by Peter Kozmar
He stepped inside and closed the front door. His backpack, containing the envelope Dortman had given him, caught his attention. His mind started to race. Shit! Shit! Shit! What if someone has taken it? How would I explain that to Dortman … or worse, Ana? He dropped the cardboard box, quickly crossed the room and picked up the backpack. Its weight told him the files were still there but to be certain he opened the backpack and checked inside. A wave of relief washed over him for a brief moment as the envelope was still there.
Having all the information he could at his disposal would be helpful to serve both masters and he briefly considered the logistics of achieving both missions. I’ve got a week before my court date. A week before I have to be in Saint Petersburg. If I can make good progress on finding out what happened to Vladim, I can keep Dortman off my back. His attention turned to his apartment. He’d only had a chance to have a brief look in when he’d first arrived.
The living room had several cardboard boxes stacked in the middle. The carpet had been removed to expose the wooden floor underneath that had not seen the light of day for many years; it looked in good enough shape to remain exposed so he made a mental note leave an instruction to say not to lay carpet and buff up the floorboards instead. I have to live here and I should have some say in the décor … plus it would be easier to keep clean.
The walls were bare. They’d taken everything off them, leaving behind the shapes, of what had hung there before, standing out against the true griminess of the paintwork. Holes had been patched up and sanded down making the walls ready for their first coat of paint in years. He peered into the kitchen. “What the heck!” The units had been ripped out, the appliances removed and there were holes in the plasterboard where the electric sockets had been. He had no way to cook, store food or boil a kettle. “Take-outs it is then,” he said out loud to the empty room.
With the inspection of the kitchen complete, he moved towards his bedroom. He paused for a moment, with his hand on the door handle, wondering whether he might need to check into a hotel for a few nights after all. Curiosity won: he opened the door.
Inside, the room was a mess … the same mess he’d left it in, untouched by the workmen. It smelt worse than he remembered, and then he saw the pillow, a reminder of his rude awakening a couple of days ago. Mmmh … even I wouldn’t want to come in here without full protective gear if I had a choice. He carefully cleared a small space, trying to put as much room between him and the pillow, he put the box on the floor and closed the door before starting to study the files on the dead Agents.
The files revealed nothing which would make them obvious targets for organised crime. Their careers were clean, no internal investigations or HR involvement. Their collective annual reviews were enviable. Their bank details revealed they lived within their means, money out was equal to or less than the money in, except for ‘Thanksgiving’ and the occasional extravagance such as a holiday. Their books always balanced within a month or two. Nothing stood out. Could the four dead Agents have been killed because of the assignment they’d been given? He decided that the key players he’d need to focus on were Bruce and Amanda as they were the reason the second two teams had been engaged.
Since Bruce was the senior of the two Agents and his body had been found, Andy decided he’d start with him. Bruce had been married for an impressive twenty-six years. He must have a very patient and accommodating wife. He paused to reflect on his own shambolic mess of a marriage that had lasted longer than it should have given his behavior. Hobbs had been right, Jane would happily dance on his grave, probably with a glass of champagne in hand.
He parked his own thoughts of self-pity and refocussed on Bruce’s file. Andy was surprized to read Bruce had started as a cop in Seattle before being recruited to the Academy where he excelled. He served his community for two years as a patrol officer and had good reports from his superiors. His application to the Agency said he wanted to serve his country as his world view had changed after he’d seen a counter terrorist operation which involved multiple agencies, including shadowy figures from the CIA who acted as observers and advisors.
Bruce didn’t want his country to face threats on home soil. He wanted to take the fight to the bad guys and disrupt their ability to hurt his country. Bruce’s aptitude tests were off the scale. His psych evaluations showed he had the potential to be a great field agent. The communication skills he’d learnt as a patrol officer helped him persuade people to do what he wanted or follow his lead. Looking at his career, something bothered Andy and he had to go back and forwards three times to spot it: six years of his career were missing from his file during his early service. It was like he’d dropped off the face of the earth, only to appear again later with a double promotion and a posting to Moscow as a Field Agent. Whatever he did he’d impressed senior management.
Bruce ran assets out of Moscow until he was assigned to the International Inspection Teams travelling across Russia and the Ukraine inspecting Russian nuclear and strategic rocket forces to confirm compliance with the Strategic Arms Reduction Treaty. Bruce provided valuable field intelligence and developed a first class network of assets amongst the Russian and Ukrainian nuclear scientific community. With that assignment over, he came back to Langley and ran a large team for the Russian desk.
After 9/11 Andy knew first-hand the Russian desk had received less funding and been downsized with many good Agents being moved, exited or demoted. Bruce took a demotion and moved to the Inspection Team for the Strategic Offensive Reductions Treaty signed by Bush and Putin. Again, he travelled across Russia inspecting nuclear sites, storage facilities and strategic rocket forces. More than once the FSB had picked him up in restricted areas only to process and release him with a stern warning that his safety could not be assured if he strayed into these restricted areas. Ten years later Bruce was back at Langley and two years after that he was moved to Moscow where, a short time later, he was appointed Head of Station.
