The Last Deception

by DV Berkom, D. V. Berkom

  “Scott,” Leine replied.

  Henderson glanced at the Russian billionaire’s passport and nodded at the two agents, who walked over and seized him by the arms. Disbelief obvious on his face, Sakharov struggled against them.

  “Anatoly Sakharov,” Henderson said. “You are under arrest for colluding with the Russian Federation in an act of war against the United States.”

  Sakharov continued to resist the agents, disbelief obvious on his face. “You have no right to arrest me. What proof do you have?”

  Alarmed, Leine looked from Henderson to Sakharov back to Henderson.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded, taking a step toward Sakharov. “We came here in good faith with information vital to national security.”

  Henderson eyed her coolly. “National security is the reason he’s being detained. Now step away and let my people do their job.” He then addressed Sakharov, now in handcuffs. “I’ve received verifiable information that you knowingly diverted weapons to Izz Al-Din in an attempt to subvert our allies in Libya, and that you also supplied the materials used in the attack in Las Vegas.”

  “Wait.” Leine stared at Henderson. “What attack?”

  “Someone released a drone carrying sarin gas in a busy casino on the Strip. Dozens are dead, with hundreds more injured. The CIA received credible intel linking your friend and Izz Al-Din to the attack, and passed it along to me.”

  “Why have we not heard of this so-called attack?” Sakharov asked, ceasing his struggle against the agents’ grip.

  Henderson replied, “It happened at six twenty-five, EST. Look on your phone.” He nodded at Leine. She pulled out her mobile and checked. He was right—the story was breaking everywhere.

  He continued. “We hoped to avoid mass hysteria by attempting to keep the attack off the major news channels until we had more information. Unfortunately, live video and eye-witness accounts have blown up on social media, making the idea a non-starter. The news agencies that agreed to hold their stories are scrambling to put out the information.”

  “Your information is wrong,” Sakharov declared. “I have no dealings with Izz Al-Din. This is the reason I have come to this meeting, so that this deception will be put to rest. If I initiated a terrorist act against the United States, why would I be here?”

  “Why indeed?” Henderson answered. “Unless it’s to prove that you’re innocent when you’re not. You’re traveling under an assumed name. That in itself is suspicious.”

  Sakharov nodded at the passport in Henderson’s hands. “That is my actual identification. Does it not say Anatoly Sakharov?”

  “You’ve got it all wrong, Scott,” Leine interjected, her alarm increasing. “Where did the CIA get the information?”

  “That’s classified.”

  “Bullshit. He has a right to know who’s making the accusation.”

  Henderson shook his head. “You know as well as I do what rights are afforded an enemy of the State.”

  “An enemy of the State?” Sakharov’s face flushed red with anger. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I am a Russian citizen who has traveled here to provide information that directly affects your national security.”

  Henderson ignored his protests and nodded to the two agents holding him. “Get him out of here.”

  The security agents walked him toward the emergency exit. Before they reached the door, Sakharov twisted around to look at Leine. “Call my wife.”

  The agents marched him through the exit into the stairwell, his declarations of innocence fading as the door swung closed. Leine turned on Henderson, her face inches from his. “You have to stop this, Scott. Sakharov is innocent—”

  The first agent drew his weapon and yelled, “Hands on your head, now! Step away from the director.”

  Leine closed her eyes in frustration as she raised her hands, clasped them behind her neck, and took two steps back.

  “It’s all right, Danny,” Henderson assured the security agent. “Leine and I go way back. She wouldn’t do anything stupid,” he added, giving her a meaningful look.

  After a moment’s hesitation, Danny stood down and holstered his weapon.

  “Where are you taking him?” Leine demanded.

  Henderson ignored her and turned to the security agent. “Show Ms. Basso out, will you?”

  “Scott. Listen to me. Your intel is flawed.”

  “I need proof, Leine.”

  She held her purse out toward Danny. “There are photographs on my phone related to the diverted shipment.”

  Danny glanced at Henderson, who shook his head. “Who’s the source?”

  “Sakharov’s son, Mikhail.”

  Henderson crossed his arms. “And you expect me to believe information from an arms dealer’s son over intel from the Central Intelligence Agency?”

  She pushed the bag toward him. “Look at the images, then hear me out. His son was embedded with Izz Al-Din and was going to warn his father about what happened to the shipment. It’s why I went to such lengths to bring Sakharov to the meeting.”

  “There’s more to the story than the diverted shipment.”

  “I realize that. But I’m confident Sakharov isn’t behind the sarin attack.”

  “It’s not just him, Leine.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’ve picked up chatter implicating the Kremlin.”

  The Kremlin?

  If what Henderson said was true, then that changed everything. Leine’s mind whirled with the implications. What if General Tsarev wasn’t the main architect of the deception? Were the Russian president and prime minister aware of the diverted shipment? Had they planned the sarin attack in a bid to support Izz Al-Din’s fatwa against the US?

  To what end?

  The answer was obvious. The general’s every move had been designed to weaken the United States and ultimately lure her into an unwinnable war against a country she’d finally begun to treat as an ally: Russia.

  Had Sakharov played her? A chill spiraled down her back.

