by Tim Tigner
Max looked down at the steaming mug before him. “Discussions are always easier over tea.”
“First the name. Then the tea. We’ll have plenty more to discuss.”
“Agreed. The truth is, I don’t know the name. I’m not even entirely sure there is a name.”
“You mean the leak is electronic?”
“Could be. The information is extremely high level, and often detailed, but very hit or miss.”
“Like you can only hear discussions taking place in a certain room?”
“Exactly. Furthermore, it can’t be tasked. We can’t request specific information. If we could, Korovin would have learned the details of his security gap that way and the whole Hawaiian fiasco could have been avoided. As it is, all he learned was that you had been tasked with his assassination.”
Again Katya said, “I can’t fault his logic.”
Achilles couldn’t help but be moved by Max’s revelation. If nothing else, his rival had just given away a huge bargaining chip. Achilles could not dismiss the possibility that this was a gambit, a sacrifice designed to put him in check a few moves down the line. But he also couldn’t make the mistake of failing to act for lack of perfect information. “That’s worth a left hand.”
Achilles zip-tied Max’s and Zoya’s right hands to the backs of their chairs. Then he freed their left arms with his pocket knife.
Once the four of them had enjoyed a few sips of Lipton, he hit Max with the big question. “Even working together, how could we possibly get to Korovin? He just completed a very sophisticated mission to uncover the one weakness the CIA identified. No doubt it’s already plugged.”
“If I tell you how, do we have a deal?”
“Specifically?”
“Once Korovin is dead, we go free. Directly. No side trips to Langley or elsewhere.”
Achilles looked around the table. He wondered if there’d been as unlikely a meeting since Potsdam. Top spies from two rival nations. Paired with two of the world’s most beautiful women. Working out the assassination of the world’s most powerful man. Over tea. Geopolitics in its most basic and perhaps most efficient form.
This was what Achilles lived for. “My mission’s not that simple anymore. With Lukin gone, either Sobko or Grachev would become Russia’s next president. Neither would be acceptable to Silver or the State Department or the American people.”
“Surely you don’t want to leave Korovin in place?”
“Surely I don’t want to trade bad for worse — which either Grachev or Sobko might well be. I also don’t want to disregard the spirit of my assignment. Silver’s play wasn’t just removing Korovin. His ultimate goal was improving U.S.-Russian relations. I’d think you’d share that goal, as it will improve the plight of the Russian people. At the moment, your compatriots are slowly suffocating under a cloud of sanctions.”
Max finished off his tea, then met Achilles’ eye with a rock-steady gaze. “So what are you proposing?”
Achilles was glad to be back in the driver’s seat. “I’m telling you that we have a deal, but only if we take your proposal one step further. If you want to earn your freedom, you’ll have to help me eliminate Sobko and Grachev as well as Korovin.”
Chapter 72
The Bad Part
Seattle, Washington
ACHILLES WATCHED Max spin his mug on the table as he contemplated the counterproposal. Max wasn’t taking the triple elimination demand lightly. Achilles saw that as a good sign. Sobko and Grachev didn’t have Korovin’s level of protection, but as leading members of parliament, they still surrounded themselves with machine-gun toting muscle.
Max brought his hand down on the spinning mug. “We’ll have to deal with them first. Once Korovin’s gone, they’ll become paranoid. And rightly so, as each will be trying to eliminate the other, one way or another in order to snare the presidency.”
“Agreed,” Achilles said, noting that Max had become uneasy.
Max looked up as if reading Achilles’ mind. “I don’t have a plan for them.”
“Nor do I. But they’ll be much easier than Korovin.”
“Easier, but far from easy. They’re both well protected.” Max canted his head and stared into his own mind. “Still, between us, I’m sure we can figure something out.”
Achilles stood, presumably to stretch but really to study Zoya’s reaction to what Max was saying. Although he was all too familiar with her exceptional acting skills, Achilles believed he read genuine surprise in Zoya’s eyes.
