by Ian Miller
More searching provided an even greater shock. Her father previously had a senior position at the GRU. There was a statement that the traitor had been shot, but there was no photograph of the dead man. There was no statement as to what had happened to the body. There was, perhaps, the implied statement that a traitor's body would simply be disposed of, but, and maybe this was a mistake on their part, there seemed to be no evidence that relatives had been notified. It was possible that he could not find evidence of such notifications, but his gut told him that was because there were none. He tried hacking into the accounts of several relations and there was no evidence that any of them had been told about Svetlana or her father.
Burrowes immediate guess was that her father still had a very senior position at the GRU. Burrowes immediately phoned Lawton. As soon as he started, Lawton stopped him and told him to meet, at once.
Burrowes was amused to see that the designated meeting place was back at that site where he had had further training. This time it was late afternoon as he pulled into the parking lot, where he saw Lawton standing beside a vehicle. He parked, and walked over to Lawton, who was not looking at all happy.
"So, are you sure this man you saw was Nickolay Antonov?" Lawton asked. His eyes almost burned their way into Burrowes.
"Sure as I can be," Burrowes replied. He stood unfazed. This might be the end of his career, but he had lives to save.
"So, your recommendation?"
"Whatever we are asking agents to do, stop them doing it."
"You realize what sort of call that is?"
"I do," Burrowes replied, "but I'm convinced this is a scam. Antonov is not dead, therefore whoever it was that was shot in Estonia is not Svetlana's father, and that means the goods she delivered are fake."
"For what purpose?" Lawton was totally uncompromising. He looked as if he were more likely to shoot Burrowes than listen.
"Quite simply, to round up the agents we send to uncover this so-called secret substance," Burrowes said. He was not going to be intimidated. "I know it's not my call," he said, "but if you don't stop this, the lives of every captured agent will be on your hands."
"Fair enough," Lawton said, and his expression now turned to merely worried. "I'm sorry if I intimidated you, but I had to be sure you were sure."
"I'm sure. There have been other minor clues, when I think about it," Burrowes said. "Svetlana more or less thrust herself into that torpedo exercise, and she should have had no interest in it. And there's more."
"More?"
"Yes, once when I had done quite a bit of work and I was feeling a bit down, she actually said I was quite capable, or something like that."
"Maybe she was just complimenting you."
"That's how I took it, but the clue is, how would she know, unless she was trained?"
"Maybe you're being a bit hard on yourself," Lawton said. "So you think she is also a spy?"
"I think she's an agent, probably of the GRU, but I think the torpedo was merely adventitious. Still, somebody had to tell Goldfinch where the documents were hidden, and also whoever it was that collared that burglar. My guess is they were Russian agents, and in the spare time that the agent was there with Sammy having a hood over his face, he was photographing the documents."
"Why photograph them?" Lawton asked. He had a smile on his face, and Burrowes realized that Lawton knew fine well.
"So we wouldn't know they had gone missing," Burrowes said. "Had they been stolen, there would be a massive hunt to get them back. If they were photographed, we may not have even suspected."
"And we didn't," Lawton admitted. "Right, let's go inside and set some things in motion." As Lawton keyed in the entry code to open the door, he looked at Burrowes and said with a smile, "When we get inside there'll be a test."
"You mean another test," Burrowes challenged.
"What do you mean by that?" Lawton asked quizzically.
"The so-called intimidating interview in the car park."
"Correct."
"And for that matter, right now."
"Now, that shows promise," Lawton chuckled.
"And you're not going to give me a lot of clues?"
"Since you mention it, no."
Great, Burrowes thought to himself. The door was closed behind them, and they walked down the familiar corridor, but they turned the opposite way to where he had been before. Eventually they reached a door, and Lawton opened it. They entered, and there, around a table were three FBI agents, as well as Rhonda.
The test! Burrowes realized what it would be: self-control. Well, having been warned, he would show them. He walked to the table, sat down in the designated chair, looked Rhonda straight in the eye, and said, "Good afternoon, Rhonda."
"Good afternoon, Charles," came the slightly amused response. Not a lot of apologies coming back this way, Burrowes realized.
"Right, let's get this started," the oldest looking FBI man started. "I am Deputy Director of Counterintelligence at the FBI. These two," and he pointed to the other two men, "will arrange for assistance and backup for any action. Now, Mr Burrowes, it appears you have met Rhonda before." He said this with something of a grin.
"Indeed I have," Burrowes replied, but not with any particular warmth.
"Ms Crawford, would you like to explain please?"
"Certainly sir. At the Christmas Party at the NSA I arranged for Mr Burrowes to be fired for sexual harassment."
"There was no sexual harassment," Burrowes said coldly.
"But there was," Rhonda said with a laugh. "I harassed you mightily, and in fairness, I had trouble getting any response from you until I screamed."
"Well, thank you for that."
"For what it is worth, it was a compliment," Rhonda explained. "I picked you to set up this operation, and it worked, and just between those in this room right now, I doubt anyone else would have made it work."
"Back to me," the Deputy Director said. "Just about everybody believed the story Ms Antonovna was telling, but Ms Crawford here did not, and she made my life miserable, so I told her to go away and think up some way of getting evidence."
