by Kenneth Eade
“Nothing concrete and, in any event, we cannot share them with you as investigation is classified.”
“Why is it classified?”
“I am not at liberty to say.”
“Then what can you tell me?”
“I can tell you that there is nothing you can hope to accomplish here, and that we will find her and inform you straight away.”
That sounds so helpful. “Forgive me, Detective, but that’s not much of a comfort to me. You seem to be no closer to locating her than I am and time is running out.”
“I can assure you, sir, that we are doing everything in our power to find her. Do you have a mobile telephone on which I can reach you?”
“Actually, by email is probably best.”
“Very well then.”
“I have to leave soon for Moscow to attend an agricultural conference, but I can return anytime you need me.”
“Alright, Mr. Rogan. We will stay in touch.”
Seth knew that time was of the essence. At the same time, he may as well be wearing a neon sign on his back, telling everyone that he was an American looking for his lost girlfriend who just happened to be an FSB agent. This visibility would slow him down considerably. Seth would need an untraceable cell phone, or perhaps two of them, a different passport, a car, a driver’s license, and all of that in a hurry.
He located the nearest Internet café and checked in to one of the booths. He logged on to his secret Gorilla Mail account and contacted Boris Abramov, whom he knew from the days when he had lived in Russia undercover. Boris gave Seth the name and number of Nikolai Bondarenko, a local merchant in Kiev, and told him that Nikolai would be his one stop shop for everything he needed, but that it would not be cheap.
Upon leaving the café, Seth bought two cell phones and two prepaid SIM cards in a little shop inside a street underpass. He activated one of the phones and used it to call Bondarenko to arrange a meeting in the sleazy little pawn shop that Bondarenko ran.
Seth walked into the store, past the glass displays of old (estate) jewelry and watches, and shelves of various cameras and video equipment. He approached the young man at the cash register, who was busy playing a video game on his phone. He was a big man, about six and a half feet tall, who looked to be in his twenties.
“Excuse me, I’m looking for Nikolai Bondarenko.”
The man looked up from his game, appearing perturbed. “Americanitz?”
“Yes.”
“Wait minute,” he said in broken English, and went into a back room. He returned less than a minute later.
“He coming, you wait,” said the man, and went back to playing his game.
Nikolai Bondarenko was about 60, with grey hair, a grey beard, and a belly that popped out from his sweatshirt, as if he were nine months pregnant.
“You have passport?” he asked.
“No, I need a…”
“Shhh! Answer question please. You have passport?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Show me please.”
Seth pulled out his blue US passport, and handed it over to Bondarenko, who flipped through the pages and gave it back.
“Come with me,” he said, turned, and walked into the back room with Seth in tow. The room was cluttered with electronic gadgets and a workbench with various metal parts and a large overhead light.
“Please put hands up.” Seth complied and Bondarenko frisked him, taking out the two cellphones he had just bought, and his iPhone. One at a time, he switched the phones were off, and put them on the desk.
“Have seat please.”
Seth sat down in an old steel chair with a vinyl chair cover across from the ancient metal desk which was covered with papers and electronic parts. Bondarenko took a seat behind it.
“Sorry for precautions. This is dangerous business.”
“I understand. Mr. Bondarenko, I’m going to need a car.”
“Go with Slava here, he give you car.”
“Thank you.”
“Two thousand dollar.”
“For the car?”
“Full service. One week. You have trouble with anybody, get stopped by police, or get in accident, call this number and everything will be fixed.”
Bondarenko handed him a card with a phone number scribbled on it. Seth dug 20 one-hundred dollar bills out of his wallet and gave them to Bondarenko.
“You also need new hotel, and probably new name.”
“What is my new name?”
“For hotel, you have no name. Just key. One thousand dollar.”
“One thousand?”
“You want police up your asshole?”
Seth dug out another 10 one hundred dollar bills.
“New name is different story,” said Bondarenko.
Bondarenko, handed Seth his cell phones and a key to room 219 at the Bratislava, a three star hotel with rooms that rented for 24 euros a night.
“You have iPhone also?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t use it. Use these crappy phones instead. Who knows who is following you, FSB, Ukrainians, but for sure they find you on iPhone.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Seth’s two thousand dollar rental car was a silver 2005 Chinese Geely CK. It was no luxury car, but it was sufficient for the job he needed to accomplish. Seth began this job by parking inconspicuously outside the police headquarters, waiting for Detective Petrenko to leave work. He trained his military grade, tactical and surveillance binoculars on the main entrance and exit to the building.
At about six o’clock, Seth’s patience paid off, as he spotted Petrenko leaving the building, and getting into a white Toyota Corolla. As the Corolla pulled out, Seth followed it, making sure to stay far enough behind. The Corolla crossed the bridge over the Dnieper River and Seth followed it to the Desnaynski region of town, where it turned left into the courtyard of an old apartment building and parked. Seth quickly found a vantage point and focused his binoculars on the windows which exposed the staircase, and watched Petrenko walk to the second floor and enter into one of the four doors on the right. It would be another 12 hours before Seth had the chance to do any snooping inside his apartment. Seth returned to his hotel. There was nothing more that could be done without more information.