Katya must have picked up on that as well, as she shook things up a bit. “What will the two of you do, once Korovin’s dead? Will you try to somehow slip back into your former lives?”
“That’s something we have yet to work out,” Max said, looking at Zoya. “Obviously, this scenario wasn’t planned. Whatever we decide, it will be better than the current alternatives.”
“Okay then,” Achilles said. “How do we get to Korovin?”
Max flexed his right shoulder forward. A gentleman’s request.
Achilles had searched Max thoroughly, from his scalp to his shoes. He’d confiscated his cell phone, and with some satisfaction had removed his amulet. Max wouldn’t pose a threat even without his ankles incapacitated. Achilles had ten years and forty pounds on him. So while Katya refreshed everyone’s tea, Achilles went ahead and freed both his captives’ right arms.
Zoya immediately began rubbing her newly-freed wrist.
Max just brought his right hand up to join his left around his mug. “I’m sure you know of Korovin’s great distrust of electronic communications. It’s been widely publicized in the popular media. It comes from the years he spent as an intelligence operative. They convinced him that electronic transmissions were never safe.”
Nods all around the table.
Achilles noted that Zoya seemed just as interested in hearing this as he and Katya were.
Max continued with all eyes locked on his. “I’m sure you’re also familiar with the speculation surrounding Korovin’s wealth. While the amounts reported in the press are always guesstimates, they’re usually twelve figures. Hundreds of billions.” He paused, allowing them to orient. “I did the math once. If you’ve got a billion dollars, you could spend ten thousand dollars an hour, every hour, for ten years and still have over a hundred million dollars left. So one billion is already more than anyone should be able to spend in a lifetime. And Korovin’s probably got at least a hundred billion. None of it legally obtained, of course.”
Achilles could only smile at the thought that he and Max had both made the same calculation.
“This combination — his distrust of electronic communication, combined with his need to conceal and manage extreme wealth — leaves Korovin with a unique problem.”
Achilles liked where this was going, and chimed in. “A problem further complicated by an extremely high profile, and the knowledge that hundreds of thousands of people want him removed from office.”
“Exactly. Who can you trust with a hundred billion stolen dollars? That’s perhaps Korovin’s most tightly guarded secret. I doubt anyone but Korovin himself knows.”
“Other than you,” Achilles said.
“Other than me,” Max echoed.
“And how do you happen to know?”
Max spread his hands. “A mixture of serendipity, coincidence, and professional curiosity.”
Achilles could buy that. He’d press for the details later. “Do you have a plan for using that information to kill him?”
“I have some ideas, but we’ll need to refine them on the ground. In Switzerland. Which brings me to the part no one’s going to like. Nobody at this table will be happy with my proposition. Not you, not Katya, not Zoya, and not me.”
Chapter 73
Difficult Choices
Seattle, Washington
KATYA GREW UP in Moscow during the collapse of the Soviet Union and Russia’s tortuous transition from communism to capitalism. Crazy times, but she did her best to i
gnore the chaos by focusing intently on her education.
The strategy worked out well. She earned her degree from the same doctoral program that produced some of the world’s greatest mathematicians, including five Fields Medal winners. Even after meeting Colin Achilles and realizing that she might one day move from Moscow, Katya remained faithful to her nose-to-the-books plan. Again her diligence produced the desired result. She secured a highly-coveted postdoctoral position at Stanford University.
Then Colin was killed, and in the aftermath his brother entered her life. To save her from the same assassins, Achilles dragged Katya halfway around the world and back. With both their lives on the line and no classroom in sight, they solved Colin’s murder and much more. Rather than becoming flustered or frightened by the novelty and danger, Katya found the experience fascinating. Perhaps more so in retrospect than at the time, but the realization that she enjoyed it was a shocking bit of self-discovery nonetheless.
Today she was getting a replay of that deep dive into the lies of spies.
