The Makarov File

by Peter Kozmar

  “Okay, I believe you, for now at least. When can we meet? Early afternoon good for you?”

  Andy casually looked around and observed the diners looking away. “Yes. Anywhere in mind?” Andy asked.

  “How about Lincoln’s Memorial. It’s a lovely spot and we’re assured of our privacy, say, twelve, noon.”

  “Okay, twelve, noon,” and, before Andy could ask how he’d recognise O’Rourke, the call ended. Andy stared at the phone for a minute and worked out his timings. An hour with O’Rourke, takes until one. Head back to the apartment and pack a few things, that’s two. Four hours to Langley Air Force Base, six. Just about works. He put down his cell phone and finished his breakfast, he needed to make progress for Ana … and Vladim. He stood, paid for his meal and, with money in his bank account and his payments up to date, he left a generous tip for the waitress. Andy felt good as he walked to his car as he’d not been able to give tips in quite some time.

  He drove across town to the DC Public Library, he knew the library would be open, warm, dry and had desk space to work across, it also had the benefit of a ten-minute drive to the Memorial.

  Arriving at the library Andy found finding a park difficult, but, after a few minutes circling, he struck lucky as a family in a people-mover pulled out and Andy quickly pulled into the vacated space. He paid for parking until two, deciding to leave his car and take an Uber to the Memorial, rather than chance his luck at finding a parking space nearer. Andy went into the library with his backpack and found a quiet corner where he set up his laptop and spread out the files.

  “Think I’ll start with Vladim,” Andy whispered to himself. He began with the personnel files of the household staff together with their bank and credit card statements, carefully looking for any clues of personality or financial red flags. Nothing. He switched his attention. Andy knew Vladim went to Saint Petersburg, held a meeting over dinner and disappeared; he hadn’t use his driver, why?

  Who did you meet my friend? Andy continued to type the question into a spreadsheet. He created a new tab and named it Clues. In the new Clues tab he typed in: Missed Birthday (Lie); Where they first met (lie); Favourite restaurant – La Bella Italiano (Lie); New York to see her favourite show – Les Miserables (Lie); and, Eating bagels from a bakery on Sixth and Main (Lie).

  Andy leaned back and checked his watch: quarter-to-twelve. He’d been so engrossed with the files he hadn’t been looking at the time. He quickly saved his spreadsheet, closed his laptop and used his phone to summon an Uber ride. As Andy stepped onto the sidewalk his ride pulled up. Seven minutes later he strode confidently towards the towering memorial.

  At one-minute-to-noon he stood at the top of the steps and looked around. With his back to the statue and the tall pillars either side, he faced the Pool of Reflection and watched the milling crowds of office workers taking their lunchbreak mixed with tourists taking in the vista.

  “Mr Flint?” a voice asked from behind. He recognised it from the call: O’Rourke. Andy turned to see a short, middle-aged man with a broad chest dressed in a two-piece dark blue suit with a light blue shirt and dark tie. The man gave a wide disarming smile.

  “Yes, that’s me, call me Andy,” Andy replied.

  “We spoke on the phone.” The two men shook hands firmly, which filled Andy with a little more confidence in the man. “Let’s walk.” The two men headed down the steps in the direction of the Washington Memorial. “I’ll try to keep this brief,” O’Rourke said.

  “Go on, you have my attention.”

  “Tell me about the night of your arrest. Start with where you were drinking, how much you had, why you went to the bar you were arrested in, which was?” O’Rourke asked.

  “’Good-Times on Fourth Street. I’d been there all afternoon.”

  “So, you arrived there sober?”

  Andy stopped walking and paused. He looked across the Pool of Reflection and, with his left hand, momentarily covered his eyes as though trying to recall a difficult memory. “I’d had a bottle of Bourbon at home for lunch, then drove to the bar,” he said, then added, “I wasn’t drunk.”

  “Not drunk!” O’Rourke exclaimed incredulously.

  “You don’t understand,” Andy said dismissively, “I had only the one bottle, I could drive fine.” Andy could see O’Rourke didn’t look impressed, “I know I’m stupid. I got it. I want to change.”

