by Ian Miller
Even then, it took him quarter of an hour to retrieve them. He put the documents under his arm, then walked towards the door to the stairwell.
He entered the main reception area and began the task of setting the alarms back on when he was aware of someone behind him. Something small and round was pressed against the back of his head. Probably a gun. He froze.
"You can do this the easy way or the hard way," a voice said. "The easy way is for you not to look at me, and to sit in that chair, where I shall tie you to it, put a blindfold on, and, well, you should still be here in the morning when the shift starts, and that will be embarrassing, but you will be alive." The voice paused, then added, "The hard way is for you to refuse, in which case I shall have to knock you out. Even harder, you would try to see me, in which case I shall shoot out each of your eyes. Choose."
Sammy knew fine well what he would choose. He walked to the chair, shut his eyes, and sat down.
"Very good," the voice said approvingly, as he placed a hood over Sammy's head. "You shall be tied firmly, but not excessively, and the blood should keep flowing." Sammy felt the ropes tying him, but he could still breathe and he had some movement in his legs. "If someone asks you, the papers you were going to steal will be in the top left drawer of the reception desk. Now, relax. It will be a lot easier on you if you just accept what I am doing."
Whatever happened next took about a quarter of an hour, then everything from Sammy's point of view went silent. He began squirming, but he was not going anywhere. Whoever had secured him had known what they were doing.
* * *
Burrowes was seated at his desk waiting for Rutherford to get to the point regarding what he should do next. Brian had not turned up for work today, but Dennis seemed strangely interested in what Rutherford was saying. Strange, because from Burrowes' point of view, Rutherford was not saying anything of substance. Svetlana was also listening, and every now and again a frown crossed her face. Then Rutherford's phone rang. The conversation they could hear was even stranger.
"Yes? . . . What?" Rutherford's eyes opened quite widely. "So what was taken?" A long pause, then a bewildered, "Nothing? You sure?" Another pause. "O.K. Hold him there. I'll be right over."
"Unexpected news?" Burrowes asked as politely as he could.
"Yeah. Lamont and Ellison. They were burgled last night, but nothing was taken."
"Good security," Burrowes commented. "Getting in might be only part of the problem if you can't find what you want when you're in."
"That's not what happened," Rutherford said. "The burglar was after the Seafarth documentation, and he found it."
"So that's gone?" Burrowes said in a deadpan voice. "I was so convinced that was an excellent hiding place." At this point, Burrowes noticed a clear response from Dennis to the word Seafarth. Why was Rutherford not doing something about Dennis?
"Well, no, and that's the puzzle. The burglar was just leaving when he ran into someone else, or maybe more than just one. Anyway, the burglar was tied up and had his eyes covered with a hood. Whoever the someone else was simply put the Seafarth documentation in the receptionist's top drawer and left."
"Why would they do that?" Burrowes was completely bewildered.
"That is the million dollar question. Anyway, I had better get over there. You can fill in the rest of the morning however you like."
"Well, that was bizarre," Burrowes mentioned when Rutherford had left.
"Maybe," Svetlana muttered.
"What do you mean, maybe?"
"Well, there's a reasonably simple explanation," she said. "The man that got the burglar was Rutherford, or one of his men."
"I don't think so," Burrowes said, as he shook his head. "The boss was completely surprised at the news."
"You're sure? He could have been acting."
"Why would he do that?"
"To keep his name out of it all. I'll take a small bet with you. A dinner at winner's choice that Rutherford does not call in the police."
"Why not?"
"Because he won't want too much forensic analysis, or too much investigation into his activities."
"You could be right on that last one," Burrowes said. "There's a lot around here that Rutherford will want to keep very quiet."
Burrowes noticed Dennis wince. That jab had been partly to see how hard Dennis was listening. Obviously, he was taking it all in.
"So you won't take my bet?" she pouted.
"No, because I think that analysis is too probable."
"Stingy!"
"True," Burrowes said with a rueful grin, "but if you want a dinner that badly, why not?"
"You're on."
* * *
Rutherford leaned over a seated Sammy and put his face about a foot away. "I would like to know who hired you?"
"I don't suppose I can convince you that you really don't want to know," Sammy replied. "You might then want some sort of retribution, and I promise you, you would regret any attempt for the rest of your life, albeit a very short but painful rest of life."
Rutherford took a step back. "Then tell me, why did this boss of yours ask you to do this?"
"I have no idea," Sammy said, "but my guess is, someone paid him big bucks to get it done."
"You realize the police will –"
"Save me," Sammy replied. "The boss does not like failure."
Rutherford stared at the man and realized he was not going to get anywhere. Sammy would remain silent because he was more afraid of his boss than anyone else.
"So, do I call the police?" Janice asked.
"No," Rutherford said. "At this point, he did not steal anything. Breaking and entering, yes, except he did not break anything." Rutherford turned towards Sammy and said, "I am starting to think I know who this boss of yours is, and I think I know who commissioned this job." He turned to the others in the room, and said, "I want a few minutes with this man alone. Don't try to overhear."
