Enemy In the Room

by Parker Hudson

  “Omid, that’s great news, but…”

  “So we’ll need help with the visas in Istanbul in about a week. Will that be OK?”

  “Uh, yes. I’m in Moscow right now, but I should be home in a few days, and Elizabeth can wire money.”

  “I think we’re all right with money. But the visas.”

  “I believe I know exactly who to call now. But, Omid, please don’t call me on this phone. I’ll try calling you later today from a different phone.”

  “Yes, Cousin. Hopefully Goli can be in the U.S. in a month or two, and I will follow right after. Thank you.”

  “Soon. Yes, very soon. Great news!”

  A few hours later David and Peter were standing outside the hotel, as arranged, when a large black SUV with darkened windows pulled up, the front passenger door opened, and Tanya jumped out. She ran around the front, smiling, shook David’s hand, was introduced to Peter, and then ushered them into the vehicle. As soon as the doors closed, her driver, a large American, moved the SUV into the traffic.

  Tanya turned in the front seat to face her guests. “David, good to see you. How was your trip? Good. Everything on our end is going well. President and Mr. Harper arrived a little while ago and will spend the weekend with President Temirov and his wife at the Presidential dacha—pretty doggone secure. Then they’ll all come into the city late Sunday afternoon for the conferences and state dinner on Monday, the Fourth, at the Kremlin.” She pointed over her shoulder toward the Kremlin, as they made their way south, only a few blocks east of Red Square.

  “We figure your reception will start at five on Monday afternoon, last ‘til about six-thirty, and then they’ll return to the Kremlin before heading out for the Fourth of July celebration at Kuskovo Park. Now that’s going to be a security nightmare, but both of them are determined to do it.”

  David shook his head. “I’m glad I don’t have to arrange all of that.”

  “You get used to it. By the way, our people tell me that your people have done a great job, which is why I’ve waited this late to see the place myself. OK, here’s the bridge across the Moscow River just southeast of the Kremlin, at the foot of Red Square. I understand they’ll come out of that gate, turn right, and head immediately across the bridge, then straight down Bolshaya Ordinka to the site.” She nodded at her driver. “Let’s do it.”

  David looked out the window at the Kremlin towers sparkling in the sunlight, and the ancient spires of St. Basil’s Cathedral.

  “Of course the presidential motorcade will have escorts, sirens, and blocked side streets, so they should make it pretty quickly,” Tanya said. They arrived at the office complex in just three minutes. As they turned in, she saw several new two- and five-story office buildings, surrounded by surface parking. It was the site of an old factory, long since razed. Around them stood older, taller apartment buildings.

  “Just like the briefing said it would be.” She nodded as they drove up to the building in the back left corner. They got out, and she looked around. “How is there enough parking here for all of these offices?”

  “The entire complex is built on top of three levels of underground parking,” Peter explained. “Comes in handy in the winter.”

  “I’ll bet. We’ll have to seal it off. The tenants won’t like that.” She continued to look around, surveying the taller surrounding structures, and then they went inside, where they were met by the chief of USNet’s Russian security team. He showed them the ground floor entrance and the stairs leading up to the large open area where the reception would be held in two days. A small raised stage was under construction along the back wall.

  Tanya nodded. “Looks good. Everyone will need to be up in this room by five twenty-five, which is when we expect the motorcade to arrive. Mr. Knox and the two of you, David and Peter, will greet them at the front door and bring them up the stairs, then around the right side of this room to the stage. Mr. Knox will give an introduction from a podium that we’ll provide tomorrow, and then both Presidents will speak with interpreters. Afterwards they’ll do the ribbon cutting, and a slow walk out, meeting and greeting the guests—and that’s it. Down the stairs, into the motorcade, and back to the Kremlin. That was a one way street coming south. The return is a one way street a block to the east. Yes?”

  Peter replied. “Another straight shot back.”

  Tanya smiled. “Good.” She looked around and nodded at David. “Good work. Looks like it’ll be a piece of cake.”