Sitting in a hotel room across from Max and Achilles, Katya found herself regarding the experience as a gift. She’d been invited to history’s table. She was participating in a spy summit — and she was loving it.
It was an experience she wouldn’t trade for anything.
Well, almost.
Maybe.
Just a day earlier, Stanford had offered her a tenure-track faculty position. Tenure. At Stanford. In her line of work, it didn’t get any better than that. The offer was the grand culmination of a great dream. The prize at the end of her lifelong race.
But it was an anchoring position.
Professors bought houses.
Achilles’ lifestyle was about as diametrically opposed to a professor’s as it was possible to get. He trotted the globe, assignment to assignment, for weeks and months at a time. Forget the white picket fence; he didn’t even carry a suitcase.
Would he ever give that up?
Could he turn his back on Silver?
She doubted it. And she couldn’t blame him. Not after experiencing this. The logical conclusion was as inescapable as it was unavoidable. She was going to have to choose.
But this wasn’t the time for that discussion. For once, she was happy to have a good reason for procrastination.
She returned her focus to Max. He was about to reveal his grand plan.
“The part of the plan that you’re not going to like,” Max said, “relates to my current assignment. It’s very high-profile. Korovin personally recruited me for it, and his chief strategist, a bald little mustached prick named Ignaty Filippov is keeping close personal track of my progress. There’s no way I can leave it unattended.”
Surely, Katya thought, he wasn’t maneuvering to stay in Seattle while Achilles flew off to Europe alone? That would be an obvious trap. Was Max proposing to send Zoya with Achilles, as a hostage of sorts? Katya didn’t like that idea either, but for an altogether different reason.
Achilles’ face remained stoic. “What are you proposing?”
“My job here is largely coordinating the work of a third party. A non-Russian. I’m going to propose that while you and I run off to Moscow and Switzerland, Zoya and Katya stay here to manage my guy.”
Katya felt her heart skip a beat. Was Max seriously attempting to draft her into an espionage operation against America?
Achilles’ cool reaction shocked her further still. “Doesn’t Ignaty have you under surveillance?”
“No. He’s too big on operations security for that. We speak on a daily basis, but that’s VOIP over TOR so my location is masked.”
Achilles nodded. Clearly, that acronym jumble made sense to him. “Tell me about the U.S. operation.”
Achilles’ tone and Max’s demeanor both tightened with that question. They both knew that Max would be crossing the Rubicon by answering.
Max took a deep breath. “It’s industrial espionage. The target is Vulcan Fisher. I’m sure you heard about the defense contract they just won, the largest in history. Well, Korovin is determined to learn all about it.”
Katya found her thoughts drifting to Zoya while Max went on about space lasers and satellite communications. Zoya wasn’t just strikingly beautiful, she was interesting. Her large features broadcast both energy and emotion. At the moment, she was maintaining a statuesque facade, but on the screen Katya had seen her shift from shy to sultry in a heartbeat.
What charms had she used on Achilles? How had she chosen to ply secrets from him? Had she drawn him into the illusion by playing the frisky vixen? The attentive nurse? The worried wife in need of consoling? How had she faked familiarity their first time? Was she a method actor? Had she convinced herself that she loved him to make it real? Had she enjoyed it? Had he? Did he picture her naked when he looked at her now?
“I don’t believe you,” Achilles said, his tone yanking Katya back to the present. “You’re lying. Korovin’s not going to have his chief strategist personally running an industrial espionage assignment. There’s got to be more to it than that. Much more.”
By the time she’d refocused, Achilles was on his feet with two guns out and pointing.
Zoya’s mask broke, revealing fear. Max raised his arms, open palms facing forward. “The local mission is not relevant to our killing Korovin.”
“So why lie about it?”
“We can’t afford the distraction.”