  Henderson checked his watch. “Time’s up. I have to attend a briefing with the vice president in two hours and I need time to prepare.” He gestured to Danny. “Show Ms. Basso out.”

  “Scott. Listen to me,” Leine pleaded, but Henderson had already turned his back and walked away.

  Instead of letting her leave by the front door, Danny took her through the emergency exit and down a flight of stairs, where she found herself in an underground parking garage. A black sedan idled nearby.

  “Tanya will take you back to your hotel.” Danny nodded at the driver of the sedan.

  “What about Sakharov’s men?” Leine asked.

  “We’ve already taken care of that.”

  Chapter 38

  Leine checked the “tell” she’d attached to her door to make sure it was still intact. The almost invisible strand of hair was where she’d left it, indicating the door hadn’t been opened since she’d left that afternoon for the meeting with Henderson. Satisfied that no one had been inside, she swiped her key card and entered her room.

  She set her bag down on the bed and turned on the television for updates on the Vegas attack. Over one hundred hotel guests inside the casino at the time had died or were dying. One camera panned the elegantly carpeted floor of a hotel conference room, displaying a makeshift morgue with dozens of bodies covered in white sheets. Another camera showed the gruesome effects of the nerve agent in people who had been exposed but were still alive—massive secretions from the mouth and eyes, vomiting, paralysis, convulsions. Muting the volume, she rummaged in her bag for her mobile and called the burner phone that Sakharov set up before the trip. She didn’t relish the impending conversation.

  “Katarina, it’s Leine. Did I wake you?”

  “How can I sleep? Have you seen the news? Someone released sarin gas at a casino in Las Vegas.”

  “Yes, I know. That’s partly why I called.” />
  There was a pause. “How did the meeting go?” she asked. Trepidation had crept into her voice.

  “Not as planned.” That was an understatement, Leine thought.

  “Is Anatoly with you? I tried his mobile but he didn’t answer.”

  “I’m afraid Anatoly has been detained.”

  “He—what? What are you talking about?”

  “Henderson had him arrested.”

  “On what grounds?”

  “They think he’s responsible for the Vegas attack, among other things.”

  Katarina didn’t reply for a moment as the realization sunk in. “Oh, my God. But he had nothing to do with it!”

  “I realize that. I need something—anything—that can prove your husband’s innocence. Do you have access to his contact list?”

  “Wait,” she said, hope lacing her voice. “Anatoly asked me to send a file to you in case something went wrong.” There was the sound of tapping on a keyboard. “I just sent it to you. The file has several pictures of a park in Moscow, so I’m not sure why they’ll help, but he wouldn’t have asked me to send them to you if they weren’t important in some way.”

  “Do you know if the file was encrypted?”

  “It is. He said you’d have the key.”

  “Good. Hold on while I take a look.” Leine checked the throwaway email account she’d set up for communication between her and the Russian arms dealer and found the file.

  “Got it.” Leine entered the encryption key they’d agreed upon during Olga’s rescue operation and clicked on the file. Inside were three jpegs—all seemingly innocuous scenes of Gorky Park.

  “Looks like I need to run these through some software. Let me call you back.”

  Leine ended the call and loaded the photographs into the steganography software that she’d used for the pictures on Mikhail’s flash drive. She stared at the results.

  Bingo.

  The quality of the three photos suggested surveillance images taken with a long lens. The first photograph showed General Tsarev on a tarmac next to a cargo plane, being greeted by a man Leine didn’t recognize. The mystery man was several inches taller than the general. He had black, curly hair, and wore a pair of dark sunglasses, making identification difficult. Behind him, the plane’s open cargo hold revealed several stacked containers with what appeared to be Cyrillic writing on them. The depth of field was such that it blurred the background, making it hard to read, and Leine enlarged the picture. She squinted, trying to bring the Russian letters into focus.

  Explosives. Handle with Care.

  In the second picture, the two men were smiling and shaking hands over a briefcase filled with euros. The mystery man had taken off his sunglasses, revealing a small scar above his left eye. The third photograph showed the general walking toward a black Mercedes Benz sedan, the briefcase in his hand.

  She quickly downloaded all three onto her phone and sent the picture of the mystery man to Lou with a note to run it through facial recognition files. Checking the time, she picked up her bag from the bed and hit redial on her phone.

  “Leine—all of Anatoly’s American assets have been frozen. I can’t access anything.” Katarina sounded as though she was on the verge of panicking.

  “Don’t worry. We’ll figure this out. I promise.”

  “Were the files helpful?”

  “Very. I’m on my way to find Henderson. I’ll explain everything later. Don’t worry.” And don’t do anything rash, Leine thought.

  Leine took the elevator down to the lobby and walked out the front doors. At two separate points, two unremarkable looking men wearing dark suits glanced at her as she passed by, but looked away, as if disinterested.

  If she were a betting woman, she’d bet the general had taken the bait.

  ***

  “Pull over here,” Leine urged the taxi driver. She checked her watch. She hoped she wasn’t too late. It had taken a fair bit of maneuvering, but she was confident she’d shaken whatever surveillance the general may have put on her. The driver pulled to the curb near the entrance of the underground parking garage of the mirrored building where she and Sakharov had met with Henderson. She paid in cash, exited the vehicle, and sprinted down the ramp. Ten yards from the entrance to the stairwell, the door opened and three people emerged, heading toward a waiting SUV.

