by Peter Kozmar
Andy sipped more of the strong coffee and thought about what he’d found out from Joyce and Gerald. He wished he’d been a bit more switched on at Amanda’s address as he would have checked for a break-in there. It seemed unlikely, but it would be good to have known, now he’d have to think of an excuse to go back.
Walton approached, carrying a brown paper bag, so he switched his attention. “This is your packed meal for the flight,” she informed him as she passed the bag to him. I think I preferred the luxury of Vladim’s jet … at least lunch is on the firm.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome Mr Flint.”
Andy took the brown bag and, his curiosity got the better of him, so he peered in to see what it contained. Inside the bag were some potato chips, chocolate bars, what looked to be a pulled pork wrap, an apple and a can of soda. Andy finished his coffee. “You can help yourself to a beer or glass of wine before you travel, if you want,” she said pointing to the fridge.
Andy suddenly felt uncomfortably hot, his heart was racing, his mouth dry, his hands clammy. He put the empty coffee cup down and hid his trembling hands deep in his pockets. “I’m fine, thanks,” he said looking for a way to change the subject. The dryness of his mouth not helping, when he spoke it felt like he had a mouth full of cotton wool. “What’s with all the firepower?” he asked.
“I’m exercising my rights under our Constitution,” Walton stated and nodded towards the flag hanging at one side of the entrance door. “Also, working in a place like this,” she frowned as she paused, “some of the people here have seen things no one should ever see. It could tip them over the edge.” She turned and walked back to her desk as she added, “Some people, who work here, have done those things and they think it’s normal. Every year someone goes nuts with a gun on a base like this. I’m not going to be a victim to one of those crazies.” She rotated her index finger in the air near her right temple.
Andy swallowed, looking around for a water fountain, to ease the dryness of his throat.
***
Andy had read only a few pages of The Wall Street Journal, when Walton announced that the Lear jet was ready for him. He gathered his things and followed her down a long corridor and out of the building through two more solid security doors. Their path led them a few metres to the perimeter track where a white Lear jet waited, its front steps deployed, its engines turning. Walton stopped at the bottom of the stairs and indicated to Andy he could board.
At the top of the steps he turned and waved to Walton, who returned a brief smile. He yelled a “Thanks” over the noise of the screaming jet engines. He wasn’t sure she heard him, but she would have got the idea. Walton turned away and strode purposefully back into the ODF and her gun collection.
The main cabin looked empty except for one crew member who retracted the steps and closed the door. Andy selected one of the large cream leather seats and placed his overnight bag and backpack in the luggage rack and his lunch pack on the side table. He fitted the safety belt.
“Welcome aboard Mr Flint,” a voice announced over the intercom, “my name is Captain Evans, we’re just finishing our departure checks and we’ll be pushing off in a few moments. We’ll have you in Moscow in no time.”
This jet didn’t have a galley or staff on hand to assist. Andy studied the armrest control built into the chair. It showed the seat had an extendable foot rest and could recline, but it didn’t become a flat bed. Andy could hear the engines scream louder and the jet gently surged forward. Out of the window he watched the jet quickly move down the airfield and line up on the main runway in readiness for a take-off to the east, where it paused waiting for the green light to take-off.
The Lear jet rapidly accelerated gently pushing Andy back into his seat. Within seconds they were airborne, the aircraft continuing its steady climb to its cruising altitude of thirty-six thousand feet. Andy looked out at the expansive views from the window, clear blue skies and, below, the coastline disappeared into the distance, replaced by deep blue sea with the occasional speck of a ship with its tell-tale wake trailing behind. Andy kicked off his shoes to make himself more comfortable and was looking at the view out of the window when he jumped in startled surprise as the phone in the seat next to him rang.
It took a few seconds for Andy to react and reach over to pick it up. He answered the call. There followed a short delay as the satellite connection kicked in.
“Hello, Mr Flint?” a male voice with a thick Russian accent enquired. Andy’s mind raced for a second. How would someone get hold of this number? How did they know he was on this agency jet? Who was this Russian?
“Yes. Whom am I speaking with?”
“This is the Kremlin.”
***
CHAPTER 10
The Lear jet touched down just before sunrise at Moscow’s Sheremetyevo airport. It quickly taxied to the VIP area where it drew to a halt amongst rows of sleek executive jets. The door opened and the steps were deployed before the engines had shut down. Andy gathered his backpack and overnight bag before he walked down the steps into the darkness. The cold cut through his thin clothing and made him shiver.
A short way off the steps was a fleet of dark BMWs, each with a bright flashing red light attached to its roof. A man sporting a neatly trimmed grey beard and wearing a dark three-piece suit, waited at the bottom of the steps; his face lit by the lights of the airfield and the flashing red lights of the vehicles. He appeared to be impervious to the cold, waiting patiently for Andy to reach him. When he did, the man held out his hand and offered an insincere smile.
“Mr. Flint, I am Anatoly Kruputchkin, we spoke earlier.” The cold air froze his breath, releasing large plumes of steam over Andy’s face. Andy could smell stale tobacco on Kruputchkin’s breath.
