by David Archer
Leonid Ivanov, director of the SVR, stood in front of the president’s desk. The fury in Feodor’s eyes had him rooted to the spot, for the president was known to have a volatile temper and a number of loyal friends who would not hesitate to eliminate the problem for him. Ivanov himself had replaced Yuri Leskov after the latter had been found shot to death in his own apartment. No one talked about it, but it was well known that Leskov had refused a “request” from the president only the day before.
“I do not know,” he said. “Mr. President, all of this has only come to my attention this morning. I have not had any chance to investigate…”
“Then why are you not investigating right now? If you had no answer to give me, you could have sent one of your assistants to tell me that. Russia is about to become a laughing stock of the entire world, and I've already been forced to postpone the executions. My advisors are telling me this morning that I must not allow anything to happen to these prisoners, that even should one of them have an accident, it will appear that we're trying to silence them before any investigations can be conducted. Now, I want to know before this day is over whether these are American spies and assassins, or whether there's any truth to these rumors. Do you understand me, Leonid?”
“Yes, Mr. President,” Ivanov said. He bowed and turned quickly, getting out of the office as soon as he possibly could. By the time he got to his car, he was already on his cell phone and demanding answers of his own.
* * * * *
Noah looked up as the cell door opened. Captain Fedorov stood there, his face grim. “Come,” he said.
Noah got to his feet and two men came in. He was handcuffed and then marched quickly through the halls with Fedorov following. They got to the interrogation room, but this time they didn’t bother to hang him from the chains. He was placed in a chair with his cuffs still on. The two men left the room and Fedorov faced him alone.
“The news services, the Internet, they're all saying that you're not an American at all, but a Russian. They say that you're all special agents who were trained to pose as Americans and wait for the order to return to Russia and commit a crime. They say that this was a political ploy intended to allow the re-creation of the USSR. Is any of this true?”
Noah looked at him silently, but grinned.
“Let me explain myself better,” Fedorov said. “I'm no friend of those who want to bring back the USSR. I'm no friend of those who want to bring back the KGB. If you were indeed raised in Russia and forced into such things, then I can be your friend. All I ask is that you tell me the truth.”
Noah shrugged, but kept grinning. “What do you want me to say? If I say I’m an American, then you’re going to hang me as a spy. If I say I’m Russian, I’ll probably disappear into Siberia. You don’t want to hear the truth, that I’m pretty much a nobody. What do you want me to say?”
Fedorov scowled at him. “I'll tell you this. You'll suffer less if you tell me the truth than you will if the SVR is brought in. Some of them, they’d love to see the days of the KGB return.”
Noah looked him in the eye. “If these stories are actually in the news, your government is going to be very careful what they do with me and the others. There will undoubtedly be investigations that involve other nations, am I right? I don’t think the Kremlin is going to want anything bad to happen to us. Or are they still planning to hang us tomorrow?”
Fedorov only looked at him for more than a minute, then slowly seemed to relax. “Your execution has been postponed,” he said. “It's my understanding that the SVR is taking over all investigation where you're concerned. I was quite serious when I told you that some of them miss the old days. You may come to wish you had cooperated with me.”
He stepped out of the room for a moment and then returned with the other two men. Noah was walked back to his cell and put inside, the cuffs removed and the door closed and locked.
One by one, he heard the other doors open. After almost half an hour, all of them had been questioned and brought back. Noah sat down at the table and began messaging Marco.
GET READY
I AM
NO HANG
YES GOOD
* * * * *
Neil had slept in a bit, after being up most of the night pushing the story around the Internet. He woke at just before ten and wandered to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. His computer was on the table and he turned it on.
There was a notification that he had a message in an email account that he hardly ever used, so he looked to see what it was. His eyes bugged out when he saw that it was from Molly, with a subject that read, “Help is on the way.”
He clicked on the link and the message opened up.
Neil,
I’m sending this under Allison’s orders. She is aware that you're setting up a rescue mission, and that Monica is helping you. She appreciates the fact that you've done this on your own, because it keeps our country out of the potential war. However, she feels that you're going to need military specialists at some point, so she has arranged for some. She said you might remember the people who helped you in Hong Kong, because some of them are due to arrive in Moscow early this morning. You can reach them by calling +7-4011-777-5825. Tell them what you need and they will follow your orders.
Molly
“Sarah? Monica? You guys want to see this.”
Both women came into the kitchen from the living room and both of them stared at the message. Sarah looked at Monica, who was reading the message for the fourth time.
“Well? What do you think?” Sarah asked. “Do you think it’s a trap?”
Monica shook her head. “No,” she said. “I read people pretty well, and Allison is a straight arrow. If she were trying to set a trap for us, she wouldn’t offer this kind of help. She’d offer something that would require us to expose ourselves. In this case, she’s offering mercenaries who will follow orders, and you don’t even have to meet with them. If it was a trap, we’d have to let them know where we are.”
“Neil? What’s your opinion?”
“I agree with Monica,” Neil said. “If this was a trap, we’d have to stick our necks out. The way she’s got this set up, we could literally just send these guys off to get them while we sit tight here. I think we can trust it.”
