.

  “You use thugs to carry out your orders now, not soldiers? Your actions speak volumes, Roman. Your ambitions rule you.”

  “You’re wrong. My ambitions guide me, not rule. And whoever did this was smart to use men unfettered by their humanity. Carrying out unpleasant orders is so much easier when one has no moral objections.”

  Sakharov took a deep breath and slowly let it go, attempting to control his anger. He needed to make Roman believe he was going along with him or they’d be trapped in a never-ending cycle of retribution with his family caught in the middle.

  Gritting his teeth, he said, “What do you want?”

  Roman chuckled. “That’s the Anatoly I remember. I only want you to comply with our agreement. I believe you missed the last contracted shipment date. My friends in the Libyan army are not pleased.”

  “Stop the charade,” Sakharov snapped. “You know as well as I do that the weapons are being diverted.”

  “Oh? And where do you think they’re going? American forces?” He snorted at his joke.

  “Just remember, Roman, this is a dangerous game you’re playing. Do you actually believe that arming terrorists won’t come back to bite you? History tells us it’s not a good idea.”

  “I’m a great student of history, as you well know,” Roman snapped back. “Nothing will ‘bite me,’ as you so elegantly phrase it. When I’m through, Izz Al-Din will no longer exist.”

  “I’m weary of this conversation.” Sakharov had no choice but to tell him that he would comply. His daughter’s life hung in the balance. Let him think he has won. “I will do what you ask, but you must promise to let Olga go free as soon as you receive word that it is done.”

  “As I recall, there are three more shipments to complete the contract. As soon as the third is delivered, I’m sure those animals will free your daughter.”

  “They must not harm her in any way, Roman. If they do, I will not rest until you have paid for what you’ve done.”

  “She’ll be fine. As long as you cooperate.”

  Chapter 27

  Sakharov villa, Athens, Greece

  Anatoly Sakharov walked through the door of the villa flanked by three muscular men. Judging by the identical dark suits, short haircuts, and bulges near their armpits, they were part of his security team. Leine didn’t recognize any of them.

  Art handed Katarina’s phone back to her. “We need to speak with your husband, let him know the plan and find out if he has anything he’d like to add.”

  “I will be part of that conversation,” Katarina said.

  Art nodded. “Of course.”

  “You must let me talk to him first.”

  Art moved to the side as she walked past them to join her husband. She took Sakharov’s briefcase from him and set it on the hall table. They exchanged a quick kiss followed by a low conversation. A few minutes later she rejoined Leine and Art near the staircase.

  “My husband would like to change his clothes before the briefing. Then we will meet in the library to discuss what needs to be done.”

  “Works for me,” Art said.

  “Has the library been swept for listening devices recently?” Leine asked.

  “He has it done weekly, sometimes more often. The last time was three days ago.”

  Leine turned to Art. “Want me to take this, or would you like to?”

  “Be my guest.”

  Leine picked up the case containing the compact bug detector Art had brought with him and climbed the stairs to the second floor. The library was located a third of the way down the hall, accessed by two oversized double doors. The ceiling-high bookshelves were filled with all manner of books, the majority history and politics. She wondered if they were supplied by the home’s leasing agency or if they’d come off the Black Swan.

  Two sleek leather couches flanked a low glass and chrome table next to a large fireplace. On the table a miniature version of the Venus de Milo rested on a large coffee table book with the title Treasures of Ancient Greece. The far end of the room had a distinctly modern glass-topped desk and three chairs. It didn’t fit with Sakharov’s personality. She expected something much more substantial. Potted palms punctuated the blank spaces between the oversized artwork and bookshelves.

  Three big-screen televisions covered most of one wall, allowing a central view of all three from the desk. Leine turned on the detector and slowly walked the perimeter of the room, testing outlets and light switches, narrowing her arc with each sweep until she arrived at the center. Next, she ran the device along each piece of furniture, paying particular attention to lamps and other mundane objects. Lastly, she extended the telescoping wand and swept the ceiling and cove molding.

  Satisfied the room was clean, she retracted the wand and turned off the device. A shadow darkened the doorway and Anatoly Sakharov walked into the room. He’d changed into a royal blue polo shirt and pressed khakis. His expression said he was anything but pleased.

  “What are you doing in here?” he demanded.