Andy picked up Amanda’s file. Amanda had studied Russian and International Affairs at University, before being recruited straight after graduation. Her application said she wanted to join the Agency as a way to use her language skills, travel and continue her interest in International affairs. Amanda’s aptitude tests indicated she had a complex personality with a preference to dominate others in order to get her own way. Her psych evaluation report flagged that she needed status and recognition, and prone to destructive tendencies, if she didn’t get the recognition she expected. At The Farm these traits were viewed positively; Lightfoot was an Agent with drive, ambition and tenacity.
Her first posting, unsurprisingly, was to the Russian desk in Langley where she specialized in understanding those who made up the elite forming the political and economic bedrock of the new Russia. After three years of mapping power and influence, within and between these families, Amanda was posted to Moscow to lead an infiltration campaign into one or more of these groups.
The reports from her superiors indicated she took her assignment seriously, working hard to gain social acceptance within the rarefied environment of the Russian desk, producing good intelligence about those on the up and those falling out of favor in the Russian Government. More than once Amanda provided details of Ministerial reshuffles before the Ministers concerned knew about them. Some concerns had been raised about her methods, and how deep she had embedded herself with the oligarchs, which saw her back in Langley for two years where she focused her attention on Russian mafia organizations which she flagged were growing in influence.
After another spell in Moscow, working with her old network, she’d established that the Makarov Corporation was the most rapidly growing Mafiosi in Russia and, based on its current growth, was set to be the largest. The Moscow Head of Station requested Amanda to be moved back to Langley on the basis that she shared little of her activities with the team and he felt she was becoming a lone wolf on a mission. Amanda had been based in Langley for six months and was following up a lead in Moscow
when she disappeared with Bruce Chester.
Her credit card statements were more revealing, she had expensive tastes and loved fine things, which her Government salary definitely couldn’t cover, but each month the bills were paid off in full. He dug a bit deeper and found the source of the money, Gerald Newbury, her fiancé who she lived with in one of the city’s more exclusive leafy suburbs.
Andy started to formulate a plan. First, he’d pay Gerald a visit, before heading over to the other side of town to meet with Bruce’s widow. He felt that was the right way round and, if he found what he needed from Gerald he may not have to bother Mrs Chester at all. He gathered the files and placed them in his backpack. Then he fished around in his room and found his laptop, which still worked, if only slowly, and with prejudice against doing anything more than turn on. He slipped it into his backpack too. Andy didn’t want to leave anything sensitive in his apartment which, with the workmen, had been as busy as New York Central at rush hour. He decided he’d keep all the documents, including Dortman’s, with him. He searched for his car keys, finding them in a cluttered drawer of his desk, then he walked out of the apartment and closed the door behind him.
CHAPTER 7
Andy parked his car a discrete distance from the Newbury residence, aware his car would stand out in a neighborhood that was full of high-end gas-guzzlers. He placed his backpack in the trunk of his car, before locking it and checking the house numbers on the post boxes. Satisfied he knew where he was, he set off towards the address in the file.
The short walk in the crisp winter afternoon allowed Andy to consider the sort of man Gerald might be. The town house looked well presented with a dark blue door flanked by white marble pillars. He stood on the welcome mat, gathered himself and rang the doorbell. A few moments later a tall man with a well-groomed beard and color-coordinated sports clothing answered the door. He fit the picture from Amanda’s file.
“Mr Newbury?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Andy Flint, I’ve been asked by your fiancé’s employer to investigate her disappearance. Your help could provide a clue to finding her. May I come in and speak with you in private?”
Gerald nodded and stepped to one side to let Andy enter, “Come on through.”
Andy led as they walked on polished oak floors down a short corridor which opened into a modern and minimalistic kitchen diner. The polished floors flowed throughout what Andy could see of the ground floor. On the far side of the lounge were a pair of comfy dark leather three-seater couches which faced a wall-mounted eighty-four-inch flat-screen television. Gerald’s ground floor looked twice as large as Andy’s entire apartment.
“Head over to the chairs,” Gerald directed.
Andy didn’t sit, instead he studied the art work which hung on the walls, large, very expensive and not to his taste. He scanned the room for photos of Amanda, finding them on the unit to one side of the television. He approached them for a closer look.
The first photo showed her arm-in-arm with Gerald at Disneyland Florida, posing in front of the Enchanted Castle as fireworks burst in the night sky behind them. The next showed Amanda with a beaming smile at the opening of the Sochi Winter Olympics waving a large American flag. In the third, she was sunning herself by a pool on what appeared to be a luxury yacht. Andy bent down and peered at the final photo, taking in the detail of the crewman wearing a neatly pressed white uniform serving her champagne from a silver tray. The photo looked natural and not staged. It captured her relaxed; a brief instant in time.
“I’m impressed by your taste,” Andy lied. “What is it you do?”
“I’m the Director of Political Engagement for an international charity.”
“Must be well paid.”