Sarah sighed. “Okay, then let’s give them a call. Just be ready to hang up in a hurry if you need to.”
Neil nodded, then took out his phone and dialed the number. It rang twice, and then an accented voice came on the line. “Orders?”
“Maybe in a minute,” Neil said. “Can you tell me how many of you there are, and what you’re doing here?”
“Tell me first your name.”
“It’s Neil.”
“Yes, Neil. I am Yury. We are ten in number. All of us like Spetsnaz, what you call special force. We are here to assist in recover your friends.”
“Good,” Neil said, “that’s very good. I don’t have any orders for you just yet, so just stay where you are. I’ll call you when I know more, okay?”
“Yes, we wait.”
The line went dead and Neil looked up, wide-eyed, at Sarah and Monica. “Special forces,” he said. “Ten of them. They’re waiting for us to call and tell them what we need them to do.”
Sarah broke into a smile. “Oh my God,” she said, “we're actually going to get them out. Should we send the men now?”
Monica shook her head. “No, not yet. The president has already postponed the execution, but I’m sure he’s going to move them pretty quickly. Neil, you need to get into whatever computers are necessary to find out where they go when that happens. Just keep watching, because we may be lucky enough that they’ll post the orders in the computer before it even happens. It’s possible we can send these guys to get them while they're being moved, which could be better. The thing is, if they get moved, we need to know where they’re going.”
“The news is all over the story, now,” Neil said. “CNN and BBC are both jumping up and down on it, and so
is every major newspaper in the world. There’s probably a hundred video bloggers who’ve already posted videos about this, isn’t that wild?”
“It’s exciting, yes,” Monica said. “Just don’t let it distract you from the real mission. Realistically, this whole thing is going to probably set Russia back a few years in their credibility with the rest of the world, and that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Hell, I wish I’d thought of trying something like this a couple of years ago. Russia is one of the most oppressive governments on Earth, even though it’s a lot better than it used to be.”
“I don’t care about Russia and how they stand with the rest of the world,” Sarah said, “I just want my husband back. Neil wants Jenny back. Those are the important issues at the moment, can we all stay focused on that?”
“We are, Sarah,” Monica said. “It’s going to be okay, I promise you. I get a feel for these things sometimes, and right now I feel very strongly that your people are coming home safely. We just have to be careful not to jump the gun, because there's as much danger in trying to move too quickly as there is in waiting too long.”
“I understand that,” Sarah said. “Believe me, I really do, but it’s all starting to get to me. I’ve been holding it together pretty well, but I can tell you now that I’m going to be breaking down if something doesn’t happen soon.”
* * * * *
The dark-haired woman had been waiting for almost half an hour, but she wasn’t complaining. It wasn’t often that someone like her was called to an audience with the Queen, and she wondered quietly what it was going to be about. The grand lady had come to see her in the hospital, once, shortly after that awful time when they had almost lost the Prince. She had been incredibly gracious, and had actually leaned down to give her a hug as she lay in her hospital bed.
A door opened suddenly and a man came quickly across the marble floor. He bowed when he was standing just in front of her. “Miss Potts?” he asked. “Would you come this way, please?”
Catherine got to her feet and followed him, and a moment later she was standing in the presence of Queen Elizabeth. The Queen rose from the chair she had been sitting on and held out her hands, and Catherine felt them touch her on the shoulders as she knelt.
“Oh, get up, get up,” Elizabeth said. “All that kneeling and bobbing, there's a time and a place, you know. Now, let me look at you. How long has it been? Almost two years, now?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Catherine said. “I’m incredibly honored to see you again.”
Elizabeth smiled. “Don’t be in such a rush,” she said. “I’m afraid I’ve called you here on business, rather than pleasure. I should like very much to ask a great favor of you, if I may.”
“Of course, Your Majesty. I'm ever at your service.”
“I’m certain you’ve heard about the events in Russia,” the Queen said. “How it appears that some factions over there have attempted to create an international crisis between Russia and the United States, in order to resume certain attitudes from the past.”
“Yes, Your…”
“Dear girl, please stop saying Majesty. A simple ‘yes, ma’am’ will suffice.”
“Yes, your—yes, ma’am.”
“In the course of the long life such as I’ve had, one makes many friends. Some of those friends are in powerful positions in the United States today, and I've been informed rather quietly that one of the men currently imprisoned in Russia is actually an old friend of ours. I’m not sure what name you knew him under, but he was credited with saving your life, as I recall, and he certainly saved that of my son. Do you know to whom I refer?”
Catherine’s heart began racing and she felt a flush come to her face. “Yes, ma’am, I do.”
The Queen smiled again. “He was certainly memorable, wasn’t he? In any event, it seems to me that if he is involved in this, then it probably is not quite what it appears to be. I feel that I would be much more comfortable about all of this if I had someone in Moscow whom I believe I can truly trust. This is why I sent for you, Miss Potts. I wonder if you would consent to be my eyes and ears on this matter.”
“You want me to—to go to Moscow?”
“As my personal representative, yes,” Elizabeth said. “You would report directly to me, to keep me advised of the situation as you see it.”