They nodded, and quietly left the room. Sammy's hands were now starting to shake, a slight sweat began forming on his face, and he looked furtively around, as if trying to decide whether he could make a break for freedom.
Rutherford turned and stared into Sammy's face. "As far as I'm concerned, you're no use to me." Sammy's face lost colour. "Accordingly, you might as well go. Just remember this, because one day I might call on you, and if so, you will do a job for me. Understand?"
"Yes, but you won't."
"And why not? What makes you so sure?"
"Because my boss'll probably float me down the river," a disconsolate Sammy said as he shook his head. How could anyone not see that?
"Do you know what you were stealing?" Rutherford asked.
"It was a document with the heading of something like, 'Guided torpedoes'."
"Exactly. Did you read it?"
"No! I was told to find it and then get out and give it to my boss, and –"
"Good. Now, what do you know about torpedoes?"
"I dunno. Submarines use them. They go through water and –"
"Exactly. And who do you think uses them?"
"The navy?"
"Indeed. Now, who do you think might want to know details of the US Navy?"
"Russians?" Sammy guessed.
"Yes. And you know what that means?"
Sammy stared blankly, then said uncertainly, "What?"
"Anyone stealing these papers will be considered a spy, and may well be given the death penalty."
Sammy blanched.
Rutherford put his hand in his jacket and pulled out a fake ID and waved it across Sammy's face, slow enough that Sammy would think it was real, but not slow enough for him to see any flaws. "I'm FBI," Rutherford lied smoothly. "We're hoping to catch some Russian spies. Now I'm reasonably sure you're not one because, well, never mind, so I'm happy to let you go, but you can tell your boss that I know who he is, and if he does anything to botch up this spy trap, and that includes anything happening to you, the FBI will be all over him and his organization l
ike a rash, and if you turn up dead, we shall make the case he ordered your death to conceal his involvement in espionage. You can tell him I don't care that this isn't true, because I'll see enough evidence turns up to fry him and there's a rather unpleasant little spot in Cuba where he can spend the rest of his miserable life and from where there're no appeals, or judgement for that matter. It may be for the wrong crime, but I'm sure he deserves it for a number of other crimes. So, be assertive with him, and now get out of here."
Chapter 22
"So, you finally got around to taking me out to dinner," Svetlana said. She raised an eyebrow slightly, clearly flirting.
"Got to maintain appearances," Burrowes countered, "and that's best done by taking a lovely young woman out to dinner."
"Oh, thank . . ." She paused as a conclusion struck her. "Oh! You're . . ."
"At least until this mess gets sorted out," Burrowes said, "romantic office entanglements have to be out."
"I see," she said in a clearly reserved tone.
"If you're that interested," Burrowes said in a low voice, "I was fired from my last workplace because some bitch accused me of sexual harassment at the office Christmas party."
"Maybe you shouldn't have harassed her?" Svetlana was obviously unsure how to respond to this.
"I didn't," he said sourly. "She harassed me, and when I didn't respond . . ."
"Well, then, at least you know you're innocent."
"Yeah, well, the current payments I'm getting also come with the threat of being unemployable if there are any more office romances, so look, I'm sorry, but, well . . ."
"That's all right," Svetlana said. She seemed strangely calm about this, as if she understood more than Burrowes did. "Still, I have a question."
"Yes?"
"Then why the dinner?"
"Here's the waiter," Burrowes said. "Let's just fill in with idle chat until the meal is served."
"As you wish."
The next twenty minutes were a little strained, as it became apparent that neither was very good at idle chat. The Washington political scene was strangely quiet at the moment, while Svetlana had little interest in any American sports. In the end, they talked a little about ice hockey, but Svetlana was only really familiar with Russian teams. Eventually, the meals arrived.
"I'll concede," she said after a few bites, "you've picked a place that knows how to cook."
"Glad you like it. And I hope you like the wine."
"It is very nice, thank you." She took another sip.
"Well, there's more there."
"So," she said, "back to my question. Why the dinner?"
"I thought I should get to know more about you," Burrowes said in a light tone.
"But you're not interested in me."
"I am, actually, at least for the time being as a co-worker. Which gets me the first question I want to ask. Why did Rutherford hire you, or, putting it another way, why are you working for Rutherford?"
"Any reason why I shouldn't?" she asked as a small smile crossed her face.
"I think we've both worked out Rutherford is at best in some dodgy dealings, so . . ."
"So am I dodgy? Is that what you're asking?"
"I guess so," he said, his face going slightly reddish.
"Well, in answer to your question, I was put here by the American government to assist you with Russian language and customs."
"Oh. So you're not part of Rutherford's organization?"
"No." She paused, then said with a cheeky smile, "You realize of course, if I were into dodgy deals, I'd have some sort of cover, so maybe you're no further ahead."
"Maybe, but if you know my background, that is easily checked."
"So you don't believe me?" she said, her face giving an acted deeply sad expression.