Andy flashed an equally false smile in return, “It’s good of you to meet me this early.” Andy could see the dark sky just starting to lighten up to the East. Kruputchkin gestured to one of his men to take Andy’s backpack and overnight bag before opening the rear door to the second vehicle in the motorcade. Andy handed over his overnight bag, but kept a firm grip on his backpack as he climbed into the BMW. Kruputchkin followed him into the vehicle and took the seat beside him.
Their driver radioed the Control Room informing them the group was on the move. The convoy headed out of the airport, without anyone stopping them, and pushed on, at speed, towards the city. The light traffic on the highway, despite the early hour, moved to one side as the lead car, with a loud siren and flashing red lights, warned of the approaching convoy.
“Our President would like to speak with you in confidence regarding a personal matter.”
“I hope the State Department cleared this?” Andy knew the politics around his meeting could get messy between the State Department and the Agency. An unsanctioned contact with a Head of State by an Agency official would only cause grief.
“Mr Flint, this meeting has been cleared by your own President, on the advice of your Attorney General. You are a private citizen, not a Government employee, so the State Department is not involved. You are not here to represent the Government of the United States of America. This is a private matter.”
Some private matter when the Attorney General and the President of the United States give approval for it to happen. Andy felt slightly reassured that he wouldn’t be jailed on returning home, but with that came the stark reality that he was on his own in a foreign state and, if he put a foot wrong, he didn’t have the diplomatic immunity an agent could fall back on. He would simply ‘disappear’. “Are you taking me to my hotel before we meet with your President?” he asked politely.
“No. We are heading directly to the Kremlin. Our President rises early and when you meet him, he will have already exercised, received his morning briefing and had breakfast. I hope you don’t mind?”
“I’m your honored guest,” Andy replied, knowing that he didn’t have any choice.
“There are a number of things which you should
and should not do when meeting with the President. Matters of protocol.”
“Go on,” Andy said.
“Speak openly with him. If he asks you a question, give him an honest answer. Refer to him at all times as ‘Mr President’ even if he addresses you by your first name. Do not offer your hand to the President, he must first offer his hand to you, which you must shake. Do not reach inside your clothing for anything or make any sudden movements towards the President as his guards will shoot you. Do not act out of character or in any way that could be viewed as odd while with the President as his guards will shoot you. Do not record your conversation with him as it is a personal, confidential and private meeting. If I find that you have recorded it, I will shoot you. Do not attempt to take a selfie with the President as he will shoot you.”
“I understand. Be honest, don’t go weird on him. Call him ‘Mr President’, and no selfies,” Andy summarised. The Russian looked him in the eyes and nodded gravely. Okay, glad we got that out of the way … I’m happy to not get shot.
The siren from the lead vehicle fell silent as they approached the entrance of the Kremlin, briefly slowing to sixty for the security barriers to move out of the way. The convoy entered a large open courtyard inside the walls of the Kremlin and slowed as they headed for one of the entrances to the main building.
Andy could make out uniformed guards patrolling the courtyard and dark figures moving around on the wall’s buttresses. He’d seen the outside of the Kremlin many times but never stepped foot inside, even back in the day. The convoy pulled to a halt and a ceremonially dressed soldier opened the door for Andy to exit the BMW. Kruputchkin had already caught up with Andy by the time Andy had reached the tall wooden doors flanked by two more ceremonial guards. On seeing Kruputchkin they snapped to attention. The one who opened the car door for Andy moved forward and opened one of the solid wooden doors.
“Please follow me,” Kruputchkin muttered, walking briskly down a long corridor; a thick red carpet muffled the sounds of their feet. Andy briefly turned, and saw the guard who opened the door, and two of the well-built suits from the convoy, walking with him. They looked almost identical, their ill-fitting dark suits, white shirts, black tie, shaven head and flattened noses. They carried a look about them that said they enjoyed inflicting pain and suffering upon others.
Andy turned his attention to the walls and was impressed by what he saw. They were decorated with masterpieces and large tapestries, some were taller than Andy. He wouldn’t be surprised to learn that every one of them had a value greater than his apartment. After a few minutes of walking along the corridor, they turned right and straight into a security checkpoint.
Andy was ordered to empty his pockets and walk through an airport style metal detector while his belongings were x-rayed. Andy closely watched them handling his backpack while he waited for his personal items to be returned. One of the security detail stepped forward with a hand-held scanner and swept it methodically over his body. The scanner beeped when it passed over Andy’s watch and then again when it passed over the buckle of his trouser belt. The guard looked Andy up and down and nodded to the head of the checkpoint.
Another guard stepped forward and gestured for Andy to hold his arms out to the sides which he did. The guard gave Andy a thorough pat down search. The only thing missing, a sniffer dog to detect explosives, but he wouldn’t be surprised if it were waiting around the next corner! They returned his possessions and backpack before they set off again at the same pace moving down another corridor and climbing a set of stairs under a highly ornate crystal chandelier; its lights beaming brightly.