“Your Majesty,” Catherine said, momentarily forgetting herself, “it would be an honor.”
The Queen smiled and Catherine found herself basking in it. “Oh, I’m so pleased,” Elizabeth said. “Can you leave immediately?”
* * * * *
“According to CNN,” Allison said, “twenty-seven countries have demanded explanations of Russia’s ambassadors about this situation. The good old U.S. of A. is one of them, incidentally.”
“Are you surprised?” Jefferson asked. “After they’ve been screaming for the last several days about how we assassinated one of their ministers? Our president is no fool, Allison, he’s going to jump on this bandwagon with both feet. The longer Russia can be kept off balance, the stronger we become in the eyes of the world once again. With half the world believing that the assassination was carried out as an inside job by Russian agents, I would imagine he’s feeling pretty good right now.”
Allison chuckled. “It’s almost like this is their 9/11. We had an awful lot of people thinking that was an inside job, too, remember?”
“Remember? I still think so. If you ever watch the videos of the south tower coming down, it’s kind of amazing that some of the lower floors blew out many seconds before any of the debris from above could have gotten there.”
“Donald, there are a dozen videos on YouTube debunking that theory. Go watch them, why don’t you, so you can stop talking about that.”
“I’ve seen them,” Jefferson said. “I even got Wally to sit down and look at them, and he agrees with me. There’s no way that tower fell just from the impact of the airplane and the burning fuel. No way.”
“Change of subject. I got a phone call from Nick Weber a little bit ago.”
“Weber, Weber,” Jefferson muttered to himself. “Oh, one of your old partners at the CIA, right?”
“Yes, he’s Deputy Director of Analysis over there, now. He wanted to thank me for overseeing the Kalashnikov situation. I guess the family is getting settled into their new home in Seattle.”
“Well, good, I’m glad to hear it. Did you happen to thank him for giving us a mission so screwed up that it may cost us our best people?”
“Oh, I don’t think I put it quite that way. Anyway, he told me something I found interesting. Some of his people had picked up chatter suggesting that there are actual Russian deep cover agents here in our country who are on the verge of panicking over all of this. According to Nick, they have recordings of more than half a dozen such sleepers who are discussing the possibility of turning themselves in and asking for asylum.”
Jefferson burst out laughing. “Now, that’s amazing. Monica Lord goes to Russia, spreads a bunch of big lies, and ends up possibly saving our country from God only knows what these people might have done at some point in the future. Sometimes I think Noah may have given us a fantastic gift when he brought her into the fold. Incidentally, how is her committee doing, with her being off the reservation?”
“I covered her ass,” Allison said. “I told them that I needed her help with a top-secret mission and that she’ll be back in a week or two. I did not tell them that even we can’t watch her at the moment, though. Not sure how they would’ve taken that news.”
* * * * *
Captain Fedorov was sitting in his office in the Lubyanka. He had been removed from the case of the American spies, replaced by Colonel Leschinsky of the SVR. Leschinsky’s job was to investigate the claims that the Americans were actually Russian sleeper agents who had been placed in America to await orders. Those orders, according to the stories flying around the world, would cause them to come into Russia as Americans and perpetrate an assassination.
The plans behind them, the stories said, included relaunching the old Cold War and prompting the rebirth of the USSR. Fedorov knew that there were many people in the government who would love to see such things happen, but he personally scoffed at the idea. The old Soviet states had enjoyed independence since the early nineties, and he knew enough to doubt that any of them would ever welcome the chance to return to Soviet Socialism.
There was no doubt in his own mind that these were genuine American agents, but Leschinsky had refused to listen to him. Granted, Fedorov thought, it was quite possible that the old KGB might have come up with this kind of ridiculous plan, but the KGB was gone. The type of thinking that could engender such a plan was no longer common among Russian officials, and there was no one who might actually conceive of it who could possibly make it happen.
Sitting at his desk, Fedorov used a pen to doodle on his desk pad. The words and numbers he had scribbled there told him that such an operation would cost billions of rubles, and even the SVR did not have enough black ops budget to finance it. In his opinion, it was a red herring, a smokescreen, and it was quite possible that Russia could collapse under its weight.
It had been only fifteen hours since the stories began appearing online, but already there were demands from governments around the world for answers. Eleven countries, including the United Kingdom, were already demanding a special session of the United Nations, and proposing to levy sanctions against Russia until the matter was resolved. Should the UN decide that the stories were true, those sanctions might become very grave and potentially permanent.
There was a tap on his office door, and he looked up to see Anya Kerensky looking at him through the glass. He motioned with his fingers for her to enter and pointed at the chair beside his own. Anya was one of his best officers and often showed initiative that far surpassed that of any of her colleagues.
“Anya,” he said. “At least I have the pleasure of your company during my exile.”
“Exile?” Anya asked. “Sir?”
Fedorov smiled. “Have you not heard? I've been banished from Lefortovo for the duration of this event. Leschinsky feels that I've failed to accomplish anything in my questioning of the suspects, and so I have been sent back here to twiddle my thumbs. What can I do for you, lovely Anya?”