“I’m well remunerated. I’m also compensated, for the extensive travel I undertake on behalf of the charity, to many of the world’s poorest countries.” Gerald paused as he ran his right hand through his hair, “What can you tell me about Amanda’s disappearance? Do you have any news?”
Andy looked Gerald in the eye and gave a reassuring smile, “I’m the lead on the investigation and need to learn as much as I can about Amanda to find out who may have taken her and bring her home.” Gerald appeared to relax. “What do you know of Amanda’s work?”
“Amanda is private about it. She never brought her work home and I’ve not met any of her co-workers from the State Department.”
Andy didn’t even flicker as he asked, “Do you know what Amanda does at State?”
“Something to do with issuing of visas to Russians, I think. As I said she doesn’t talk about it at home something to do with it being confidential. I can tell you she has a lot of meetings and a lot of paperwork. Pretty dull if you ask me, but she enjoys the work.”
“Had you noticed anything unusual in the last few weeks? Has anyone unexpectedly turned up at your house? Have you been followed? Did Amanda say anything? Any signs of a break in?” The questions all came at once and Andy realised he needed to slow down and give the man time to answer. I’m so rusty, sharpen up, focus!
“No. Nothing out of the ordinary has happened. We’ve not had a break-in and I’ve not noticed anyone following us.”
“Did you ever hear Amanda on the phone?”
“No. If she took a work call while at home, she’d go to the study and close the door. You must know how it works, you being in Government and all.”
“Who are her friends outside of work?” Andy asked.
Gerald looked perplexed, “Err … I’m sorry I don’t know. We’re engaged, not married. We both lead busy lives and I don’t know much about any of her friends.” He scratched his head, a puzzled expression formed across his face, “I’m sure she’s got friends outside of work, but for the limited time we’re together, we tend to have shared experiences on our own.”
“This is really insightful. Would you mind if I look around her study and, maybe, look through her private papers?”
“What’s this got to do with her kidnapping?” Gerald asked, clearly irritated by the question.
Andy realized he needed to calm Gerald down, as well as gain his trust, to allow him the chance to get to Amanda’s potential ‘secrets’. “In some cases the kidnappers are known to the victim. The victim comes into their orbit and once they know enough about the victim, and their value, they are taken.”
“I see,” Gerald said, still with a hint of doubt.
“That’s why I’d like to have a look around. I won’t take anything and I’ll respect your privacy,” Andy tried to sound confident, as though he knew what he was doing, and offered a reassuring smile.
“Okay, up the stairs on the next floor, the study is at the back overlooking the garden. Her private space is on the third floor, the room with the red door.”
Andy thanked Gerald and made his way upstairs. The study looked sparse and impersonal. The only documents Andy could find belonged to Gerald. The blown-up photographs which decorated the walls were of Africa. Gerald on one of his well-compensated trips no doubt. A close-up of the smiling, weathered faces of toothless village elders formed the centrepiece above the study desk. To the right, a group of women dressed in bright clothes collecting water from a stone well. On the wall to the left, a young boy wearing rags tending cattle bathed in the light of a golden sunset and, finally, on the back wall, a print which showed an isolated mud hut with a rusty red tin roof with the word ‘school’ hand painted on its white-washed wall. I wish I knew what I was looking for … this would be a lot easier.
Andy moved on to Amanda’s personal space and was, again, struck by how little of her life it revealed. Andy found Amanda’s cycling gear, a yoga mat and a six-by-four wooden picture frame with an old photo of what looked like her mother and father sitting on a picnic blanket next to a river. Andy picked up the wooden picture frame and studied the photo in detail; he could see that Amanda looked more like her mother than her father. He put the picture down and saw another photo in a matching frame, it held a photo
of Amanda at the Sochi Winter Olympics waving a large American flag. Clearly for Amanda this photo captured a special moment. Andy had little to go on, this didn’t feel like a home for Amanda. He headed downstairs to Gerald, thanked him for allowing him to look at Amanda’s things and left.
***
Bruce and Joyce Chester’s townhouse was in a modest district, it had a tidy garden and a white picket fence. Andy was relieved his car fit in with the other cars in the neighbourhood and parked outside the Chesters’ house.
Before Andy could knock on the door a short woman opened it. She had light-grey hair tied back in a bun. She was well-dressed in a black jacket and mid-calf length skirt; Andy could see an unmistakable redness in her eyes. “Mrs Chester?” he enquired.
“Are you the man from the Agency?” she asked, wiping her eyes with a hand which shook slightly.
Andy nodded, “Yes, I’m Andy Flint. I’m truly sorry for your loss Mrs Chester. I’m here to find out about Mr Chester if it is convenient. I would like to ask you a few questions to fill in some gaps that might help with my investigation.”
She opened the door further and gestured for him to enter. “Come in and, please, call me Joyce. Can I get you a coffee?” she asked, closing the door behind the two of them.
“Yes please, if it’s not too much bother, it would be most welcome,” Andy wasn’t thirsty, but it would give Joyce something to do while they talked. “And call me Andy,” he added.
The hallway had a thick light blue carpet which matched the painted walls, giving the hallway a light, airy feel.