"On the contrary, I do, so cheer up. No, what I wanted to talk about is what is going on around us?"
"Well, as far as I am concerned," she said, "I was told if I wanted to stay in the US I had to help you. Since we do not seem to be doing much about the Russian problem, I may be withdrawn and sent back to Russia."
"Surely they wouldn't do that?" Burrowes said, but it was reasonably clear that he was far from convinced.
"I think they can," she said.
"Then maybe we had better look like we're doing something about the Russian manganese problem, whatever that problem is."
"And what can we do? It seems to me we've done about as much as we can."
"That's where you can give me some advice," Burrowes said with a grin. "Your future in this country depends on it."
"You make it so simple," she said. "I have no idea."
"Your father didn't say anything while you were fleeing?"
"No. He wanted me to know nothing if we got caught. It had to be all his fault."
"I see," Burrowes said. It was obvious he was grasping for what to say next.
"It doesn't look like you do," Svetlana countered, "but I can't see how to help."
"The next issue is Kapralov's money," Burrowes continued.
"I think we both know that Dennis made serious withdrawals of that," Svetlana said, "and we can only guess why it was returned."
"My guess is it was borrowed on orders of Rutherford, and the return was because Rutherford did not want to end up a thief."
"Well, he was, at least for a while."
"Prove it!"
"What? I thought you agreed . . ."
"I agreed Dennis did it, almost certainly on Rutherford's orders, but you might have difficulty proving Rutherford was involved."
"Dennis could give evidence," Svetlana suggested.
"Why would he? If it were to get a lighter sentence, Rutherford would know that, and . . ."
"Maybe Dennis has some sort of hold over Rutherford?"
"What makes you say that?" Burrowes asked. "If you believe that, why doesn't Rutherford simply deal with Dennis? Or do you think the boss's all talk?"
"I don't think so, but his attitude to Dennis is hard to fathom," Svetlana said. "He's seemingly very tough on Dennis when there's hardly anything going on, and now Dennis looks completely worried, but –"
"You know Dennis scooped up that land deal?" Burrowes said, "and I told the boss. Dennis' using the boss's information should get him mad, but it hasn't happened that way."
"Maybe," Svetlana said, then added, "The redeeming feature for Dennis is the boss didn't want the land. He merely wanted Goldfinch pissed off. Maybe he doesn't care that much."
"That's possible too, I suppose."
"So where does this take you?"
"My question is, if Dennis is free-loading, where is he getting his finance?"
"You think Kapralov's account?"
"It's the only one he knows for sure how to get into," Burrowes pointed out.
"Then maybe we should go back to the office after this and check his computer."
"He could use another one," Burrowes suggested.
"Yes, he could, but would he? Does it hurt to check?"
"No, it doesn't. Let's finish this wine and go look."
* * *
It was as they were approaching Dennis' computer that Burrowes had a thought: had Rutherford installed "out of hours" security equipment? Over the time he had been there he had examined everything fairly closely, and his background with the NSA had taught him what to look for. As far as he could tell, there were no hidden cameras, which raised the question, why not? Perhaps the answer to that was obvious; he did not want to leave evidence of his own activities.
It took little time to look back through Dennis' computer, and yes, he had made an entry to Kapralov's account, but he found it was empty. All funds had been withdrawn previously. Dennis had then made attempts to get into other accounts, but he was repelled.
"Mr Rutherford won't like that," Burrowes said, as he logged off and closed down the computer.
"And why would he care?" Svetlana asked.
"Because Dennis' floundering around appears to have triggered ac
tion at the other end, and he was in there long enough the bank may well have some idea who did this."
"So you agree Dennis tried to steal money?"
"I can't see any other explanation," Burrowes said. "It looks like he was trying to finance that real estate deal, and so far he seems to have run up short."
"Unless he emptied it previously," Svetlana suggested.
"Don't believe it. Why would he go in again later and flounder around like that?"
"I suppose not. Now what?"
"Let's return to our respective apartments and get some sleep, then we'll see what we can do tomorrow."
"Might as well, I suppose," Svetlana said.
Burrowes found her attitude slightly surprising. She had been almost professional during this nighttime excursion, and as she left the building she was very cautious as to where she went. She carefully followed his instructions to stay away from surveillance cameras, and she seemed to be quite in control. At the restaurant she had raised the possibility of being shipped back to Russia, but there were no signs of panic. Maybe there was no possibility after all. Maybe that had been a ploy to make him feel sorry for her. The rat had played him. So much for sweet little Sveta. He would keep that in mind any time he felt he was going to feel sorry for her.
Chapter 23
Ruth Telfar and Bernard Lawton greeted the team chemist as he strode in. He was followed by an air force Colonel and another man, who did not introduce himself, and who said, "I am another representative for the White House. Please all get comfortable." Everyone sat down and looked at this new political appointee. "As with the previous representative, I am not here. If you know who I am, you will please forget that I am here. Again, no records will be kept. Understand?"
They did, at least to the extent of knowing what was required. Why it was so required was another matter.