***
In the relative safety of his hotel room, Seth thought about Natasha’s strange, cryptic message. She must have left it right before her phone was taken. But what did it mean? There must be a particular reason she chose this poem. He looked up the poem and read it, over and over, line by line.
By a loophole I sit in my prison. That means she is being held prisoner. But what is the loophole? She is the captive knight, he thought, as in the title of the poem. Could see the blue of heaven from there. That has to mean, from wherever she’s being held, she can see the sky. A skylight? A window maybe?
I feel sharp pain and a shame at the vision, of heedless birds, freely playing in air. Seth repeated this phrase, over and over. Pain. What pain? Are they torturing her? She must see birds from the window or the skylight, whatever it is. He read the poem over and over again.
By a loophole, I sit in my prison,
Could see the blue of the heaven from there,
I feel sharp pain and a shame at the vision
Of heedless birds, freely playing in air.
On my dry lips, I’ve not any prayers,
Nor any songs, that have ever to fly on,
But I remember the ancient battles,
My heavy sword and my coat of iron.
My stony armor – the cross I’m to bear,
My stony helmet compresses my brow,
My shield’s worn from a sword and a spear,
My horse takes roads – I don’t know how.
Time is my horse that stays always my own,
A helmet’s mask-visor – the grate on a hole,
The walls are my armor that’s made of the stone,
My permanent shield is the door’s iron fold.
T
ime! I desire to speed your hooves’ rattle!
My stony armor is heavy to rise on!
Death, when we’ve come, will help me by the saddle;
I will dismount and rise up my visor.
The poem was selected to tell him something, but what? She’s in prison by a loophole. What loophole? She can see the sky, and heedless birds, playing in the air.
Birds were everywhere, so Seth could not figure out how that could give a hint about her location. He paced the room, and suddenly, he had an epiphany, and immediately called Victor.
“Godinov.”
“Victor, it’s Seth, I have to speak to you. It’s important.”
“Not by phone. I will pick you up at your hotel.”
“Okay, it’s the…”
“You think we don’t know where you’re staying?”
“What time?”
“Ten minutes.”
***
Seth recognized the black Mercedes 600 that pulled up to the Bratislav Hotel. He exited the lobby and got into it. Victor was alone.
“Never say anything by phone,” he cautioned.
“Alright I won’t. I just had to talk to you. It’s very important.”
“What?”
“Did anyone ever see Natasha after she arrived?”
“No, but how do you know that?”
“I didn’t. I was just thinking about the poem. Wherever she’s being held, she can see the sky.”
“Yes, so?”
“And there are heedless birds flying all around.”
“And what?”
“Don’t you get it? What’s slang for airplanes? Birds! And in what particular place can you see a lot of them coming and going?”
“Airport!”
“Right!”
“It doesn’t mean she still there. They could have moved her.”
“I think she is – or was – in some kind of holding cell there.”
“Good work, Seth. If you ever want job, just learn Russian and you can work for us. But you must stop this. You are amateur and you’re going to get killed.”
“Didn’t you just say it was a good job – figuring out the poem?”
“That was, but following Petrenko, that is what I talk about. Don’t you think we know every move you make? And if we do, they do.”
“Why don’t we work together?”
Victor did not even acknowledge the suggestion. “We have a man undercover in immigration office. We will see what he can find out about airport. In meantime, no more spying.”
CHAPTER SIX
Seth set out for Detective Petrenko’s apartment and waited for him to leave for work. It looked like most of the apartment buildings he had seen while living in Russia. When he was sure that Petrenko had gone, Seth waited for some kids to come out of the apartment building to play in the courtyard, and slipped inside the open door. Once outside Petrenko’s building, Seth removed his tension wrench and lock pick from his bag and proceeded to crack the lock. He had had a lot of experience with lock picking, making bump keys and impressions of keys since being forced into this second life of espionage, and, as a result, could get into almost any locked door.
As he wrestled with the lock, he heard footsteps on the stairs above him and stopped working. It was a middle aged woman, on her way out of the building. Seth kept his back to her, as if he were locking or unlocking the apartment door, looked over his shoulder at her, and said, “Zdrastuyte,” which means “hello” in Ukrainian.
“Zdrastuyte,” replied the woman, and kept walking without slowing.
Seth finally heard the last cylinder click and he was in the apartment. He donned gloves from his bag, and wiped the front door clean before he closed it behind himself, slipping on a ski mask from the bag in case there was anyone at home.
Seth scanned the small, one bedroom apartment. It had not seen a repaint in decades, and the furniture seemed even older than the paint. Police detectives must not do very well in Kiev. He entered into a small corridor, passed the bedroom and kitchen, and entered the small living room. There was no sign of a computer there.