“If you think I’m leaving Katya here without a thorough understanding of what’s going on, you’re sadly mistaken. If you think I’m running off to Europe with you, without a vice-grip around your balls, you’re delusional. You want a partner? You make me one. Otherwise, I’m picking up the phone and taking my chances.”
Chapter 74
Casualty Counts
Seattle, Washington
ACHILLES HAD GUNS pointed at the chests of both Russians, but his eyes were locked on Max’s.
“Tell him, kotyonok,” Zoya said. “He’s not bluffing.”
Max shook his head back and forth, struggling visibly. When he stopped, his gaze was on Zoya. “The Vulcan Fisher project is Korovin’s baby. If it stops moving, so do we.”
Katya waded in, surprising everyone. “Nobody’s telling you it has to stop. Zoya and I will keep it going.”
“We haven’t heard what it is yet,” Achilles said.
Max nodded, acknowledging the validity of Achilles’ conclusion. They hadn’t heard.
Achilles didn’t let up. “But you’ve got no chance of keeping it going if you don’t tell me all about it, and quick.”
Max’s expression morphed from defeated to resigned. His shoulders slumped, and his voice lost its bluster. “Korovin calls it Operation Sunset. He’s building a device that will allow him to crash airplanes into U.S. airports during the Thanksgiving travel rush.”
“How many planes?” Katya blurted.
Max swallowed audibly. “Fifty.”
“Fifty planes,” Achilles repeated reflexively. He pictured the tailfin of a jumbo jet protruding from a flaming terminal, then multiplied the image by fifty. “That will start a war. But unlike Bin Laden, Korovin can’t hide.”
Max arched his eyebrows. “Korovin won’t need to. It will look like a Chinese operation. Chinese money is funding it. Chinese workers are following Chinese blueprints to build it. And soon, Chinese operatives will covertly install it on fifty airplanes.”
“Why make it look like a Chinese operation?” Katya asked.
“What kind of device?” Achilles asked.
Max turned to Katya first. “China is America’s biggest creditor and trading partner. By straining U.S.-China relations, Korovin will weaken them both — and, of course, deflect blame from Russia. It’s a brilliant strategy, and it’s being expertly executed. He’s going to wage and win this war for less than the cost of a single MiG jet.”
While Katya chewed on that, Max turned back to Achilles. “As for the device, it’s fundamentally very simple. He developed an
override for the Vulcan Fisher autopilot system used on Boeing 737s. When powered off, the additional circuit board is completely undetectable, unless you happen to crack open the casing and compare what you see to the manufacturer’s blueprint. When powered on, however, the circuit boards turn 737s into remote-controlled drones. They lock out manual control.”
Achilles pondered that for a second, with chin resting on fist. “What if the autopilot system isn’t engaged? What if the pilot is flying manually?”
“Doesn’t matter. Like a phone that isn’t being used, it can still be made to ‘ring’ at any time by dialing the right number.”
“Surely the attack will be stopped after the first one or two planes go down. They’ll never crash all fifty,” Katya said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Not that one or two wouldn’t be bad enough.”
Max shook his head. “Do you have any idea how many commercial aircraft are in U.S. airspace during peak hours?”
Nobody replied.
Max met Katya’s eye. “Over five thousand. Airplanes aren’t making money if they’re not in the air, so the airlines keep them in constant motion.”
“God help us,” Katya said, bringing hand to mouth.
“So Korovin’s fifty planes will be less than one-percent of those flying,” Achilles said. “Spreading resources way too thin. There will be pandemonium.”
“Right. And nobody — not the pilots or their air traffic controllers — is going to be paying attention to anything but their own disaster during the first few minutes of each attack,” Max added, meeting each of their eyes. “Think about that scene as it unravels in real time on the ground. During landing, 737s are still moving at about 150 miles per hour. To crash them into a terminal, Korovin will only need to alter their course by about half a mile. That’s just ten seconds of flight time. By the time the pilots yell Oh God! and figure out they can’t switch to manual, they’ll be part of a flaming graveyard.”