  Henderson and his security team. Relief swept through her. She’d made it in time.

  “Scott,” Leine called. Henderson turned to see who had said his name. The agents both reached for their guns and she slowed her pace, trying not to spook them. One was Danny. She didn’t recognize the other agent.

  The director frowned and murmured something to Danny before continuing to the SUV. The driver got out and opened the back door.

  “Wait. Scott. Hear me out.”

  Ignoring her, Henderson placed his briefcase on the back seat and climbed in beside it. The three agents formed an impenetrable wall around him.

  “You said you wanted proof.”

  Henderson hesitated, his hand on the door. He waved the agents away, creating an opening.

  Leine held her phone so he could see the photograph of the general and the mystery man shaking hands. “Who is the man with General Tsarev?”

  Henderson squinted at the image. After a moment he held out his hand for the phone.

  Leine gave it to him. “There’s more.”

  Pausing at each, he flipped through the next two photographs. Then he handed the phone back.

  “Get in.”

  Chapter 39

  Leine glanced at the news on their way to Henderson’s meeting with the vice president. Reports were ominous. Reacting to the attack in Las Vegas, the US had deployed two of its nuclear submarines to the Bering Strait. The Russians responded with two of their own and tensions were running high. International headlines screamed, United States in Nuclear Showdown with Russia!

  Tsarev’s end game had become all too clear. Dmitry’s cryptic reference to the war made sense now. Did Russia’s leaders believe the US to be so weakened from committing its forces abroad that she wouldn’t have the strength to win against Russia?

  A dangerous game had been set in motion and the outcome wasn’t assured. A nuclear exchange was a distinct possibility.

  Henderson’s SUV turned into the side entrance of the Eisenhower Executive Building and cleared security, then passed through the black metal gate to the inner parking lot. Henderson, Leine, and the two agents exited the vehicle and headed to the office of the vice president.

  The Victorian-era sage-green and buff walls harkened back to another time in the political history of the United States, as did the delicate mahogany, maple, and cherry floor. Two black marble fireplaces stood at each end of the room, and several ornate chandeliers hung from the painted ceiling. In the center of the room stood an oval table that could easily seat a dozen.

  Leine and Henderson entered through an arched doorway. Vice President Lawrence looked up from his desk at their arrival, a sheaf of papers in his hand. Secretary of State Eileen Miller stood next to him, her hand resting on the back of Lawrence’s chair.

  “Have a seat,” Lawrence said, indicating an overstuffed settee across from two black leather armchairs. He rose from his desk and joined them, choosing one of the chairs. Secretary Miller took the other.

  Vice President Lawrence looked as though he’d been through hell and back: with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his white button-down shirt was open at the neck, and his tie and suitcoat were nowhere to be seen. The dark bags under his eyes were a testament to the stress he was under. Secretary Miller was all business, dressed in a crisp burgundy suit and tasteful gold earrings. Her expression was grim.

  “I understand you have information pertaining to recent actions taken by our Russian counterparts,” Lawrence said to Leine.

  “I do,” she replied. “Information, that when taken as a whole will implicate General Tsarev and exone
rate Anatoly Sakharov.”

  Miller raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure you can understand our skepticism.”

  “I can. But hear me out.” It was make or break time. Leine pushed aside her reservations about Sakharov’s true motives and continued. “Both Sakharov and Tsarev have the ear of the Russian prime minister, and both have much to gain from instigating a war with the US. As an arms dealer, a war would be quite lucrative for Sakharov. But I’d like to put forth another theory.”

  “And that is?”

  “That Tsarev is interested in changing the course of Russian-US relations. That he objects to the cooperation between our two countries and that he wishes to restore his homeland to its former glory.”

  “Go on,” Lawrence said.

  “I have files that when taken in context can be seen as strengthening that theory.” She pulled out her phone and brought up the files containing the photographs from Mikhail’s flash drive. “The source who gave me the first set of files came by them through Anatoly Sakharov’s son.”

  While Secretary Miller looked on, Vice President Lawrence clicked through the files, pausing occasionally to ask pertinent questions about what he was seeing. When he’d reviewed everything including the videos, he leaned back, a pensive look on his face.

  “Blackwell won’t believe this is a play by the general,” Lawrence said. “The evidence you’ve shown me still points to Anatoly Sakharov.”

  She leaned forward and locked gazes with the vice president. “Of course it does. Which is exactly what Tsarev wants. I have one more set of photographs to show you.”

  Leine opened the file containing the photos of the general and the mystery man. Henderson had identified him as Omar Tafiq—a commander for Izz Al-Din. Just then, her phone vibrated and an alert displayed on her screen telling her she had a reply from Lou.

  She scanned the message before clicking back to the picture. She handed Lawrence her phone and said, “As you can see, the man on the left is Tsarev. The identity of the other man in the photograph has been confirmed by two separate sources as Omar Tafiq, a high-ranking leader for Izz Al-Din.”