A tapestry ran down the entire height of the wall space and almost it’s entire length. Andy studied it as they passed and could make out some of the themes on the cotton pattern: figures of miners with their picks and shovels; soldiers engaged in heroic life or death struggles; farmers cutting wheat crops with their scythes; a steam locomotive emblazoned with a large red star on its front boiler plate; lots of decorative hammers and sickles; and, finally, the smiling faces of peasants freed from the tyranny of the Imperial Royal Family.
They approached another set of closed wooden doors flanked by two more ceremonial guards. Again, they snapped to attention when Kruputchkin approached and opened one of the doors for them to go through. After a few meters, Kruputchkin guided them off the corridor and into an office where they faced another security checkpoint. This time Kruputchkin and the two suits were subject to the same routine as him. Andy noticed the suits had to leave their firearms with the security detail. He could remember the rare times he had been asked to put down his service weapon while on duty, from the change in their demeanour, they were as happy with it as Andy had been as an agent.
They set off again at a brisk pace along a long corridor, more fine paintings lined the walls while the thick red carpet underfoot muffled their footsteps. They stopped when Kruputchkin led them into a large office with a connecting door on the far side. The room was furnished with dark red leather chairs surrounding an impressive highly polished table. On the walls were large portraits of each of the post-revolution Russian leaders, each striking an authoritarian pose. Kruputchkin left the room through the connecting door for a few minutes. The two suits stayed with Andy, their eyes never leaving him.
When Kruputchkin returned, two more secret service agents accompanied him, their unbuttoned jackets revealed the butts of their pistols. Now more eyes watched Andy’s every move as the room filled with an awkward silence. One of the new agents touched his ear piece and spoke a single word: “Da.”
Kruputchkin turned to Andy, “Follow me. The President is waiting for you.” Andy followed him through the connecting door and into an even larger office with a long table surrounded by more red leather chairs. They must have got a job lot on red leather chairs. Can’t imagine why they need so many! On the far wall hung a large ornate wooden carving: the double-headed eagle coat-of-arms of the Russian Federation flanked on either side by Russian tricolour flags. On the right was another tall door.
There was another pause, the other door opened and the room filling with security. Moments later, President Putin strolled confidently into the room; an older man dressed in a sharp dark suit with light pastel-blue shirt and dark tie trailed in his wake. Andy knew the older man from somewhere but he couldn’t quite remember where, or when. Andy had felt the energy in the room rise as the President entered the room. He strode over to Andy and offered his hand. Andy responded, the President’s handshake was warm and firm, he placed his other hand on Andy’s shoulder, “I’m very pleased to finally meet you, Mr Flint.”
“It is a great honor to meet you too, Mr President,” Andy replied, with a brief dip of his head in deference to his authority.
Putin turned and addressed the layers of security in front of him, “You must leave now, I am safe with Mr Flint.”
Two of his security detail remained along with the man who accompanied him. Everyone else, including Kruputchkin, followed the instruction and left the room. The two secret service agents watched Andy, their eyes fixed on his every move. With the door closed, Putin turned to Andy and asked him to take a seat next to him.
“Before we start, may I introduce Colonel Malchik, my Head of Security. He speaks highly of you. He said you were once a worthy adversary and commanded our respect.” Malchik smiled and gave a slight nod towards Andy. Malchik, of course, you murdering son of a bitch. I thought you would have been retired years ago. Andy simply returned the nod.
Putin stared at Andy before beginning, “I never believed I would be the President of this powerful nation. However, our leaders caused chaos and we watched in horror at the collapse of our super power. The military were going unpaid, our nuclear rockets didn’t have fuel and we had people queuing for food in the streets. Something had to change. The people wanted change. Our politicians dismantled our nation and sold us out to corrupt capitalists. I felt strongly about the need to build a strong Russia, to put Russia first
, and punish those who made us weak and divided. The corrupt Western media didn’t report the truth, they said I ‘represented a leap into our country’s dark past and not forwards to a better future’.” Andy knew this narrative all too well.
Putin continued, “I’ve worked tirelessly to rebuild our nation and, along the way, a few businessmen became wealthy through personal sacrifice, risk taking and investments. A small number of these people are now my friends. We share similar, heavy responsibilities and challenges. Like me, they can’t confide their inner thoughts with those around them. We live in a strange rarefied world, quite apart from those who work and live in the real world.”
He looked at Andy again, a slight edge of anger coming into his voice as he continued, “A number of these people, my friends, have gone missing unexpectedly handed over their businesses, been murdered or gone into hiding. I want to find out what’s going on. I know you spoke with Mrs Martirossian. Vladim, her husband, is one of the missing and she has hired you to find him. That’s why you’re here. I can’t use the FSB or my own team from the Kremlin to investigate, as my intervention could be viewed, by the biased Western media, as further evidence of my friendships with the wealthy elite. Alternatively, the Western media could spread lies and connect these happenings to me. I don’t want that to happen.”
Putin reached into a drawer in the desk and pulled out a thick file which he proceeded to place on the table in front of Andy. Andy opened the document and briefly flicked through some of the pages. It contained details of several profitable Russian companies which had suddenly changed ownership over the last three months. There were also pictures of the tortured bodies of dead businessmen. Shit! I’m already working for two people and now the Russian President wants me to investigate things for him too!