  Early that evening Omid and Goli were having coffee at an outdoor café in Bazargan, in northwest Iran on the border with Turkey. Joining them was Goli’s brother-in-law, Hamid, who had driven them from Tabriz. It was warm; Omid had the local newspaper folded on the table to signal, as he had been instructed, that everything was OK. Morad had organized the run across the border, and they were waiting to meet the man who would lead them, known as Jalil. An empty chair awaited him.

  Goli was nervous, and Omid held her hand beneath the table.

  “You know what they told me,” she said, under her breath.

  “All the more reason to be here tonight.” He smiled, and squeezed her hand.

  “What if they find us?”

  “They won’t. And how good it will be to be free, and together.”

  She gave him a small smile and nodded.

  Hamid looked at his watch. “They should have been here by now,” he said, and sipped his coffee. Clearly he was not pleased to be part of this plan.

  “Thank you, Hamid, for helping us,” Omid said for the fifth time since they left Tabriz. Hamid nodded and looked around.

  A large man with a neatly trimmed beard wearing traditional Azerbaijani work clothes approached the table and sat down in the empty chair.

  After he made the traditional greetings and ordered a coffee, Jalil said, “Adding you has been done quickly, and now there is a problem.” He shrugged.

  “What is it?” Omid asked.

  The waiter brought a coffee, and Jalil added several packets of sugar.

  He took a sip. “A client who has been set up for several months showed up tonight with his grandmother, his only living relative. We were not expecting her.”

  “And?”

  “And we have only eight empty crates in the lorry, and we have paid bribes for eight people. We cannot take nine.”

  “One more person? How difficult can that be? Can’t you just give them more money?”

  Jalil shook his head and smiled. “I’ve been doing this for fifteen years. There are a lot of people involved. We cannot just pay cash at the border, my friend. Everything has to be done correctly, if we are going to maintain this business. Tonight, only eight can cross, and so I can take one of you, but not both. The other can follow, probably in two days.”

  “Then we should both stay,” Goli whispered to Omid, her eyes large.

  He thought for a moment. “You must go, Goli. I will come to you in one or two days. You will be fine.” He turned to Jalil. “She will be fine, yes? You have people in Turkey who can look after her until I come?”

  Jalil smiled again. “Yes, of course. This is not the first time. We have a home where she can stay until you come. She’ll be fine.”

  “When do you leave?”

  “Right now,” Jalil said, and drained his cup.

  “Then we should be going.” Omid signaled to the waiter for their check.

  Ten minutes later they were standing by an old Volvo station wagon. A man and a woman were in the back seat, but they turned away when the three new people approached with Jalil.

  Goli clung to Omid. “I don’t want to go alone. I want us to be together,” she said, her mouth pressed to his ear.

  “Yes, me, too. But it’s too dangerous here. You will be safe. You have your cell phone. Call me, or even call Elizabeth if you are worried. I’ll see you in two days.”

  “Omid, I love you.” She hugged him tightly.

  “And I love you. You are everything to me. That’s why I want you to be
safe.”

  They hugged tightly, and Jalil started the car.

  Omid walked Goli to the passenger seat, squeezed her hand and closed the door.

  “See you in two days,” he said, and the car drove off.

  Omid and Hamid walked to Hamid’s car. As they started back to Tabriz, Omid’s phone rang.

  “Cousin,” he said in a subdued voice. “It’s good to hear you again.”

  Five minutes later Omid had explained the new situation to David, and David promised to begin the process with the State Department for asylum for both of them.

  “I’ll call you again tomorrow,” David said. “Be safe, and we’ll see you soon.”

  While David was heading to bed in Moscow, his daughter emerged from her bathroom in Los Angeles, where it was eleven hours earlier that Saturday morning. She was wearing a light summer robe. Kristen was on the sofa in shorts sipping coffee and reading a book. She looked up. Callie walked over to her and handed her the reader. “I’m pregnant.”