"The problem was," another of the FBI men said, " Ms Antonovna had passed just about every test we could think of giving her. The greatest part of her plan was that she claimed not to know much. It was her father who knew where this information came from, and the only reason she was here was that she survived and her father did not."
"What did you ask about her father?" Burrowes asked. When he saw the look of irritation, he added, "Just curious."
"A perfectly respectable question," the Deputy Director added.
"We didn't ask much," the man admitted. "She was given the lie detector test, but when the matter of her father came up, she responded, but then again, that would be expected. It would be impossible for someone not to have an emotional response when reminded of her father's death."
"Anyway," the Deputy Director continued, "while just about everyone accepted that story, Ms Crawford did not, so I put her in charge of a limited operation on the basis that Ms Antonovna was a Russian plant. She had operational freedom."
"I needed someone to work with Ms Antonovna," Rhonda explained, "and it had to be someone who would not become besotted with her. It had to be someone who would not just jump into bed with an attractive woman just because she was attractive, and it had to be someone who was very good with computers."
"And you couldn't simply ask me?" Burrowes said, as he shook is head.
"No. You had to act the part, and that was easier if it were the part. If you believed it, it would be more likely to work. Also, if you knew what you were trying to do, you would probably give yourself away well before there were real clues. This was something that required her to make a mistake, and not you making a real effort to disrupt her."
"Whatever else we may think of Ms Crawford's technique," the Deputy Director said, "it appears to have worked. It appears Mr Burrowes has uncovered the fact that Ms Antonovna is a Russian agent.
"
Burrowes raised his face and with a slight smile he directed his gaze at Rhonda and said, "More by good luck than . . ." He stopped, suddenly realizing this was not the place to make unnecessary enemies.
"Presumably you were about to add, good management," the Deputy Director said. "I agree you have grounds to be annoyed, but the fact of the matter is that while some sort of luck was required, Ms Crawford's assessment was bang on. How many other people would make the link to Antonov just by accidentally seeing him at a distance?"
Burrowes felt a bit awkward, so he said nothing.
"I'm sorry you got hurt," Rhonda said, "but I'm not sorry I did it. If it makes you feel any worse, for what it is worth if there were to be a reboot, I'd do it again."
"Then I guess I'd better watch out for you at Christmas parties," Burrowes said. He was hurt, but he knew he had not to show it. He tried to make this sound light-hearted, but he knew when he had finished saying it that it had come out with a touch of bitterness.
"You want to be a bit more careful what you say," the Deputy Director advised. "If you had played your cards a bit better, you could have probably got Ms Crawford into a position where she would have to buy you several drinks as compensation."
"Somewhere where she can't put it on her expense account, and somewhere where there aren't a whole lot of strong FBI agents watching," Burrowes added.
"Now, that's more the spirit," the Deputy Director said. "However, let's get to the point, which is, what now? Mr Lawton?"
"I've spoken to Ruth Telfar at the CIA, and the warning is out. I'm afraid Ruth's position is that up to a point, we have to assume this Russian play has worked. It is probably too late to stop the attempted heist, and any agent who has come into contact with the manganese issue is being advised to get the hell out of Russia ASAP. I am assuming the US agencies will help them adjust to life here if they make it."
"I think we can take that for granted. I can also add we are busy looking for Ms Antonovna. As far as we know, she did not turn up for work this afternoon, so she may have been tipped off."
"Maybe she was going anyway," Burrowes said. "She's been very nervous these last few days and her job was essentially completed. She may have suspected I would make the link, and meanwhile it would be extremely unlikely there would be any further chances to trap our agents."
"Or maybe just as you're monitoring Russian agencies, they're monitoring us, and they picked up a warning," Lawton offered.
"Or maybe Nickolay Antonov saw Charlie," Ronda said, "and let her know. Maybe she decided that sooner or later she would be twigged."
"It is true that the first I saw of her when I returned from Russia she seemed a bit tense," Burrowes said. "I didn't make a lot of it at the time. I thought she might have been wondering whether anything bad happened, but it never occurred to me that it might be her identity she was worried about."
"Well, whatever the reason," the Deputy Director said, "if we find her, we'll pick her up."
"How about her apartment?" Burrowes asked.
"She's not there," one of the FBI men said. "We have to assume that someone has provided her with some other place to stay unnoticed."
"As I said," the Deputy Director brought the meeting back to the point, and his tone hardened as if to let everyone know the time for this sort of chat was later, "we shall pick her up if we see her. Unless anyone has something specific to aid that search, I wish to move on to the matter of the stolen torpedo files. Mr Burrowes, I assume Ms Antonovna knew about them?"
"She did. You think she stole them?"
"No," Rhonda said. "I think it was a man. A man was seen entering the apartment block and was seen by someone else leaving after about ten minutes. The man did not live there."
"Do you have a description?" Burrowes asked.
"Yes, but not a very helpful one. Average height, average build and average adult age."
"In short," one of the other FBI men said, "it could be anyone."
"Other than an NBA star," Burrowes added.
"Yes, we can eliminate some," Rhonda countered, "but unless you want to work your way through the New York telephone directory . . ."