  O’Rourke shrugged, “Andy, I’m not here to listen to you justifying your actions, just tell me what happened next.”

  “I got to the bar at around two. The card game wasn’t due to start until six, so I settled down for some beers and watched the game on the television in the corner.”

  “You’re saying they have a gambling table. Where?” O’Rourke sounded interested.

  “Yeah, it’s out in the back room. The games start at six each night apart from Sunday. No table on Sunday.”

  “Invite or walk-in?”

  “Invite. They’ve got to know you. They don’t like strangers.”

  “Are you a gambler as well as a drunk?” O’Rourke asked.

  “No.” Andy didn’t like O’Rourke’s questions.

  “Why were you at the tables?” Andy started to shuffle on his feet, uncomfortable where this was leading. He couldn’t look O’Rourke in the eye and continued to look across the water.

  “I was over my head in debt. I believed I could make some easy money with a few wins at the table.”

  O’Rourke had seen his fair share of drunks, gamblers and junkies in his time to know the answer to his next question: “Tell me, how much did you win?”

  The realisation stung: he had a gambling problem too. He turned and faced O’Rourke. The PI had a nose which looked flattened like a boxer and scarring on his right cheek near his ear. “You know I didn’t win a bean. The table always wins in the end.”

  “How did you end up in the fight?” O’Rourke asked, moving on quickly, without giving Andy time to dwell on this new realisation of how much further he had fallen. He needed a drink because it was how he dealt with the naked truth about his life, but at this moment he had too many people depending on him. I can’t let anyone down and I’m desperate to prove I’m still up to the task.

  “By the time it reached six, I was a little worse for wear and they didn’t want me at the table; I was putting off their high-stakes players. But, I wanted to play and objected, I got loud, and it was then that they stepped in.”

  “Let’s keep walking, it’s a nice day, why waste it?” O’Rourke suggested before continuing, “Do you know the guy who you fought with?”

  Andy scoffed, “It was a little one-sided to be honest – ‘Drunk Andy’ against ‘Big Mike’— he’s built like a Greyhound Bus; large and solid.

  “Did ‘Big Mike’ get into many fights at the club?”

  “Sure, most nights he’d be either ejecting drunks from the bar or card players who couldn’t accept their luck had run out.”

  “I see … tell me about the police officer who arrested you,” O’Rourke asked. Where’s this guy going?

  “I don’t know the officer’s name. He’s the regular beat cop and spends time at the bar when off duty. Pretty much takes their side every time he’s called. Each case is a slam dunk. Everyone knows when the cops are called, you’re going to spend a night in the cells or worse.”

  “Andy, you’ve been really truthful with your answers to my questions, thank you. Is there anything else you want to tell me about the night of your arrest?”

  Andy thought hard and shook his head, “No. That’s it as far as I can remember, I’m sure there is other stuff but I can’t remember.”

  O’Rourke stopped, faced Andy and gripped his shoulder, “Let me tell you something Andy … and I hope you listen.” Andy nodded. “There are kind and generous people out there who genuinely care about you. I’m sure, from what I’ve learnt, I can keep you out of jail. I think you’re going to get a second chance. Grab it with both hands and pull yourself up. Not many people get a
second chance.”

  He wasn’t expecting a pep talk from a PI, but deep-down he knew O’Rourke was right. “Thanks. I’m trying very hard to live up to the expectations. I can’t pretend it’s easy but I’m seeing a way forward and I want to see it through. What happens now?” Andy asked.

  “I do my investigating. I’ll report back to Halifax, Oldham and Matlock and they’ll direct the response as to what happens next. I’ll see you in court to give you support … and a friendly face,” O’Rourke smiled again. The two men shook hands and walked in separate directions. Andy used his cell to hail an Uber ride and fifteen minutes later he’d thrown his backpack into the trunk of his car and headed back to his apartment to pack an overnight bag and grab his passport.