  Kristen took a deep breath and nodded. Touching the sofa next to her, she said. “Here. Sit down.” Alex was still asleep in their bedroom.

  She did, her look expressionless. “This is what Alex and I were talking about yesterday when you got here. I told him I might be pregnant. He said, like, not to worry, that he would arrange for the abortion. He said that he knows the best clinic in the area.”

  “Do you want an abortion?”

  Callie looked down, then up at Kristen. “I guess so. I know that Alex doesn’t want a baby—and I’m nineteen. What do you think?”

  Kristen was slow to answer, choosing her words and looking intently at her friend. “Callie, this is the kind of situation when you want—or at least I want—to base a difficult decision on clear, firm principles, and not on the immediate circumstances. The principles I believe in hold that abortion is wrong, so those principles speak above the circumstances.”

  Callie frowned. She slowly shook her head.

  Kristen touched her hand. “I’m sure those principles came from our Creator, but I appreciate that you probably don’t know about them or believe in them.”

  “You mean God?”

  Kristen smiled. “Yes.”

  Callie looked up. “Well, I sort of believe there’s a God, I guess. But I don’t connect God with giving answers to questions like this one. It seems like it’s up to me.”

  Kristen nodded. “Yes. You’re right that it’s up to you. My point is that a value system helps to set the boundaries within which you choose, and describes the consequences of choosing right or choosing wrong.”

  “You think there are consequences to an abortion?”

  Kristen nodded vigorously. “Yes. For the baby, for sure. He or she will be dead. And for you, and your family.”

  “You think this thing is alive, like, a baby?”

  “Yes. Of course. What else is it?”

  Callie thought for a moment. “Alex will want me to have the abortion today, or early next week. To get it over with.”

  “Today?”

  “Yes, he said the sooner the better. He’s going to call a doctor he knows.”

  Kristen sat up. “Callie, I know you don’t agree with me that abortion is wrong. But if we talk about it some more, you may at least understand what I’m saying, both about that baby and about you. Or you may not. But if you have an abortion today, and tomorrow you change your mind, it’ll be too late.”

  “You really think it’s alive?”

  Again Kristen nodded and said more gently, “Yes. Your baby.” Suddenly Kristen felt a chill, and she looked around, then back at Callie. “We’ve got to go.”

  “What?”

  “Callie, we’ve got to leave here. This apartment is all about Jane and drugs and your movies and maybe an abortion. We’ve got to go somewhere else, at least for a few days.”

  “What?”

  “Trust me—please. Have I ever done anything to hurt you? Please pack an overnight bag, and we’ll go check into a hotel. We can even go to one at the beach—wherever you like. Maybe up toward Malibu. My treat. I just want to get you away from Alex and from Jane’s memories for a day or two. Come on, it won’t hurt.”

  “I…I don’t know. The police.”

  “They came and you answered their questions. It’s the Fourth of July weekend. They’re not going to call again. We’ll come back on Monday or Tuesday. But for now, let’s go.”

  “I guess I could use a break. But should I tell Alex? What about the abortion?”

  “Tell him you’ll be back, or leave him a note. There’s plenty of time, if you want an abortion. Let’s just go. I’ll throw my things in my bag. You can talk to all of them again on Tuesday.”

  Callie smiled. “If you say so.”

  29

  SUNDAY, JULY 3RD

  David was piloting a jet fighter on a long, dark mission when the constant ringing in the cockpit suddenly demanded his attention, and he woke up. He looked around. A hotel room in Moscow. Light filtering around drawn curtains. A telephone ringing next to his bed. He reached for it, still groggy from the jet lag and the sleeping pill.

  “Hel…Hello”

  “David?”

  “Yes…Elizabeth?”

  “David! Thank God. I thought I had the wrong numbers to the hotel.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s Rob. He’s been in a car wreck!”

  “What?”

  “A car wreck. A bad one. The hospital just called me, and I’ve got to go down there. He has head injuries and a broken leg. Maybe a broken pelvis and internal injuries.”