Back in the bedroom, Seth discovered a desk with a small desktop computer, sat down in front of it, and fired it up. He pulled his mask up over his forehead, set up a new user and cracked the password right away. He then eliminated the new user designation, then installed a spy ware program which would give him remote access. He shoved a small flash drive into the USB port and proceeded to download the contents of Petrenko’s hard drive. Suddenly, he heard the front door open and close.
Seth dove into the closet for cover, as he watched the blinking light on the flash drive from a crack in the closet door. He could see that there were women’s clothes hanging over him, so he surmised that the “intruder” must be Petrenko’s wife or girlfriend. Seth decided to stay in the closet until he heard the girl going into the living room or kitchen, then grab the flash drive and fly out the door.
He listened as she hung up her jacket and took off her shoes, then heard her slippered feet padding toward him. Then she opened the closet door.
Seth had no time to think of what to do – only how to react. He pulled the mask back over his face, ripped some hanging clothing from the closet and pounced on the woman, destabilizing her and knocking her onto the floor. He put his knee down on her pelvis and pinned down her left arm with his left hand, pointing his right fist within striking distance of her throat. She panicked and started screaming, and Seth flipped her over, pinning her down with his knee against her lower back. He reached for a piece of clothing which had fallen on the floor, and quickly tied her hands and gagged her, which muffled her screams. Then he tied her ankles together.
Seth had to get the flash drive without her seeing it, and escape before the neighbors, or even worse, the police, came in response to the screams, which were now muffled. He flipped her over on her back, picked a scarf out of her closet, blindfolded her with it, grabbed the flash drive from the computer and then removed her blindfold, and put his index finger to his lips and said, “Shhh!” as he slowly backed away from her.
Once outside the bedroom, Seth had to think and move quickly. Petrenko would be looking for a motive for this break-in. He quickly gathered all the electronics he could find – the television, stereo – and placed them randomly in the corridor, as if he had been surprised during a burglary, and then slipped out the front door. Seth walked down the stairs calmly and out the door without being spotted by anyone. He felt bad for pinning down and tying up the woman, but there had been no choice. He got into his car and drove away normally, like nothing had happened.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Seth felt bad for scaring the wits out of the woman, but if she had seen him, it would have blown his cover. Moreover, if he had left the flash drive in the computer, Petrenko would know that someone had been looking for information. It was better that it appeared as a thwarted burglary. The burglar sought to rob the apartment, was surprised by the woman, and aborted his mission because of her resistance and the noise.
Ukraine gave Seth an interestingly familiar feeling. It felt, well – Russian – and reminded him of the time he had spent in the Far East of Russia, where he had met Natasha. He supposed that this feeling was normal, since a great deal of the Ukraine had been part of the Russian Empire for centuries, and it had been a vital part of the Soviet Union for 70 years. The Ukrainian people, in fact, reminded him of the Russians, not only in their look, but their similar attributes, their customs, and even the manner of their speech.
Seth took a circuitous route back to his hotel, to shake any tail that may be following him. When he arrived, there was a message waiting from Victor which read, meet me in the lobby at 1300 hrs. It was only 10:30, so Seth went to his room and downloaded the contents of the flash drive to his laptop. The pickings were not very fruitful, because they were written in Cyrillic, which appeared to be Ukrainian and not Russian. He would need help translating the data.
At 1:30, Seth descended th
e stairs to the lobby, where Victor was waiting for him.
“We have news from our man at airport.”
“Did they find her?”
“She was there, but she has been moved.”
“Moved? Do you know where?”
“We’re working on some leads.”
“Let me help.”
“Don’t you have conference in Moscow to attend?”
“Yes, but this is more important.”
“Mr. Rogan, please, leave this to professionals. We will find her.”
“I think a team effort would bring us better results,” said Seth, holding out the flash drive.
“What this?”
“The contents of Ivan Petrenko’s computer.”
“Are you crazy? How did you get it?” he asked, as he took the drive and slipped it into his pocket.
“Let’s just say one of your own taught me. I think you knew him – Yuri Streltsov?”
“Yuri Streltsov was double agent. But I see he taught you well. Those skills can make a man dead, you know?”
“I’m aware of the danger.”
“I’m not so sure you are. The people you are up against are very dangerous, and they will stop at nothing to get what they want. These are neo Nazis. Anything and anyone in their way will be eliminated.” Victor stood up to leave.
“Go to your conference, Mr. Rogan. Let us handle things from here.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Seth had no intention of backing down now. He immediately headed to straight to Bondarenko.
“I need this disc translated,” he said, and handed Bondarenko a duplicate of the flash drive from Petrenko’s computer.
“That will take time.”
“I don’t have any more time. Please get it done for me right away. Can you also get me a gun?”
“Guns are illegal. And not cheap.”
“Everything you sell is not cheap. I’m going to have to put you in my Will.”