"The question is, what now?" the Deputy Director said.
Burrowes decided to remain silent, and he was so pleased he did.
"The lazy answer, or for that matter the flippant answer," the Deputy Director continued, "would be to round up the usual suspects." He paused, as if issuing a challenge for someone to respond. When nobody did, he turned on Burrowes and directed a challenging question, "Mr Burrowes. Why won't we be doing this?"
"The lazy answer," he said with a slight grin, "is you haven't got any usual suspects, but a better answer is that time is not on our side. We need a very direct approach."
"And that approach is?"
"I would need to see the reports that Rhonda took from those who were interviewed around McKenzie's apartment, and I should also closely examine Svetlana's, that is, Ms Antonovna's computer."
"You think the Russians stole the documents?" The Deputy Director asked.
"First, I think we badly need whatever evidence we can find as quickly as possible," Burrowes replied, "but I think if they did, the information is probably lost. All of which assumes something significant has been stolen."
"Meaning?" Rhonda asked, her voice puzzled. "Hooper has assured us –"
"Hooper is not the most reliable observer," Burrowes interrupted. "Also, even if something was stolen, until McKenzie gets back, we don't know what it was. All the same, I agree we have to act as if important files were stolen."
"Assume they were," the Deputy Director said. "If they were not, and we catch an ordinary criminal, that's not the worst outcome. So, Mr Burrowes, continue."
Burrowes suspected this was a further test. A Deputy Director did not need to rely on someone at his level, but he would be interested to see what sort of person he had in front of him. This was an assessment test. "Let's suppose the Russians had stolen real documents," he replied. "The Russians would quickly transmit the information to Moscow and arrange for the documents to follow in a diplomatic bag. Too much time has passed for professional spies not to have relayed it."
"Fair comment," the Deputy Director said. "Back to my question, do you think the Russians stole it, and base your answer on what you think we should do next, assuming we do anything."
"As I said, I have no idea as yet, but I think we should try to follow whatever leads we can, just in case."
"Next question. Do you want to be part of what comes next?"
"The short answer is yes," Burrowes said, after a moment's thought, "but of course while I am happy to do what I can, I accept my involvement will be restricted to whatever you decide."
"Then the next question, can you work with Ms Crawford?"
Burrowes realized that this was probably non-negotiable. Rhonda was sitting there, her face a mixture of embarrassment, challenge, and she was blushing. A raft of possible responses floated through his head, but he decided on a simple, "Yes."
"I see there's still a bit of work to be done between you," the Deputy Director said. "Then, Ms Crawford, here is a chance to show your people management skills. Mr Burrowes will officially be your responsibility. Mr Burrowes, you will not go directly against an order from Ms Crawford. Ms Crawford, you will not disregard any of Mr Burrowes' suggestions without very good reason. Mr Burrowes, Ms Crawford is officially in charge because should a situation arise where backup is required, she has the authority to order it. Your status is too unclear, and we do not have time to rectify that. Do either of you two have a problem?"
Neither did. Each realized that having a problem right then would not be a sound career move.
Chapter 35
As dawn was breaking, a van emerged from the forest track and turned towards the north. In the back were four FSB officers and a large crate. In the front, a somewhat nervous driver overcorrected, run off the seal, and made a rather jerky lurch as he pulled the van
back onto the seal. Loud swearing came from the back. The FSB Captain seated in the front grinned and suggested that the driver should concentrate on his driving. He looked in the side mirror and noticed that a rather drab brown vehicle had been parked on the side of the road, and now it set off and maintained a distance of about a hundred yards behind the van. The Captain spoke into a radio, then when he received an answer, he grinned again.
He opened a panel and passed a message to those in the back. "Right, you lot, we have a tail already, so with any luck, there will be action soon, so look sharp."
Five hundred meters behind the drab vehicle, another was following. Five Spetsnaz troops were relaxing as their vehicle was kept in radio contact. Their instructions were clear: if the FSB needed help, they were to help. Otherwise, they were to remain behind.
After about twenty minutes, during which nothing happened, the Captain decided to up the anti somewhat, and he made a radio request for assistance from the standard police.
Twenty minutes later, during which still nothing had happened, the van approached an intersection. The van continued, but a Russian police officer stepped out onto the road and signalled for the car to pull over. There was a moderately large checkpoint there, and the driver knew there were likely to be machine guns further on, should he not comply. He decided to comply, and the police asked for his documentation, checked his tyres, and stated that one tyre appeared to be substandard. He was told that if he immediately drove to the nearest town and purchased a tyre replacement, he could then go about his business. If he refused, he would be arrested on the spot. He agreed. The police took the names of all the passengers, and checked their papers through their computer, then let them go. The policeman was happy. He knew what he had stopped. The five people in the car had come from different parts of Russia.
The passengers breathed a sigh of relief. The stupid police had not even asked what was underneath the canvas on the floor of the car. Had the submachine guns been found, they would have been arrested on the spot. Had they tried to use a gun, they would all be dead. There was nothing for it but to go and get the tyre replaced. They would phone ahead and let the back-up team know that it was up to them.