  “What time is it there?” He sat up in bed, suddenly very awake.

  “Eleven-fifteen. The wreck apparently happened about ten. David, he was in the car with some man I’ve never heard of, who is really badly hurt. Justin is hurt, too. Rob is full of so many drugs that they don’t know whether they can safely operate.”

  “What man?”

  She almost screamed. “I told you that I don’t know!”

  “All right, all right.”

  “You’re not here. Rob’s hurt at the hospital. How do you expect me to react when you ask me who Rob’s been with when I thought he was at the baseball game? Obviously he’s been lying.”

  “Elizabeth, I’m sorry—call Paul Burke. At the last minute he couldn’t come, and he should be home. See if he can take you to the hospital.”

  “All right.” She sounded a little calmer.

  “It’s Sunday morning here. Call me at the hotel or on my cell phone once you get to the hospital and find something out.”

  “David, you’ve got to come home.”

  “Elizabeth, I will if it’s life threatening. Otherwise, I have to stay. Knox arrives in a few hours, and I have to brief him. They need me here.”

  “We need you at home.”

  “Elizabeth, please, go check on Rob and then call me. And use the cell phone. It’s OK.”

  “All right. Good-bye.”

  David hung up and got out of bed. He walked over to the window and opened the curtain. The room was flooded with bright sunlight. He squinted and looked out at an almost deserted Moscow street on a beautiful Sunday morning. He rubbed his forehead. What’s next?

  An hour later Knox’s corporate jet began its descent to Vnukovo Airport, on the southwest side of Moscow. Onboard were Knox, Akbar Kamali, and Victor Mustafin. Mustafin had made sure that they would be given landing privileges at Vnukovo, because it was not as busy as the main international airport and closer to USNet’s new office south of the Kremlin. In just over twenty-four hours, its closer location would be critical.

  The three men sat around the conference table in the middle of the aircraft and ate a continental breakfast put onboard the previous night in Halifax. Forward of the conference table were two plush seats and then Knox’s computer console and mini-command center, on the right side, just aft of the cockpit. As they ate and talked they could monitor the computer screens displaying the same inform
ation that the RTI duty officer was seeing.

  Knox took a sip of coffee and asked his two lieutenants, “Are all our assets in place?”

  Kamali nodded. “While you slept we received a video call from North that the missile crew will be in place and confirmed operational this afternoon.”

  The Kazakh spoke. “I’ve arranged for our jet to be parked by itself at the far end of the taxiway, over by a stand of trees on the edge of the apron, where no one will bother us. We’ll of course have an armed guard outside the plane at all times, plus a car and driver provided by our security people. We’ve made provision for electrical power, and I will be here until the mission is finished and we’re on our way home tomorrow evening.”

  “Do we have all the codes?”

  “Yes, we’ll always be able to run the operation from here, if need be, plus keep up with all the rest of the RTI network.”

  “Well, Victor, I regret that you have to stay in the corporate jet, but it would not be good for you to be seen with us—particularly in these next days. And let’s make sure that these are, in every way, ‘normal’ days. Sawyer is supposed to brief us later today, and I don’t want him or anyone else to remember anything unusual about us. So, Akbar, we’ll be very enthusiastic about meeting the Presidents.”

  “Oh, we will be,” Kamali agreed. “We definitely will be. It’ll be Happy Fourth of July— Moscow style. Lots of ‘rockets red glare.’” The other two smiled as their aircraft turned to begin its approach.

  Goli’s sister was preparing breakfast for Hamid, Omid and her two children in suburban Tabriz when there was a knock at the door.

  The adults looked at one another. “Who can that be at this hour?” Hamid asked.

  He went to the living room and looked out the window. Three black cars were parked in the street. He turned to Omid and shook his head. Then he closed the door to the kitchen.

  Hamid unbolted the front door and started to turn the knob when the door flew open, pushing him back. Six men, three in police uniforms and three in plainclothes, burst in.