  It took a few minutes longer than expected to find the clothes he’d need for Moscow which he found buried in the third box he’d searched through. He knew it was a good four-hour drive via Richmond if he didn’t hit traffic. He headed for the freeway, out of the city and south to Langley. On his way he called Dortman and gave him an update on what he’d found by way of the household staff being in the clear. He asked Dortman to send through details of who Vladim had met with before he disappeared. Andy believed the conversation was going well until he shared more than he should.

  “I’ve reached out to the CIA.”

  “Why did you do that?” Dortman sounded annoyed.

  “They have people on the ground who may know something. They may even give me access to their tools, which will speed up my investigation.”

  “Will they? I didn’t think you were in their good books on any level,” Dortman replied sceptically.

  “You never know, I’ve asked and, at the moment, it looks like I’m going to get it.” Andy offered optimistically. The line fell silent from the far end so he added, “I’m heading to Moscow this evening to meet with their Regional Director.”

  “Do you know what you’re doing?” Dortman couldn’t hide the anger in his voice.

  “I do. Trust me.”

  The line went dead.

  CHAPTER 9

  Andy arrived at the Gatehouse five-and-a-half hours after he left his apartment. The traffic had been worse than expected; a small fender bender had ground the whole freeway to a halt. The young Sergeant in charge of the Gatehouse, waved Andy to a vehicle inspection bay where four, heavily armed Marines, started their checks on Andy’s car. The Sergeant carried a clipboard and approached Andy. “Welcome to Langley Air Force base. Can I get your name and the nature of your visit, sir?” the Sergeant asked.

  “Andy Flint, I’ve been sent here by Chuck Boston. I’m to report to the Operational Despatch Facility.”

  The Sergeant checked his clipboard. “Thank you, sir, do you have any identification on you?”

  Andy removed his driver’s licence and handed it over. The Sergeant studied the licence and, after checking the photograph by holding it up by Andy’s face, he handed it back. “Thank you, sir. Some final checks, please pop open your hood and trunk so we can have a look inside your vehicle, then we will look underneath, and you can be on your way.”

  Andy followed the request while the Marines and Sergeant stood at a safe distance. The Marines split into two teams. The first looked in the trunk and the second under the hood. A few minutes later, each team stood back and cried: “Clear!” Then they searched the underside of Andy’s car using long sticks with mirrors and torches at the end. Satisfied there was nothing untoward, the two Marines stood back and cried: “Clear!”

  “Okay, Mr Flint, I need to remind you that you are entering a highly sensitive area where classified activities are being undertaken. There is no photography allowed. A vehicle will guide you to the ODF. Do not deviate away from the vehicle guiding you. The only place you can get out of your vehicle is at the car park at the ODF. If you fail to follow these instructions, you will be shot on sight. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Sergeant. I understand.”

  “When you arrive at the ODF, one of the ODF team will collect you, do not get out of your car until they instruct you to do so. Do you understand, sir?” Andy nodded and the Sergeant indicated he could get back into his car.

  A Military Police Humvee pulled out in front of Andy, the Sergeant waved for Andy to follow. As Andy drove, all he could see of the grounds were a large number of administration buildings, a few aircraft hangar-like structures in the middle of the camp and, as they reached the far side of the base, a rifle range. The place hadn’t changed much apart from a fresh lick of paint and a field of satellite dishes of various sizes and antennas.

  The ODF was a modern single-story structure set on its own, with a car park and a covered walkway to the aircraft perimeter track. Andy followed the Humvee into the car park, where only two of the spaces had been taken, and came to a halt. The Humvee waited, Andy stayed in the car. A few moments later, a large black lady in a smart business suit appeared at the entrance to the building and made her way to Andy’s car. The Humvee drove off.

  “Hello, Mr Flint, I’m Jenny Walton. We were told to expect you at six. Please get out of your car and follow me, the schedule is now very tight to get you off the ground,” her voice trailed off.

  Andy shrugged, “Traffic!” he said, while rolling his eyes. He got out of his car, he grabbed his bag and backpack from the backseat before locking it.