  Leine showed him the detector. “Sweeping for bugs.”

  Sakharov moved to the desk and scanned the surface, paying particular attention to the stack of papers lying on top.

  “I didn’t read those, if that’s what you’re wondering. And I certainly wasn’t looking for anything.”

  Sakharov ignored her and jiggled the desk drawers. Leine set the detector on the desk and folded her arms.

  “If they were locked when you left, they’re still locked.”

  He didn’t say anything as he tried the last drawer.

  “We need to get past this animosity you seem to harbor toward me. Wouldn’t it be better if we concentrated on finding your daughter?”

  “You lied to me and used my wife.” He watched her, his gaze cool and unflinching. “Why should I trust you?”

  Leine didn’t answer.

  “You do not defend yourself?” Sakharov raised an eyebrow.

  “Defending my use of a false name would only give you more ammunition, and I’m not in the mood to be your whipping girl. Surely, you deal with noms de guerre every day. In your business, I mean.”

  “That’s not the point,” he retorted. “How can I trust anything you say? You report that my son is dead, but you did not see him killed. You say the other files on your flash drive are his. Prove this to me.”

  “You’re going to have to trust me on this.” Leine put her palms flat on the desk and leaned forward, holding his gaze. “I’m here to help you. We’re here to help you. It’s what we do.”

  Sakharov mirrored her stance and leaned toward her, matching her gaze with a deadly stare. “I will work with you, but only because my wife requests your presence.”

  “Fine.” Leine pushed off the desk. She turned as Katarina and Art entered the room. They both paused, apparently sensing the emotional charge still hanging in the room. Katarina narrowed her eyes, trying to gauge her husband’s mood. Art had a neutral expression, but Leine could tell by the look in his eyes that he had correctly assessed the situation and found nothing to worry about.

  “Since everyone’s here, I think this would be a good time to brief you two about the operation.” Art held out his hand, which Sakharov shook. “Mr. Sakharov. I’m Art Kowalski.”

  “You look familiar,” Sakharov said. “Have we met?”

  “We have—several years ago when you were shopping for security.”

  Sakharov lifted his chin in recognition. “Ah, yes. You declined my offer.”

  Art gave him a self-deprecating smile. “Afraid so. It was nothing personal.”

  “No offense taken. I secured several loyal employees from Global Secure.”

  “They’re a good outfit,” Art agreed.

  Anatoly Sakharov took a seat on one of the couches and the rest joined him.

  “Your wife mentioned that she told you
about the program I’d like to download onto your phone so that we can track you as well as all incoming calls—” Art began.

  “I have already received a call,” Sakharov said.

  Art glanced at Leine. She shook her head, indicating she didn’t know what he was talking about.

  “When?” he asked.

  “On the jet.”

  “Who was it? What were their demands?”

  “Roman Tsarev.”

  “I knew it,” Katarina hissed. Sakharov gave her a sharp look. She pressed her lips together.

  “He says he will torture her if I do not fulfill the contract I negotiated with him to supply weapons to the Libyan army.”

  “He’s blackmailing you,” Katarina said. “Those weapons aren’t going to the Libyan army.”

  “This is correct. I spoke to the procurement officer in Benghazi. He told me everything had been accounted for, but he was lying. As for Roman”—he took out his phone and laid it on the table—“I recorded him. Not that it will do any good.”

  “Why not?” Katarina asked, nodding at the phone. “You have evidence of him implicating himself in this deception.”

  Sakharov shrugged. “He did not implicate himself on either count. He’s too careful for that. He only mentioned the weapons were going to the Libyans, not the terrorists. As for the abduction, he blamed others. Even if we were able to prove he was involved, nothing would be done. Kidnapping is practically a national pastime in Russia and Roman is a high-ranking officer in the GRU. He would never be prosecuted.”

  “He will pay for taking Olga.” Katarina’s face had paled, but her voice was clear. Her eyes glistened with tears. “We must get her back, Anatoly. We must.”

  Sakharov put his arm around her and pulled her close. “We will, my solnyshko.”

  Leine took up the thread. “How long does it take for you to put a shipment together?”

  “It depends.”

  “Let me rephrase that. How long can you take to put a shipment together?”

  “How long do you need?”

  “That will depend on how quickly we can locate your daughter,” Art answered.