  “Don’t worry, just means your stay with me will be short. Your crew are ready and will be here shortly, come with me.” Andy followed her and noticed the Glock on her belt. At the entrance, Walton swiped her access card and the door gave a gentle click. Taking that as her cue, she pushed the door open. They were met almost immediately by a second security door, this one re-enforced, with thick ballistic glass. Walton entered a four-digit code into the security console; the door made an electronic buzz as the lock released.

  The heavy door closed as soon as Andy walked through. Walton led them to a waiting area which had couches with coffee tables in the centre of the area, work pods along one wall and three glass-walled meeting rooms along another wall. A coffee machine had been carefully positioned to one side next to a rack stacked with a range of newspapers and magazines.

  “Just make yourself comfortable,” she instructed. Andy selected a Long Black from the machine which ground the beans and filled the room with the aroma of strong coffee as it poured the thick black liquid into a Styrofoam cup. The coffee was hot to the touch and, as he took his first sip, it burned the inside of his mouth, so he placed it down on a coffee table to cool down. Andy was about to grab one of the newspapers when Walton called to him.

  “Mr Flint, I have two courier packages for you,” she held up two small sealed packages. Andy walked over to her desk which faced the entrance and looked heavily re-enforced. Andy peered down and noticed a SPAS 12 semi-automatic shotgun racked to the side of the desk. “The first package is from Mr Boston. He wanted you to have a new passport so he took the liberty of having our documentation team print a new one for you.” They must have got my photo from the security point when I met Hobbs.

  She handed Andy the first package which he tore open to find his new passport, “Is it real?”

  “It’s real enough for you to travel anywhere you would with a normal passport. We’ve got links into the State Department, so the reference number and all of the security features are legit. We’ve our own printing press on site, identical to the ones they use, and we have the exact same paper they have. The only issue when we print a passport in our facility is we need to have someone from State inspect the passport and physically hand it to us. That way the State Department can say they’re the only ones issuing passports.” Andy nodded and pocketed the passport.

  “The second package is from Director Hobbs and I need you to sign for it,” she held up a thin package and a clipboard with an attached form. Andy signed for the package and tore it open to find it contained a single piece of paper with instructions on how to load the Insights software onto his laptop.

  Walton
swivelled around and opened a tall cupboard where an AR15 and riot gun hung on racks. She rummaged for a few moments before handing Andy a compact travel pack. Andy opened it to find toothpaste, a toothbrush, a razor, shaving foam, shower gel, shampoo and deodorant. “Thanks, I wasn’t expecting this.”

  She gave him a wide smile, “It’s okay. I see so many people through here who haven’t packed their essentials.” Andy took the items with him as he returned to his coffee, took a sip and pulled his laptop out of the bag, grimacing at its slow start-up. He took another gulp of his coffee and looked patiently around as it booted. He noticed there were a number of potted plants around the room, all in a various state of decay, clearly Walton wasn’t a gardener.

  With his laptop ready, Andy connected to the ODF’s guest Wi-Fi. He carefully followed the line by line instructions on the paper, pausing regularly to allow his aging laptop time to grasp each strand of code, and make sense of it, before prompting him for the next. Finally, his cell phone received a text message with a one-time code. Andy entered the code onto the computer and set his own password for Insights.

  He downloaded a passcode generation application on his cell phone for the multi-factor authentication process. He logged into Insights using his username and new password, then seconds later his phone beeped and he typed in the authentication number displayed. After a short delay, as the application confirmed the login details, the Insights homepage opened with a welcome message and instructions on how to use the application. Andy smiled, the software installation had gone easier than he expected, even taking into account the age of his laptop.

  As a test, and to save time, he keyed in Vladim’s name, one of his addresses, email and cell phone number. He set the search parameter to cover the previous three months and hit the return key. Finally, Andy keyed in the five phone numbers which he’d flagged when looking through Vladim’s called numbers. Andy knew Insights didn’t need as much data as he’d entered, but he wanted reduce the amount of irrelevant data the application would present when it generated its report. He pressed enter and, in the knowledge the search would take several hours, he logged out, closed his laptop down and put it in his backpack.